I’d heard many legends of the terrible twos long before I had children of my own.

I never paid them much mind, finding most of the stories funny. Cute, even. I mean, really, how hard could it be to control a thirty-inch human?

But, I’ll admit, the horror stories did make me somewhat uneasy in the days leading up to my son’s second birthday. Half-expecting him to slit my throat with Goodnight Moon, steal the car, and rob a bank, I approached his room with the utmost caution on the big day. Fearing his head would spin around as he projectile vomited, I was careful not to make any sudden movements.

Nice and easy.

But, sitting in his crib, I found the same sweet boy I’d gently placed there the night before. Or, probably more like three hours before. Because, you know, babies.

“Bullet dodged,” I thought.

Most of the following year was smooth sailing around these parts. Minus the occasional tantrum, I never quite understood what all the fuss was about.

Then he hit three and a half, and…won’t someone please hold me?

In the past six months, he’s made up for his late-blooming ways, ten-fold. Since discovering free will, he thinks he owns the place, and everyone in it.

Not only have his opinions surfaced, and loudly, but he’s gotten far too big to cork his screams with a pacifier while simultaneously yanking down the hood of a car seat.

Due to his new found individuality, I knew certain things would have to change around here. And, sadly, the whole no more taking naked body shots on the kitchen counter wasn’t the only thing about my parenting that needed reevaluating.

Cue the earth-shattering tantrums, which have starting occurring often…and in public.

In addition to toning down my frat-girl ways, I’m now having to change they way I react to things. Like, during those times he suddenly morphs into Kim Jong-il in the middle of produce department.

I’ve been told time and again the best way to handle these sorts of fits.

“Just drop everything and leave immediately,” the people tell me.

And, while it’s nice in theory and I appreciate the people’s sentiment, how the hell am I supposed to function if I leave my wipies and wine stranded in a shopping cart on aisle three?

So, I decided that, rather than leaving my groceries sitting in the instant mac n’ cheese aisle, I’d take a different approach, one I highly recommend.

I present to you, my Unofficial Guide On Handling Unruly Children in Public.

During his most recent tantrum, instead of resorting to my usual tactic of quiet bribes and threats, I decided to go head to head with the four year old dictator strapped in the grocery cart before me. Balls to the wall.

“You’re a terrible mommy!” he screamed, “A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE MOMMY!”

“What? I didn’t hear you. Say it again. I’m a what mommy?”

“TERRRRRIBLE MOOOMMMMY!”

“Say it louder. Scream it! The woman over there by the kiwis didn’t hear you!”

We danced a few more rounds of this, each one louder and more intense, until, finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, completely deflated.

And, just like that, he wiped the tears away and we carried on.

I’d finally won.

I’m sure this won’t work every time, but sucking all the fun from his tantrum, from him trying to manipulate me with embarrassment, has thus far proven to be my most brilliant parenting move to date when it comes to handling these types of outbursts.

And, when and if this method stops working, at least I know I’ll always have the trusty mom-pinch to fall back on.

It’s your move, kid.

As some of you nerds know, Twitter crashed yesterday.

And my Twitter was down till today. And, no, that’s not code for my vagina.

Like, it just started working, you guys.

My scientific guess is that I was trying to load it with the same browser as when it was really broken, so I just kept thinking it was still down for real.

Anyway, I had no one to talk to about all the important stuff going on in my life AND I FELT SO ALONE.

And, I don’t even know how you guys lived without me for so long. I’m assuming it was the worst day of your lives, so I’m going to make it up to you by filling you in on a few things you missed…The Day The Twitter Died.

You’re welcome.

~ ~ ~

Omg you guys. A gnat flew up my nose right as I was inhaling. It’s possible it’s in my brain now. 

You know that weird skin pulsating thing that happens sometimes?  Like a heartbeat twitchy thing in your eye. It just happened..to my boob…IT WAS STRAIGHT OUT OF ALIEN.

I pretty much just made my cat a ham and cheese sandwich so he’d shut the fuck up. He’s such a dick.

I want to eat all of the things in the house.

