Category Archives: Funny to me

I ain’t doin it… but you should!

Did I ever blog about wanting to do stand up as my talent for the Mrs. Tennessee pageant that I said I would enter as part of my Esther Year?

No?

Lemme talk about it now.

When I turned 35 I said it was my Esther Year. No, I don’t know what that means either. But basically the idea was that, like Esther from the Bible, I would enter a beauty pageant and save my people from certain genocide. There were many things that should have stopped this idea from coming out of my mouth. I was letting my gray hair out. I had not lost any baby weight from any babies. I was using Snapchat filters because I looked cuter as a Snapchat pig than I did as a tired working mom.

[Insert crying laughing emojiis here]

But the thing I really wanted to do, despite all the obvious reasons not to, was the talent portion of the pageant.

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Surprised I have a talent? My mom was, too.

I was planning to prepare a stand up comedy routine.

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I didn’t really have a plan. You have to know me for, like, a minimum of 15 years before you might think I’m funny. And, also, public speaking makes me want to puke so I hadn’t really worked through the logistics of that minor obstacle, but that was what I thought would be the best part of my Esther Year. Getting up in front of strangers to point out the funny in this crazy, ugly, stressful world.

But in the end?

 

But do you know who IS going to do a standup comedy routine? Heather Land, the accidental comedic genius behind the viral ‘I ain’t doin it’ videos! She’ll be at The Ryman on October 4th and I am so sad that I’m going to miss it, BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO. I have 2 tickets to give away to anyone that comments with something they ain’t doing or their favorite Heather Land ‘aint doin it’ topic or ‘I’d rather…’ phrase. Limit of 2 entries and I’ll stop taking entries at noon on Thursday, September 26th. I’ll announce a winner on Friday morning.

If you’re a tired mom in desperate need of a girl’s night you definitely want to enter!

Event:                Heather Land: i ain’t doin it Unfiltered Tour

Date/Time:         Friday, October 4, 2019 at 8:00pm

More info and to buy tickets here.

Show Me the Candy

Doctor appointments have never been fun. There was so much anxiety taking Otis to the wellness checkups. I always felt like I was holding up my sweet boy asking someone, anyone, to give me a stamp of approval that he was doing ok and, truthfully, that I was doing ok.

Otis hated these visits. He was a ball of anxiety. If the doctor so much as looked at him he’d start crying and crawling up my body like a terrified cat:

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“Oh, Marie! My kid did the same thing! But then we started practicing our doctor visits so he’d know what to expect. It’s like Daniel Tiger says, “When we do something new, let’s talk about what we’ll do!”

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Yeah. No. We did that. But he still acted like he was having an unmedicated C-section when the doctor looked in his ears with that flashlight thing.

Naturally, 6 years of these kinds of visits, I wasn’t expecting much different from Wren. Like, I didn’t expect her to lose her mind like her brother, but I did expect some questioning looks. Maybe a firm, but gentle, “No.”

The doctor asked to listen to her heart and Wren silently pulled up her shirt for the stethoscope. We went into the other area to get weighed and measured and she stood stoically for everything. There was this quiet poise. She was not scared and made sure to be as obliging as a newly 2 year old can be. Since our doctor normally has students on staff Wren even sat through a couple of these twice, once for the student and once for the doctor. Everyone kept commenting that she was especially calm for a 2 year old.

She wasn’t giggly or hamming it up. She was clearly wary on some level, but she was marching onward, staring this challenge down with a steeliness I’m not used to seeing.

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The doctor and I chatted as I put Wren’s clothes back on and packed up her diaper bag. The appointment was obviously winding down when all of a sudden Wren’s lip starts to tremble and she angry whispers, “My… candy…”

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That’s what this was about! The perfect appointment. The obvious determination to stick the landing.

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At the last appointment Dr. Chen had given Wren a lollipop. Like a Lannister and debts, Wren always remembers who has candy. And this child had made up her mind that she would get another lollipop from this lady. So she showed up and showed out.

You wanna look inside my ears? Sure.

