It has been awhile since I’ve posted anything, which makes me sad. My fun uncle called me out on it at a family gathering recently, so hey Uncle Doc, this one’s for you! But, there is reason for my lack of writing. Continue reading
The sippy cup wars rage in my home.
I have purchased SO. MANY. SIPPY. CUPS. and most of them are terrible.
Let me first outline the classic list of problems, so you know what to avoid.
1. Speech Pathologists say that sippy cups can Continue reading
The San Gabriel Valley area has beautiful hikes just minutes away. But, if you have children, hiking can turn from fun, to work. Since we are stubborn (and by that I mean my husband) we kept trying to summit difficult hikes with our kids. But, we are getting old and finally choosing adventures that are more suitable to our children (and becoming more patient with dirt-play every 15 feet). Continue reading
Two and three-year olds have a wide range of emotions that can pull you up and down right along with them. This morning, between my 15-month and three-year-old there may have been five minutes without screaming. It’s a wonder that so many three-year olds make it out alive.
mother of drool, or technically, spit-up
Today was just another terrible yet wonderful day in the land of stay-at-home-momdom. So many days are this way. There are the parts where my infant is screaming so intensely that I’m quite sure that he might shoot a rocket out of his forehead while I try my darnedest to change my toddlers’ poop laden diaper Continue reading
You are blogging at 4 am!
The name “Mother of Drool”, a play on words from “Mother of Pearl”, describes the paradox I feel between the ugly and beautiful parts of parenthood. I have the incredible privilege of shaping this amazing little person. It reminds me of the safety and nurturing environment an oyster provides to form a pearl. The love, patience, and effort forms something admirable, precious, and valuable within those two shells.
But one thing’s for sure, the process isn’t always pretty.
My offspring’s ability to produce an unruly amount of spit up demonstrates the grossness of parenting. My daughter could fill a “Big Gulp” cup in no time with the nasty stuff. The curdled white slime has adorned every part of my home. Today M (the nickname we use for my daughter) spit up so much that I had it running down my back, down my chest into my bra, streaming into my arm pit, running down the back of my leg, and there was still plenty more to create that dreaded “splat” noise on the floor.
The paradox of beauty that comes from dealing with the undesirable parts of child rearing hit me just like the splat of milk drool that landed on the floor. Great things come from great effort.
And the Mother of Drool blog was born.