I love you guys. I’m so drunk hahahhahahahahahhaha….ha..ahhahaa./

I hate it when I hide Luca’s cookies from him and then I can’t remember where the fuck I hid them at midnight.

Ugh. I fucking hate baby monitors. And Donald Trump’s hair.

There is nothing like putting clean sheets on your bed after your kid’s pissed all over the old ones.

I hear my kid moving upstairs right now. MOTHER. FUCKER.

If my kid comes down here and catches me eating his cake he’s gonna shank me with a god damn Lego.

That cake was soooooo sweet. I totally need something salty now to balance it out.

My kid has a thing for Asian women. He’s just like his dad.

~ ~ ~

I hope this never happens again, because I have no idea how you guys would go on living without me.

Today was the most difficult parenting day I’ve had in like….ever.

This morning, Luca ate like six sugar wafer cookies, which I lied and referred to as crackers in my Facebook status, because I give my kid junk food sometimes and was trying to make myself look better because my god some people judge everything just shut up already and whatever the fuck this isn’t the point.

A couple of hours later, he wanted more.

I always give him only two at a time, when it’s a small, sweet treat, because he’s super sensitive to sugar.

So, when he asked for more, and I said no, the motherfucking shit hit the fan.

Mommy, I want two.

Sorry, Luca, you may only have one. You’ve already eaten way too much junk food today. You may eat one quietly, or eat none at all if you keep screaming at me.

TWO WAFERS MOMMY TWO WAFERS MOMMY I HAVE TO GET TWO YOU ALWAYS GIVE ME TWO.

At first, I thought he just wanted the most cookies in the whole wide world, so I tested it by asking if he’d like three instead.

NO! TWO! YOU ALWAYS GIVE ME TWO!

He then proceeded to throw his body on the floor and scream like I was torturing him.

I stood my ground.

And so he banged his head against the hardwood floors.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

At least five times.

I grabbed his tiny, tense body and held him tight, so he wouldn’t hurt himself.

WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?

I’m not sure where he got that, because the only time we talk about killing in this house is when roaches are in mommy’s car. But, I’ll sure as shit be monitoring his television programming a little better than I have been.

His fit lasted almost two hours.

I want a new mommy! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t control myself. I’m so frustrated. Why do you want to kill me? Please don’t cry mommy. I love you. Please be happy to me.

This is the thing about my sweet firecracker boy.

He blows up at me, and when I’ve lost all patience, having done everything I know to do, and I finally break down? He feels so bad and regretful. He can’t stand to see anyone sad.

And, before anyone tells me I shouldn’t cry in front of him when I’ve reached the end of my rope, what’s the alternative? A stoic mommy who shows no feelings? Fuck that. He needs to know that it’s okay to cry, to feel, and have emotions. I don’t cry in front of him often, maybe a handful of times in his short life, but sometimes I can’t help it. I’m hurt for him, I’m frustrated with him, I’m frustrated that he’s hurting and angry and so upset that he can’t control his body and that I am powerless to help him.

But, I’m always sure to let him know that he isn’t making me cry, and that I’m just sad because I can’t bear to see him so sad, and that I feel terrible that I don’t know how to reach him when he’s gone into that place.

Mommies cry, too, honey. Everyone does. And it’s okay! It’s good to let your feelings out.

After he’d finally calmed down, I thought of something fun we could do to get our minds off the heavy morning.

We should throw a surprise “thanks for working so hard for us even when you’re sick, daddy” party.

So, we went to Party City to get the decorations, and I left all of the choices up to Luca.

Then, we headed to the grocery store to stock up.

And, this is where everything went to shit again.

He kept hurting is brother. I’d tell him to stop and it’s as if this made him want to do it even more. Then he turned to me, shaking mad, and pinched me as hard as his tiny hands could pinch.

We left the store with him screaming at the top of his lungs, because I wouldn’t let him use his HEB Buddy Bucks, because duh he pinched me.

In situations like this, I have to turn the radio up and simply ignore his yelling. Engaging only makes it worse. Shit, even ignoring makes it worse.

We got in the house and he hit me a few times. Not hard, but still.

