Music is a huge part of our life.

No, we aren’t a family of lifelong musicians.

I can barely play chopsticks on the piano.

When I was little, my piano teacher diagnosed me with an untreatable, genetic case of too-tiny-hands and too-little-talent. This is also probably not the best combo if you’re looking to get into the porn industry.

My husband can jam, though. He started guitar lessons several years ago, and has since picked up the harmonica, as well.

I’m basically married to Bob Dylan.

Really, though, our main thing is listening to lots of music, hitting up live shows, and dancing like the dorks we are.

I do believe that music is the universal language, and that we’re born drawn to the beats.

I remember watching Footloose a couple of centuries ago and being so confused about the whole Jesus hates dancing thing, because music is in all of us…it’s natural. There’s no better example of this than witnessing a tiny baby shake what his mama gave him when someone drops that funky bassline.

We listen to music everyday in our house. We have dance parties, sing loudly, and dance like crazy.

It used to be so simple. We’d put a song on and the kids would dance.

But, now that Luca’s four, he’s really starting to listen to the songs I play, and ask about their lyrics.

(No more 2 Live Crew for us.)

Like, the other day on the way to school, I played a Neil Young

As the song ended, Luca chimed in from the backseat, “What’s that guy talking about?”

Oh, how I love this song, with it’s meaningful, powerful, and goose-bumpy message. And, while 2 Live Crew would have been much easier to explain, I tried my best.

“Okay, honey. The song says, to me, that you should never back down or give up on your dreams. Always be who you are, because you can do anything…even if others try to convince you that you can’t. Does that make sense? So, I guess what I’m saying is that don’t be denied means never taking no for an answer, and living your life the way you want it, as long as you don’t step on anyone else along the way, of course. Am I confusing you? This is a hard one for me to explain.

No, mommy. I understand. When you tell me no more candy, it means I should still have candy.

I’m currently rethinking the 2 Live Crew ban.

* * *

When I was a young boy
My mama said to me
Your daddy’s leavin’ home today
I think he’s gone to stay
We packed up all our bags
And drove out to Winnipeg

When we got to Winnipeg
I checked in to school
I wore white bucks on my feet
When I learned the golden rule
The punches came fast and hard
Lying on my back in the school yard

Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied

Well pretty soon I met a friend
He played guitar
We used to sit on the steps at school
And dream of being stars
We started a band
We played all night

Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied

Oh Canada
We played all night
I really hate to leave you now
But to stay just wouldn’t be right
Down in Hollywood
We played so good

The businessmen crowded around
They came to hear the golden sound
There we were on the Sunset Strip
Playing our songs for the highest bid
We played all night
The price was right

Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied
Don’t be denied, don’t be denied

Well, all that glitters isn’t gold
I know you’ve heard that story told
And I’m a pauper in a naked disguise
A millionaire through a business man’s eyes
Oh friend of mine
Don’t be denied

 * * *

A conversation with Luca, four years old.

~ ~ ~

Luca: Mommy, where are those muffins you bought me?

Me: Hmm, I have no idea, baby. I’ll buy you more later.

Three Hours Later:

Luca: *holding up an empty muffin bag he found stashed under my bedside table*    MOMMY. WHAT IS THIS? WHO ATE MY MUFFINS?

Me: *Frozen with fear* Ummm, I did baby, last night after you went to bed. I’m so sorry. I’ll go get you new ones.

Luca: That’s a very mean thing to do, mommy.

Me: Luca, we all live here, and our food is for all of us.

Luca: Then why did you get so mad at daddy for eating your enchiladas the other day?

~ ~ ~

Fucking kids, man.

A few weeks ago, I posted this on Facebook.

Warning: Crude language ahead.

*Earmuffs*

Obviously, there was some tongue and cheek there.

But, it brought up an interesting, and respectful, discussion on the things we choose to put on the internet, for all to see, and how these things affect our children. And, more importantly, it made me think about how we choose to present ourselves to our children.

How much of us do we let them see?

Are we real people to them, or just mom and dad?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friend: I hate that word and adore you. I would honestly like to know when and at what age you think it is appropriate for your precious sons can start saying this word? Like I said … I love and adore you, but this profanity is not what I prefer to use on a daily basis. Let me know your thoughts.

ME: Hmm. interesting question. When they are older, I don’t have a specific age, I guess it’s different for everyone and their own maturity level, if they are respectful to others and aren’t all like, “FUCK YOU MAM I ASKED FOR FRIES WITH MY BURGER NOT FRUIT,” THAT would be unacceptable to me. But, if they stub their toe in our house and mumble “god damn it” or “fuck that hurt,” I wouldn’t be too outraged or upset. To me, it’s just a word. On the other hand, if they call someone STUPID or DUMB, I would be IRATE. I would rather them say motherfucker on a daily basis than use those types of words. Do I make any sense? HA (Not a trick question).