Take my temperature? Seems like a fair request.

Want to weigh me even though it’s incredibly rude to ask a lady how much she weighs AND THEN DISCUSS IT IN FRONT OF HER? Fine.

And when she thought the appointment was ending without proper payment? She was not playing.

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Dr. Chen agreed and got the candy bucket immediately. She looked through the bucket and asked, I’m sure not expecting a response, what color candy Wren wanted.

Wren gave a curt, “Pink.”

And in that moment I learned a lesson. Be like Wren. Do the work, and make sure you get paid.

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If you’re looking for an amazing pediatric practice go check out Woodbine Pediatrics. They give out candy.

 

Low-Key Arbor Day Celebration

Yall know The Poor Mom is all about those free and low-key holidays, right? Which makes celebrating Arbor Day a kind of a big deal in our house, and this year Twice Daily is helping us celebrate

On Friday, April 26th (aka Arbor Day) Twice Daily locations will be giving out organic lollipops with plantable herb and flower seed-bearing sticks. So once your kid is done with the candy they can plant the stick and they’ve just low-key celebrated Arbor Day!

The kids and I will definitely be doing this to make up for our low-key Easter celebrations. Pro tip: It’s ok to make your kids fill their own plastic eggs. It’s called fine motor skill practice. Just as our OT.

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Make a point to fill up at your nearest Twice Daily location this Friday, grab some organic lollipops, and plant those bad boys when you get home. But don’t forget to take a selfie and tag @MyTwiceDaily on Facebook! Because, like any good holiday, pics or it didn’t happen!

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Stand Your Ground, Little Bird

I was running up and down the stairs putting laundry away and I hear general rough housing start downstairs. It’s only Wren and Otis. Surely this isn’t going to end bad-

“MOM! WREN SCRATCHED ME!”

Me:
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Wren:
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I walk half way down the stairs and see Wren sitting behind her brother pulling her own hair looking at me like, “You know this mofo isn’t innocent, right? This is an open and shut case of stand your ground.”

“Otis, did you pull your sister’s hair?”

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And I guess I just thought having kids 6 years apart was gonna spare me from this…

For the love of pie

“Pie. Pie! PIE!”

What on earth is the small human chirping about?

“Do you mean rice?”

“Pie.”

“Pie… Small Human, I have no clue what you want. Can you show me?”

The small human grabs my hand and starts walking up the stairs, “Pie. Pie. Pie.”

She stands in front of the freezer.

“Pie.”

I open the freezer and look around… has she ever had a pie? From a freezer? It’s not impossible. I mean, frozen-let-them-thaw pies are the only kind I know how to make…

“Pie!”

“Where?”

She points. The box of popsicles.

Small Human loves her some ‘pie.’ Loooovvvvessss it. She will run in the kitchen chirping (“Pie, pie, pie”) and stand next to the freezer until Mark obeys gets her a popsicle. Once I asked Otis what did Wren love and he quickly answered, “Pie.” And she has taught the whole family the meaning of pie because, as my father-in-law says, “This is Wren’s world and we’re just living in it.”

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Brush it Off

If my friends ever got together and were like, “Marie! Let’s write a book about parenting together!”

First, I’d be like…

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But then I’d get over my DEEP insecurities about parenting and rush to claim the chapter on what to do if your baby falls down because this? This I’ve got.

If your baby falls down and isn’t injured in any real way you ignore that mofo.

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You ignore that baby hard. You do not yelp. You do not ask if baby is ok. You do not even make eye contact.

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Because if that baby smells even a little bit of pity, even the tiniest bit of concerned mother energy going their way they are going into full blown soccer player dramatics.

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This is a parenting rule that has transcended cultures and generations since Adam and Eve. We may not agree about when to start solids or how long a time out should be, but we ALL agree that you do not baby a baby that has fallen down.

Well, Wrenegade fell down yesterday. And I followed my advice. And then this girl? THIS GIRL.

She falls down and my mom and I both catch ourselves before we attend to her. We are veterans at this. She is fine!