He finally got it all out, calmed down again, and was happy as a clam.

Like a stuck switch that had finally been jimmied enough to turn off.

And (this is what sucks so bad about being a parent), he acted as if the past six hours had never happened. And I was still so mad about it all. I couldn’t get over it. I didn’t like him at that moment, which made me not like myself because HE IS YOUR CHILD AND IS SENSITIVE AND HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND AND GROW UP AND HUG HIM!

So, I pushed my anger and shameful resentment aside and scooped him up.

I hugged him tight and told him how much I loved him and that I was sorry his mind was so cluttered and zappy and overwhelmed and I wanted more than anything to help him feel the beauty of things, good and bad, without feeling those things along with it.

And, so, I’ve decided that I’ve got to stop listening to all the it’s so normal for his age chill out you frustrated mom and just trust my gut.

And my gut tells me it couldn’t hurt to see an Occupational Therapist to help him deal with his frustrations.

Do I think he’s fucked up?

Of course not.

Do I think something is majorly wrong with him.

No, not by any means.

I want him to be sensitive and empathetic and passionate, I just want all those qualities to feel good to him.

Early intervention and some coping skills can only be a good thing.

It certainly can’t hurt, right?

We spent the last hours of his day getting daddy’s surprise you kick ass party ready.

It went off without a hitch and my husband loved it.

Even if, with all the decorations Luca picked out, it felt more like daddy’s surprise coming out party.

Aside: These types of posts I will mark as private one day, when Luca and his friends start learning how to read, callously make fun of each other, and navigating the internet. When he’s old enough, I’ll let him decide if he wants to share these personal parts of himself.

When I first joined Facebook, my friend list was pretty limited. I didn’t add anyone that gasps a lot or is easily offended. And I certainly didn’t invite any family members into my alternate universe.

As my blog’s readership slowly began increasing, and I started connecting with other writers, my social networking world expanded as well.

The more I got to know myself, through my writing, the louder and more confident my voice became. With each nod of affirmation I received, when I’d put something out there, came the realization that people appreciated authenticity…even if it did come with a dash of motherfucker and a sprinkle of my kids are being total assholes today.

Do I push the envelope with my words sometimes? Possibly, to some I suppose. But, I don’t really consider being who I am as pushing the envelope. Because, any one of you who know me in real life, know that I don’t present or express myself any differently than I do here, in this written space.

Then, around the time I realized I was no longer ten years old, and shouldn’t have to hide my feelings or thoughts from anyone, I started welcoming more people into my online world.

And, you know what?

So many people shocked me. There were friends, friends of friends, friends of my mom, and relatives, that I had pegged completely wrong all this time. Some were more empathetic and thoughtful than I’d thought. Some were spicier with their language and dirtier with there jokes than I ever could have imagined. And all of them were so supportive, even if they didn’t always agree with me.

So, this is what it feels like to come into your own, to proudly and wholly put all of yourself out there. Awesome.

Lately, things have been moving along swimmingly, my words and thoughts flowing freely. I’ve found my groove, and my people, and it feels awesome. My skin has thickened considerably over the past few years, which is a necessity for those of us who purge our feelings on the internet for a living. I never expect everyone to agree with, or laugh at, every single word I say. I know that I’m not everyone’s cup of skinny vanilla non-fat latte.

And, that’s fine.

I don’t expect strangers, or even an acquaintances, to love me unconditionally.

Or even like me.

Such is life.

Anyway, this morning after consuming around 300 cups of coffee, I continued sorting through old boxes, when I came across an old picture.

I know a family member who would love this!

As I went to post it to their Facebook page, I noticed something odd.

Right at the top of their profile it said, “Add Friend.”

Huh? But, we already are friends. No, we’re family, dammit!

And then it hit me.

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN.

I’d been given the boot.

I’d been DEFRIENDED.

GASP!

I know what you’re thinking.

How could someone defriend Allison Zapata? I MEAN, REALLY?

Or maybe more like…

Big fucking deal, IT’S FACEBOOK.

And, I KNOW! I would be thinking the same thing.