Friend: My oldest is in college and my youngest is a sophomore in high school. Yes..they have heard that word ten fold. They follow me ( as I do them) on all social medias. I just prefer not to say it because I think it is beyond degrading. I just don’t think it is appropriate to use and/or I don’t like to let them see their mom say it over and over again. My opinion, yes. Just curious what you will do when Leo and Luca are on social media. I’m sure things will be totally different then. Maybe it will be no big deal, but I still feel this word is extremely offensive. Please respect my opinion as I do yours.

ME: Of course I respect your opinion! And, obviously, I’m sure it doesn’t need to be said, that I never cuss in front of my boys, minus the occasional SHIT! if a car nearly wrecks into me or something. And, funny, because I just got done saying to my husband that there is not one single thing on my blog that I wouldn’t want my boys to read. Again, to me, it’s simply a word that someone made up. I am so much more fearful of them saying something like “that’s retarded!” or “that’s so gay!” or the other F word that I DO consider awful and offensive..fag. Ugh. It pained me to even type it. So, if I hear my boys as teens, playing basketball outside and one yelled “I just dunked in your fucking face, dude,” I wouldn’t make an issue of it, UNLESS it was used directly like “F you!!” But, if I heard them say, “Quit being such a fag!” or “That’s so retarded, man,” you better believe I would drag them inside by their ears and let them have it! To me, it seems so many people don’t find these words degrading, when they are so much worse than actual “bad” words. My opinion, of course! Good discussion! xo

Friend: You know I love you and think you are insanely talent and creative when it comes to writing. I’m just thinking once you’ve put it out there…it’s out there… and you should have no regrets. I may be old school, but it’s something I don’t want my kids to be able to look back up and see. Just my opinion. Love ya girl!!!

ME: Maybe it IS a generational thing! But, every single thing I have ever written on my blog makes me proud of myself and I stand by it 110%. If, god forbid, I am taken too soon from my boys, they’ll be able to read my words and know that I am a REAL person with REAL flaws, not this strange sparkly version of ourselves we all too often portray to our kids. They will read about how depressed I was when I was pregnant and how I didn’t want to be pregnant and wanted to die or have a miscarriage, but that after seeing their faces I would have done it again in a HEARTBEAT. They will know I had an eating disorder for ten years and that I kicked it’s ass. They will see that I talk about all of this without an ounce of shame and and that it’s doesn’t mean they are weak when they have their own struggles, and they will. It just means they are beautifully flawed like the rest of us. They will know how much I value other people and their feelings and how much I hate discrimination and inequality. They will know I think being compassionate to others, even if they are different, and helping them when they need it is SO, SO important in life. And, then they’ll say, “Man, mom was a potty mouth, huh, dad?” And I am. And that’s just another part of me. If you ask any single one of my friends or family or even my OBGYN, they will tell you that they way I talk on here and on my blog, is exactly how I talk in real life. Of course, I have manners and know when NOT to open my sailor mouth, but this is who I am…good or bad. And, if reading me say “Man, that guy fighting against gay rights is a fucking asshole,” is the worst of it? I am so, SO happy with that.  And, I totally respect your opinion and totally adore you. xoxo

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I want my children to know me…to know all of me…not just bits and pieces.

I want them to know about the good, and the not so good times in my life, my mistakes and my triumphs, and how I dealt with it all.

How much of yourselves do you share with your kids? Do you want them to know all of you? Or just the politically correct version of you?

Luca frantically shook me awake this morning…

Mommy. Mommy. MOMMY! MOMMY! WAKE UP MOMMY!

I thought the house was on fire, or that Leo had escaped out the doggy door and taken off in my car again.

Whatever it was, I could tell by the urgency in Luca’s voice that it was something very important.

“What is it, bug? What’s the matter?!” I asked him.

Mommy, is your bagina bigger than Chi-Chi’s bagina?

Poor kid…he still has so much trouble pronouncing words that start with V.

It’s going to be long day.

I took Luca to visit my mom’s place here in Houston. She likes to sip on some tequila every night now and then.

My kid got a hold of one of her shot classy sipping glasses, empty of course, and laid himself out on the rug.

~ ~ ~

Leo has been busting a move since he was like six months old. This kid will jam out to anything.

He feels the beat with his whole self.

I finally managed to have my iPhone within arm’s reach, while he was shaking what I gave him.

So, obviously, Luca chose that exact moment to walk in, naked, to proudly proclaim he’d just gone poo-poo…and not even in his pants!

The kid is a total photo-penis-bomber.

I managed to do some really shitty video editing, so I could share Leo’s groovy moves, without being added to some internet sex offender registry.

Passed out little dudes.

Boys busting a move.

People walking around without their pants on.

I am living in a frat house.

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.

I’ve always fancied myself a non-spanking kind of girl.