Wren stands back up and starts brushing the spot where a boo boo may or may not be. She brushes, she pats, she doesn’t cry. I won’t swear to it, but it makes the story better so I’m going with it She makes eye contact with my mom and I.

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Looks back at her “boo boo” and then this girl? This girl KISSES HER OWN BOO BOO. And goes on her way.

Wrenegade don’t care.

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Wrenegade doesn’t need nobody.

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Wrenegade is the boss, and we better not forget it.

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And given that I am raising this queen maybe I should write that parenting book…

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Mother of Stuffed Giraffes

Hi Wrenny Girl,
You are 5 months old.

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This whole thing is flying by, and it’s making me weepy. Sorry. I swear I will stop crying one day…

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You’re rolling over and trying desperately to crawl. You actually get around pretty well despite not having any ‘forward gears,’ as your dad has pointed out. We have got to say that your homeschool grade for Grit is probably going to be an ‘A.’

(Just kidding. We don’t believe in grades.)

The other day we were driving to Panera, and I heard Otis sing from the backseat, “I got your giraffe, Wrenny! I got your giraffe!”

And then I heard you, Wren Faith of the House of Oates, Mother of Dragons Stuffed Giraffe.

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You started crying. It wasn’t the hungry cry. Or the tired cry. It was the “Fool, you best give me back my things before I hit you up side your head” cry.

And I was in the front seat like:

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Because seriously, dude. Who steals toys from babies?!?!

Anyways, you’re 5 months old and I’m beyond proud of the baby-sized woman you are.

Love you forever, Little One!
Mama

Next time won’t you sing with me…

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Wrenny,
You are four months old.

You started rolling over on to your belly this month. Most any time you are put down (which isn’t often) you make your way to your belly. And then you cry. Our best guess is that you’re frustrated that you aren’t crawling yet.

I know I’m not supposed to talk about how beautiful you are, but my goodness.

I also don’t want to always talk about your brother, but we’re 4 months into this sibling thing and my mind is blown. See, you love it when your brother talks to you. Like, you straight up squeal with delight when he pays you any attention whatsoever:

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(Sidenote: I love that I gave birth to two squeal-with-delighters. I’m probably going to put it on my resume. If I had a resume.)

And now that you’re interested in him, he’s interested in you. And this is where things get crazy. The other day I asked him to sing you a song and figured I’d get an Otis standard, like a lazy version of The Wheels on the Bus.

But for you? For you he busted out the entire Alphabet Song. Correctly.

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We’ve had this child in our home for 6 years. Two thousand one hundred and ninety days. And he has never, not once, ever sang the entire Alphabet Song correctly. You show up and do what we COULD NEVER DO in, like, 100 days.

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One day you’ll find out I’m prone to exaggeration, especially when I need blog material. But I mean this from the bottom of my mushy heart:

You make us better. Thank you, Wrenny Fire.

Love,
Mama

 

Open Letter to That Mom

To that Mom at Lowes…

I see you.

7 months pregnant and wandering the aisles of Lowe’s happily with your little boy. I see that smile on your face. You’re killing this mom thing. Your kid? He’s amazing. Your ability to make him feel safe and loved? No one can compare.

I’ve actually been stalking you all day. This morning at the park? The loving way you figured out how to avert the tantrum over how the cookie crumbled when you opened the package? My goodness, Woman. You amaze us all.

He just noticed the Paw Patrol Night Light display. Your boy sure does love to shop. Add your guilt about being a working mom and it’s the perfect recipe for having a house full of crap, but I digress…

Oh look, he wants a Paw Patrol Night Light. OF COURSE! He’s been amazing, and your face lights up at the chance to give him a little something that he thinks is the coolest thing ever invented only to toss into the abyss known as the toy corner.

Again. I digress.

Wait. What did he just say? Did he just say that he wanted all of them? All of the night lights? You don’t even have that many outlets in your 1,400 sf home…

Hold up. Did I just hear you say “no”? On purpose?

Bravo, young lady. Bra. Vo.