I’ve been defriended numerous times over the years and, most of the time, my reaction has been along the lines of “DAMMIT. I only wish I could send them a message saying THANK YOU I’VE BEEN WANTING TO DO THAT FOR A LONG TIME AND I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I?”

Hurt feelings never entered the picture.

Until now.

Because, while most will say, “It’s just Facebook get a grip woman,” I say, OUCH! How about just hiding me, dude?”

I’ve gone through a myriad of emotions throughout the day. Embarrassment, for sharing such trite family drama on such a public platform, hurt that it happened, more embarrassment for having such a strong reaction to something so seemingly insignificant, and pissed off that I’m lacking support where I’ve always craved it the most.

I think my overly-dramatic reaction, in part, has a lot to do with the fact that I’d finally come to a place of, “Wow, my family, and everyone else, finally knows all parts of me, uncensored, and they still totally dig and accept me.”

Because, for so many years, I always felt like I didn’t really fit anywhere on my family tree.

Most of the time, I felt insecure, like the black sheep of the family (my mother and sister excluded, of course. They’ve always had my back, even if I was/am a little weird).

Oh, that Allison, she is so shy…

I would hear it over and over and over again, when I was a kid.

And, it wasn’t so much that I was shy, I just never felt completely at ease when we all gathered ’round the table at Christmas.

Sure, they loved me, adored me even. And I them (and I’ll kick your ass right now if you trash them). But, that didn’t stop me from being guarded, careful not to reveal all my layers.

The fear of rejection is an ugly, ugly beast, I tell you.

And maybe it was all in my head.

Maybe it was my own insecurities rearing their ugly heads, in those times I felt that what I had to say wasn’t welcomed or appreciated.

Or, maybe that’s just how every kid feels…itching to leave family gatherings for the night to join friends, those people who so totally get you.

I mean, this wasn’t even in the days that people openly ripped each other a new one over politics, religion, or gay-marriage. Which, today, are all areas in which I differ considerably with most of my family.

Maybe, we are who we are from the get-go, and those undiscovered views began to rear their ugly heads in our subconscious; our moral values intact, only lacking a platform on which to preach.

And, maybe I’m in the wrong for being so vocal about my views, amongst people who so fervently disagree with them.

But, I really just. don’t. get. it.

Sure, I have a filthy mouth (and mind) a lot of the time, but I’m always coming from a place of good….mostly.

I don’t talk about my vibrators, or murdering anyone, or trash someone for the way they look or what they wear.

I would get the shock factor if I was going on and on about white power, or hating thy neighbor, or how fucking awful Donald Trump’s hair is (my only looks-trashing exception).

Yes, I pepper my thoughts with strong language, because I have strong beliefs. But, they are beliefs like, wanting people to take care of each other, not judging people who are different, and lending a fucking hand when someone needs it.

And, for that, I will not apologize.

I am very careful when it comes to what I share here. I try not to tell anyone’s story but my own. But, I’m also very open about a lot of things.

That’s who I am….who I have become. And we all have our own version to tell.

Also, I recognize the fact that everyone has bad days. And that, if you don’t have the same sense of humor as me, coming across something like this when already annoyed could totally send you over the edge.

I just typed “people are such dicks” and it autocorrected to ducks. SUCK MY DUCK BITCH.

— Allison Zapata (@allisonzapata) July 23, 2012

But, at the end of the day, silly or not, this whole thing just made me feel like the eight year old who finally spoke up at Thanksgiving dinner…and was asked to leave the table.

Luckily, my family and I love each enough to carve the turkey again next year….and again the next….and again the next….until we get it just right.

Do you mix family and social media?

Who are you more YOU around? Family or friends?

Are you as dysfunctional as me?

(Don’t answer that last question.)

I saw this on my friend Faiqa’s Facebook page recently.

I love it, and believe there are people out there from all the sides of all the agendas that can, and often do, appreciate, model and act on this sentiment.

I think most humans are decent. And, if you take a step back, the person you are arguing with, the one that lives in your computer, is likely one of the most.

