Wordless Wednesday: Take That Tyra!

You can't make THIS a Supermodel!

She already rocks the Runway!

Grandkeeper Bought Them for the Wrong Kid!

This is who she bought them for.

This is what I've been looking at all morning.

She's a fashion plate, she is!

Wordless Wednesday

You've waited so patiently for it. So here's the Zoo on Halloween!

Mom Tip #48

Boys are completely different from girls.

Yeah I know. That is a “Well, Duh!!” moment but I have to explain myself because there are people out there who have not had the pleasure of having both genders in their family. Me, for example. I only have a sister. So I was not prepared for anything that came with raising a boy or living with a boy’s – shall we call them, quirks?

Boys could really care less about the potty. I think we have covered this in great length but it bears repeating. Munch has to “go potty” every time someone sets foot in the direction of the bathroom. Granted, she is not really doing anything when she is in there, but it counts, right? Not The Boy! He could care less. Tuck, go potty. “But I don’t wanna! (screaming, wailing gnashing of teeth)” And then he pees his pants while he is in mid-fit. What is that?

Boys have no concept of fashion and are not in any rush to get one. As long as they have pants and a shirt, all is right in the world. Shoes are optional. Colors are inconsequential. Socks only exist if you already sacrificed a few toes to the weather. He came out of his room is red shorts with blue pinstripes down the side and a lime green shirt with yellow and white surfboards which was of course backwards. His sandals were on the wrong feet and when I asked him to fix his clothes or at least change his shorts into something that might match a little I got, “But I like it like this.” There is no point in arguing.

Boys speak their own language. Tuck had a friend here the other day and they were out on the porch playing while I cleaned the kitchen. They were speaking to one another like they understood but I am at a loss for what they were saying. There were a lot of sound effects (fire engines, horns honking, back up alarms) and a language that I would be hard pressed to find a dictionary for. But they understood each other and played so nicely that I forgot where they were for a few minutes.

I will probably never win the potty fight. That will be something he just makes his mind up about one day. The fashion might have a fighting chance when girls enter the picture. But I do have a shot at the language barrier. I think they were teaching Munch a little the other day. I may actually have a translator in the works. I’ll let you know when she is preparing her dictionary.

Mom Tip #15

Yes, Motherhood changes everything!

(Yes, zoo members I went back to the archives today. This one was just too good not to share!)

Remember? How many of your friends who were already mothers told you that when you first found out you were pregnant? Yeah, me too! But I thought they were talking about the lifestyle thing. And yeah, that has changed but there's more they didn't warn me about. For example.....

My butt.
Maybe it's because I had my 3 very close together. Maybe it's because I had a sit down job while I was pregnant (hey, I know I'm reaching!). Here's the point. I could work out until the sun goes dark. I could live on celery and vitamin water for the rest of my life. But I am NEVER getting my butt back. There isn't a crowbar, roll of duct tape or bungee cord that is ever going to make my immoveable force get back into a size 6 pair of jeans. I have to face the facts.

My stomach.
I'm not talking about my abs - about a million more crunches and I might get those back. I'm talking about the organ inside. It will no longer accept hot food. It will only receive half eaten stone cold hot dogs from toddler plates or thoroughly cold, never touched food from my own plate but only if there is no one else left at the table and it’s eaten over the sink. My stomach has also converted from organ to steel. Sights and smells that would have once upon a time had me praying to the porcelain god now barely manage to make my eyes tear up.

My wardrobe.
I'm pretty sure there isn't a single article of clothing in my closet that doesn't have some very faint trace of spit up, jelly, juice, or unmentionable/unidentifiable stuff on it. And I know for certain that there isn't anything "just for pretty" in there. All my clothes have a very utilitarian air to them that make them very friendly with the washing machine. Oh wait! Back there?! Is that a dress? Nope, never mind. It's a six.

My car.
I can deal with giving up my pick up for a sedan. I have even come to grips with the fact that I had to give up my sedan for a minivan. I just want to have one day - just one! - when we get in the van and I don't step on a cheerio, cheeze it, or piece of....what IS that?! And what is that SMELL?!?!

My heart.
Someday I know I won't get my cardio workout from watching my son in an Easter basket at the top of the living room stairs. Or watching my toddler climb on top of the coffee table and grin in triumph while I'm up to my elbows in a raw turkey.

I also know that my heart will never be the size 1 that it once was. But I kind of like the size 5 that I have. It has just enough room for all the love that my hubby and children have brought into my life. Yeah. Motherhood changes everything alright. Just not exactly what you expect.

Mom Tip #7 - Get dressed Last!

Yes my friends, you heard me correctly – last.

Inevitably if you get up and get beautiful before your children are beautiful and handsome, you will end up in a completely different outfit that you don’t really like smelling like something you shouldn’t smell like. Now this is not to say that you shouldn’t be the cliché mom who scurries about the house in your bathrobe, nylons, slip and slippers with curlers in your hair. By all means! Get as far as you can in your preparation routine without achieving final effect.

Why? Remember that jelly toast that the two year old wouldn’t eat in his pajamas when it was time to eat breakfast? Remember that off hand remark you made to your four year old to “go color until we’re ready to go?” Remember those bananas that the baby had for breakfast this morning?

The jelly is now on your two year old’s hands waiting to be transferred to your skirt. The washable markers are all over your 4 year old’s face ready for the attack of the washcloth. Oh and don’t get me started on the bananas! They will either go across your shoulder or down the front of your v-neck shirt as you try to load her into the car seat.

So against the recommendation of every dry cleaner in the world I say, “Get dressed last!”