Oh, wait. He’s screaming.

I see the panic on your face.

What’s going on here? Where’s the off switch? Can you just walk away? No, not you. You’re an awesome mother. You’re going to get on eye level and talk to him. Calm him down with the super powers you read about in that gentle parenting article on Facebook.

Did he just tell you to shut up? IN PUBLIC?

Nope, nope, nope/.,,l;

I see you. You want to give in. Make all the noise stop. Maybe he’s right? Maybe you do need a Paw Patrol light in every outlet…but there’s one problem. You looked up and made eye contact with that other mom who was mouth open, staring at your child’s… performance art.

You can’t let him win. Not with an audience.

You walk away. Well, waddle. You’re seven months pregnant after all…

The 5 year old love of your life is chasing you screaming, “WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME?”

Victim blaming. Ain’t that some $#*+…

You keep walking. He runs faster. Tears streaming down his face. The cries getting less demanding and more pleading. You look like a real douche, Amazing Mom. But you can’t stop. You know what happens if you stop…

You’re about to cross the parking lot. A tantrum parade if there ever was one. You give secret nervous glances behind you to make sure he’s ok because he’s never crossed the street alone when he does it…

HE HAS PLOPPED DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF PARKING LOT TRAFFIC.

Oh, dear God, Woman. How did it get this out of control so fast? You can’t just leave him there! Turn around! Turn around!

I see you go back. Your pregnant self grabs one leg and one arm and DRAGS his butt across the parking lot.

I see you, Pregnant Lady. Dragging your child across a parking lot with every single pair of eyes looking at you eager to get a FB status up about how they’d never let a scene like that play out on their watch while sharing a viral video from that mom that insists parents shouldn’t be friends with their kids.

I see the fear that you can’t do this. That the one you have is more than enough. That you’re not mom enough. Maybe you should just go back to the life you were good at: keeping up with celebrity gossip and french fries.

I see you sit down with a scared, panicking little boy who has no clue why he’s even upset anymore, but he’s determined to feel in control of something, even if it’s you.

I see you. I am you.

No, seriously. It’s me. You’re talking to yourself again. Finish brushing your teeth, and get out the door, Marie. You’re gonna be late for work.

#GirlBoss

Dear Mom,
Wren here. Yeah, with the Big Kahuna you wrote letters to him, but I’m a new baby with different needs and abilities. So this time I am writing to you.

I’m adorable. Like a-close the front door-able. You are clearly made to produce cute human beings so feel free to make more, especially since I have obvious leadership ability and am not cut out for the role of ‘the youngest.’ Or, ‘the middle’ when I think about it. Actually, if it’s ok with you, I’d like to submit my resume for the position of ‘the oldest.’

I’m straightforward. Unlike the Big Kahuna I’m not going to make you guess about what I want. Remember that day you started blowing your tongue at me? LOVED IT! Best joke I’ve heard in ages. And your delivery? Are you related to Lucille Ball because you’re clearly a comedic genius. I want more of that, and I’ll let you know by doing an adorable baby attempt at blowing my tongue back. at. you!

I’m a team player. I know that I’m not the only one with needs in this family, and I can chill while you deal with the Big Kahuna. Speaking of the Big Kahuna, we had a talk. You’re gushing over how he’s been great about my arrival, and I just want you to know that I gave him a little… pep talk while you were in the bathroom. Like Dubya and Cheney, I might be #2, but we all know who the real boss is, um, I mean… Team player. I’m definitely a team player.

My poop doesn’t stink. At least not to you. You keep telling people that it smells ‘sweet.’ FYI, you don’t have to suck up to me, Mom. You’re already my favorite because milk. So you can chill with the, “I love her poop!” Honestly? It’s weird.

Listen, I know I’m the new guy in town, but I really feel like I’ve improved this family considerably (refer to the bullet points in my resume). You guys are clearly happier since my arrival. And I’ve filled this Wren-shaped hole you didn’t know you had. I guess what I’m trying to say is:

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Love,
Wren “The Oldest” Oates