Sometimes our big balls on the internet make our hearts and minds look smaller, or make us seem angrier than we really are.

Or maybe we really are that angry, and sitting behind our computers and shouting our frustrations, is the easiest way to let it all out.

But, in real life, very few of us would communicate our views so aggressively.

Because, when personally interacting with someone, it’s easier to get a feel of their true character, and understand how their personal experiences have molded their outlook on the world. We get a much deeper understanding when sitting face to face, than when we judge someone solely by their Facebook likes or the profile picture of them shotgunning a beer.

(I first wrote “bear” instead of “beer” in the previous sentence. Shotgunning a bear is so much worse and less fun than shotgunning a beer.)

I’m so guilty of raging from behind my computer screen, seeing things through my black and white lenses. But, when I do it, it seems acceptable, because I’m right.

Of course.

Yesterday, I saw judgement and insensitivity strewn all across my computer screen.

Stuff like this.

And, I immediately engaged, judging the judgers, as I do so well.

But, these people, the ones pointing fingers at the victims and shaming them, baffle me.

I’d like just one of them to tell me that they’ve never gone five miles over the speed limit, when running late to school. Or, have never left their kid alone in the other room for a few minutes longer than they should have.

If we were to put a microscope on every single parenting choice we’ve made, the what-ifs would be terrifying.

Where is the support for our fellow (wo)man? Why are we so quick to attack and knock each other down? How does this make someone feel better about themselves?

And I’m sure someone will say to me, “Oh, you hippie-chick idealist, we live in the real world. Deal with it.”

And, yes, I can be an idealist. But, what the hell is wrong with wanting to believe that there’s more good than bad in the world, or trying to make the bad a tiny bit better?

But, as idealistic as I can be, I’m certainly not naive.

I know how messed up things are in this county, and in this world.

I know that our gun laws are too lax.

I know that there are crazy people in this world.

I know that guns kill people.

I know that people kill people.

I know that most people with guns don’t kill people.

I know that mental health in this country is sub-par, at best.

I know that one can be so proud of their country, as I am, and still acknowledge that there are things we can do to make it better. In fact, if you ask me, THAT is the true definition of loving your country. Change and adaptation are not evil or bad things. They are, in fact, a necessity.

And, I know that if we don’t stop acting like spoiled babies, refusing to even entertain the notion that the other side may have some valid points, we are fucked.

Why is it all our nothing?

Why is someone who collects AK-47′s not willing to say, “You know what? If it makes our country safer, I can find another fucking hobby.”

Why can’t others say, “You can have your hunting rifles, let’s just tighten things up a bit,” rather than, “You can’t own any guns at all!”

Why does it have to be all or nothing and us against them?

We teach our kids all day long to work together, respect one another, and play nice. Meanwhile, we sit in our corners with our arms crossed, singing la-la-la I can’t hear you, when someone disagrees with us.

A country of stubborn infants is what we’ve become.

As I was getting ready for bed, I felt deflated and disappointed in people.

Then, this popped up in my inbox, and, unbeknownst to her, the timing couldn’t have been better.

My god, I can’t even tell you how much I appreciated this.

Anne, taking a couple of minutes of her time to write this, changed my entire week.

I’m positive she had no idea how much it would mean to me.

But, all those things we think are unimportant or don’t matter, the things we don’t have time for (but, really do)….they matter.

If we all stopped and took a minute to lift someone up, rather than knock them down, just imagine how good…how much less toxic…things could be.

Also, just to be sure, because, you know, I have zero verification that this was written by his real nurse.

(I did, however, tweet the clinic my post on the ordeal, and they ensured me it would be shared with Luca’s doctors and nurses. So, maybe it is.)

Admittedly, though, it’s possible I’m sharing this to fluff myself, due to my parenting insecurities and paranoia from this week’s events. But-but-but, I’m also writing it to have record of it all…manuscripts of memories to share with my kids one day. And-and-and, also to show how a few words can change someone’s day from bad to good.

(But, probably mostly because fuck yeah I’m an awesome mom, so take that haters who exist only in my mind!)

Finally, as I was finishing out my thoughts, and my day, this bright-red cherry plopped itself right on top of everything…

This was in reply to me sharing her show-dates on Facebook…

(Which, you should totally check out if you’re in the area. I’ve known her since we were fourteen years old. She’s the real deal.)

Two people took the time to share their positive feelings with me, to lift me up with their words, and say things out loud that most of us only think.

It seems way too simple, I know. But, I truly believe, if we all treated one another this way, the road to positive change wouldn’t seem so impossibly long and out of reach.

Thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts….xo

This is what happens when you’re one of the only boys invited to your cousin’s all girl, mermaid swim party….

 Merman…MERMAN.

Up until a few days ago, we’d been lucky enough to avoid any ER trips with our boys.

Until this happened on Sunday.

I must have boasted one too many times about this being our first ER trip ever, because then the universe went all fuck you- ya cocky bitch crazy on me.

Yesterday afternoon, I got Leo up from his nap, and was getting ready to make a run to the store to buy this thing they call food.

“First let me clean up a little,” I told the boys.

There were still a ton of boxes laying around, that I’d pulled from the closet-turned-art-room. I figured if I didn’t get that shit cleaned up, my husband wouldn’t be so supportive of my next project. These boxes had been shoved in the closet and forgotten about since we bought our house…six years ago!

In them, was a hodge podge of shit. Photos, old yearbooks, real skanky shorts I used to wear, and apparently….pills.

I set some toys out for the boys and plopped us all down on the floor, so I could begin sorting.

Luca and Leo were sitting one foot away from me, literally, when I heard Luca say, “Good boy, Leo! You took your medicine!”

I looked up to find Luca with a package of unfamiliar pills in his hand, with one pill missing…popped out the back of the package, like a piece of gum.

I grabbed the box he’d taken them out of to see what they were.

And, of course, all the wording was in Spanish.

Not so weird, being that we grew up on the border, where everyone used to hit the Mexican pharmacies. You know, for things like Ibuprofen, Retin-A , and roofies.

Sometimes our parents would send us care packages filled with Mole, Tamales and medicine, so I’m guessing this is where they came from.

Anyway, I did a quick Google search to try and figure out if Luca had just roofied his younger brother. After some searching, I figured out they were pills for IBS – or uterine and intestinal spasms.

I was somewhat relieved that Leo hadn’t been administered a date-rape drug, but still concerned enough -obviously- to call Poison Control.

The woman put me on hold while she researched the medication. I expected her to come back  and assure me everything was fine, that Leo’s intestines would just be uber-relaxed all day long.

Instead, she came back on the line with an urgent tone in her voice and said, “You need to get that baby to the hospital right now, mam. What’s his name? I’ll call to let them know you’re on the way.”

Motherfucker.

The panic began to rise as I threw both kids in the car and sped towards the ER. Thankfully, we live five minutes from the Texas Medical Center, so we were there in no time.

And they were waiting, with a doctor sitting at the computer researching the medication, as I approached the counter.

Oh my God.

We all got into a room, me asking repeatedly what the possible complications could be.

No one would answer me, only saying, “He looks like a peach now, everything is normal, I don’t want to scare you with what Poison Control said.”

Because telling me that isn’t scary at all.

The most they would tell me was that he needed activated charcoal so his body wouldn’t absorb the medication as well.

Then they brought me this and told me to make him drink the entire cup of what looked like tar.

This is after he’d already had a good amount…

Poor, little, pill-popping Leo.

It took over an hour for him to get the whole thing down.

Coughing, gagging, crying, screaming, puking, more coughing….

It was heartbreaking. He kept looking at me with confused why are you doing this to me and where are we eyes.

He finally managed to get it all down, and we were both covered with the gross black carbon.

They wanted to observe him for 4-6 hours, to make sure he didn’t start exhibiting effects from the pill.

Poor kid hadn’t eaten since before his nap, and was going on 5-6 hours with no food.

He cried like I’ve never seen him cry before. Ever.

So sad.

Towards the end of our stay, the doctor had done more research, and discovered the potential for the medication to be harmful was even less of an issue than they first thought.

And honestly, who the hell knows if he even took the pill. I was going on the word of a not-quite four year old, who waffled back and forth with his answers.

Did he take it, Luca?

Yes, mommy.

OK, well we need to take him to the hospital.

No mommy he didn’t take it he didn’t!

Luca, no one will give you shots or stitches if we take him.

OK, mommy, he did take one.

I knew I couldn’t take a chance, and better safe than heartbreakingly sorry.

The entire time we were in the hospital, I felt like everyone was whispering, “Look at that shitty, irresponsible mom in room four, some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.”

This paranoia was amplified by the fact that I had a four year old, wearing a broken pair of Crocs, and fresh stitches on his lip, standing next to me.

As much as I know that accidents happen, no matter how careful we are, I still felt judged. I even considered not sharing this incident online..because AGAIN ONE OF YOUR KIDS GOT HURT MY GOD LADY GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

The scariest part is that both accidents happened within a foot from me. This makes me want to lock my kids up and never let them leave the house.

I’m trying to go easier on myself, because I know I’m a good mom, and shit happens, but I still have that damn judgmental thing nagging and pointing it’s finger at me.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go remove my boys from the bubbles I’ve put them, so we can try this grocery store run again.

With TWO ER visits in TWO days, I somehow managed to finish up the new space for the kids.

In case you need to play catch up, you can do so here and here.

And, I admit it. I changed the wording in the title to hell. Because, a few people have asked me about this project, and I didn’t want them having to send profanity-laced home improvement tips to their grandmas.

Luca has taken to calling the new space his office, which I’m fine with, as long as he doesn’t start asking people to call him Christian Grey…or something.

So, here you have it.

The done deal – minus some more art supplies, etc.

In case you are too lazy to link back to the beginning, here’s a photo of the before.

Here’s the down low on how I got here.

Paint – Benjamin Moore Vapor Trails

Chalkboard Paint with Magnetic Primer underneath, both purchased from Home Depot (at least three coats of each).

Desk/Shelving Until/Chairs/Magnetic Board/File Cabinet/Inspiration – The Container Store

Cork tiles – Micheals

I ended up keeping the same floor. The linoleum tiles went well with the color scheme and are super easy to clean.

I’m probably leaving some things out, so if you have questions, ask away.

No one who know me believes I actually accomplished this.

Frankly, neither can I.

Seriously, if I can do it, anyone can.

P.S. I know the dragon drawing on the wall looks like a penis.

As laid back a parenting style as I have, I absolutely flip the fuck out panic when I hear the hurt-scream coming from one of my kids.

You know, the loud bang that comes from the other room, followed by the screaming and yelling and the ow ow owwwws.

The scariest moment is always the time in between hearing the screams and accessing the damage.

Please don’t let it be bad please don’t it be bad please don’t let it be bad please don’t let it be bad please don’t let it bad…..I repeat in my head as I run over to see what happened….please don’t let it be hospital-bad.

Yesterday, though, there was no need for running. I was sitting right next to the shit when it hit the fan.

Luca had been jumping and tackling our dog Levi all the live long day. Now, mind you, Levi is the most patient, sweet, and gentle dog I’ve ever had. The kind of dog who lets kids and babies crawl all over him, yank on his ears, drool on him, and pull his tail.

Still.

We all have our limits.

I warned Luca repeatedly to stop playing so rough, and to respect Levi’s body. Which, would probably have been enough, if my kid actually gave a shit about anything I have to say.

Luca jumped on Levi from behind, falling right on his spine and, as Levi turned around to give his warning cut this shit out kid bark, Luca dove right into his face, headbutting Levi right in the kisser. This probably wouldn’t have ended so badly if Levi didn’t have an under-bite with a snaggle tooth from hell.

Luca screamed and covered his mouth. I was sure things were fine, but when I pulled his little hand off his mouth, there was blood everywhere. As I wiped it away, a deep, fleshy cut revealed itself.

And, just like that, our number was called.

It was hospital-bad.

Alright buddy, come on…I said very calmly.

Baaaaabe, can you come here for a sec? Like, RIGHT now right now…..I said very calmly, to my husband, but with the wife get the hell over here now tone in my voice.

Finally, the minor ER clinic down the street came in handy. And, you guys, Elite Care Emergency, of Rice Village, went above and beyond my expectations. It was the best bad situation ever.

And I didn’t even cry when they wrapped his little body up in a sheet, like a burrito, to sew him back up.

And, Luca? My overly-sensitive, highly inquisitive, terrified of hospitals and shots and all the things he doesn’t know kid?

Kicked some major ass.

I’m so incredibly proud of how he handled it all.

Wait, proud is probably not the best word to use, because I would have been just as proud of him, had he pissed his pants and needed to be tied down the bed in a toddler straight jacket.

I’ll always have his back.

So, maybe relieved is a better word. But, not relieved that he made it easier on me. Because, I’ll always love and embrace him and all of his parts. From the being too sensitive (whatever that is), to the sensory-stuff, to the ear-ringing tantrums because he feels everything so strongly (AND DAMMIT SO DO I)! All of this is who he is, and I’m beyond lucky to be his mom.

No, I wasn’t relieved for me, I was relieved for him, and how he handled something he’s always worried so much about.

My heart breaks in two when I think of him having a difficult time in unknown and or scary situations. There’s nothing much worse than seeing your kid terrified, sad, or unsure.

And, when I saw him sitting on the bed,  so worried and confused, waiting for the doctors to come back with all their instruments, I thought things were going to get really bad.

This look in his eyes makes me want to lock him up forever and guard him from the unpredictable and scary journey of growing up.

This kid is cut from the same cloth as his mama, so I know exactly how he feels. I know the burden of feeling things too intensely, the good and the bad. It can be a tough road to navigate, and I desperately want his shoulders to feel lighter than mine do.

But, when the time came, he surprised us all, handling the entire situation better than most adults would have.

Relief. Maybe he was built with better coping skills than his mama. Maybe I don’t give him enough credit, or maybe I simply project my feelings onto him.

After the numbing shots were over, things went well and so, so quickly….it was all over in minutes. We were literally walking out of the clinic, all stitched up and headed to Toys ‘r Us, less than one hour after the accident.

The doctors, nurses, and receptionist were all so perfect and loving. And I’m so grateful for them.

They even gave Luca a sweet, stuffed doggy with a matching boo-boo.

As Luca was falling asleep last night, his new furry friend close by, he said to me, “Mommy, I really liked those doctors. They were great. And you told me I could do it AND I DID IT! I can’t even believe I was so brave. I was amazing.”

Believe it, baby. You’re my brave little hero, and you never cease to amaze me.

So, fingers crossed that maybe, just maybe, he’s not as crazy as his mama.

And, well, even if he is, maybe that’s not so bad either.

Update: I totally forgot to mention that Luca will now have a scar in the EXACT same place as I do. Mine is also from a dog, but it wasn’t cute and cuddly, and was way more serious. He tried to eat my face, leaving me with several scars.  Also, I was the same age as Luca when it happened. We are official lip scar twins. Kind of rad.

If you are all like, what the hell is she talking about, it means you didn’t read Part One. It also means you’re an asshole because you haven’t been reading my blog.

Forgiven.

Let’s move on…

As much as I wanted to do all the actual physical labor of this project, I knew the painting part would be an absolute disaster if done with my spastic hands.

So, my best guy Don, got started yesterday.

After four nervous breakdowns, I finally chose my color. I went with a really pretty shade of gray, called Vapor Trails. And lemme just tell you, it lives up to it’s name, because the whole god damn family was high most of the day. Yay!

I used a magnetic primer under the chalkboard paint, so it would be all magnetic and shit.

We (Don) still need to add another coat on the chalkboard wall tomorrow, but it’s coming together nicely and looks so much better than the awful yellow we (Don) painted over.

I’m going to cork the wall opposite the chalkboard, after the painting is complete. And the Elfa system will go back up on the far wall, to create shelves and a desk.

So far so good….

Before…

I can’t wait for it to be finished so my kid will never use it.