When it comes to parenting, that is. Wink.

Before I had kids, I was adamant I’d never use spanking as a form of discipline.

My dad went that route when I was little girl, and though I’m sure he meant well and it was all he knew, it’s impossible to erase those images…those feelings.

I want to do better.

Yes, I want my kids to respect me, but I don’t want them to fear me.

But, I’ll admit it, I have spanked Luca before, when I was pregnant with Leo.

We were walking out of a restaurant and, without a moment’s notice, he let go of my hand and began running….towards the street.

I yelled at him to stop.

And then I yelled again louder…more frantically.

But, Luca Gump didn’t listen, he kept right on running into a super busy intersection. Thankfully, it was an early Sunday morning, so most people were either in church or at home.

(My church is tacos and mimosas. PREACH!)

Anyway, I ran after him, as best a pregnant lady can run, and when I finally reached him he was standing smack dab in the middle of the street.

And then it happened.

HE LAUGHED AT ME.

So, without even thinking about it, I gave him a swift swat on the bottom.

You know the kind?

You see other mom’s do it to their kids in the checkout line at the grocery store. And you shake your head disapprovingly, your heart breaking for that poor, poor child.

You are aghast, thinking to yourself that some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.

This is especially true before you have kids of your own.

Because, before I had kids of my own, I was certain that would never be me. Nope, I would never be a spanker, or a swatter, or a whatever-er.

Then my kid turned three.

And he, with his sweet, innocent, nutella-stained face, climbed right up on my high horse along side me….and violently threw me off, into the muddy reality of parenting.

Splat.

So, while I still place myself firmly in the no-spanking camp, I do lose my shit from time to time, and do things I regret after I’ve found it.

Take yesterday for example…

I was grocery shopping with both boys. They were sitting side by side in one those SUV-sized car-style shopping carts. The ones that are impossible to navigate, especially through the narrow and fragile aisles of wine.

Luca was full of nervous energy, and was having a really hard time staying still. Try as he might, he just couldn’t keep his sticky little hands to himself.

He was poking his baby brother, laying on him, pushing him, and putting his big-baby-head in a headlock.

Luca, please stop, honey.

Poke.

Luca, if you want to go to soccer today you’d better leave him alone.

Push. Poke. Hit.

LUCA, CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME? LEAVE HIM ALONE NOW, OR I’M TAKING AWAY ALL YOUR DINOSAURS WHEN WE GET HOME.

Ahh, the life of a parent is pretty much identical to that of a mob boss. Threats and bribery all day long.

Then the shit hit the fan.

I was staring at the four million choices of bread, my back turned to the boys, trying to pick a super healthy one on which to spread a gallon of Nutella.

I heard Leo scream, and turned around just in time to see Luca taking a bite out of his shoulder. As I was about to go all lunatic-mom on his ass, he then proceeded to spit in his baby brother’s face. Then, just to make sure he’d inflicted an adequate amount of pain on the 23-pound human he has to share his mommy with, he pinched the shit out of him.

So, calm, cool, and collective me? She who does not spank and only uses her words?

Reached over and…..pinched Luca on the fat of his arm.

Hard enough to get his attention, but not hard enough to leave a mark…obviously.

“Owwwwww, Mommy, you pinched me!”

Well, now you know how it feels when you bully your brother.

“You are a terrible mommy!!” he shouted.

What? Say it louder, not enough people heard you!

“YOU ARE A TERRIBLE MOMMY! TERRIBLE MOMMY!”

Louder, Luca, that woman over there that’s taking four years to pick her avocados, didn’t hear you. Come on! You can do better! Louder!

Exasperated that his tactic wasn’t working, he sighed deeply.

And then came the lip quiver, followed by the tears. OH, THE TEARS!

“You made me cry!” he managed to get out, in between his dramatic sobs.

No! You made yourself cry. It is unacceptable to ever lay your hands on someone else, Luca! How many times have we been through this?

Then, the thought hit me like a ton of unripe avocados.

Isn’t that what I had just done to him? Indeed it was. Because, pinching your four year old totally qualifies as laying your hands on someone else…even if he did used to live in your uterus.

Sigh.

And then the regret washed over me.

When I’m rational, and in an unemotional moment, I’ll say that if you lay a hand on your child, because they have laid their hands on someone, you are a god damn hypocrite.

Bully meet Bully.

But, during those moments when I’m at a complete loss as to how to handle my kids, I have gone there.

No, I’ve never done anything terrible. I’ve certainly never pulled a come over here and bend over and I’ll give you something to cry about. But, is the quick pinch or swat on the bottom really any better?

Parenting is such a tough balancing act. I feel like I’m always walking a fine between being gentle and loving, yet still being firm enough to ensure they become compassionate, responsible, non-serial killer adults.

So, while I’m not proud of pinching my child in the middle of the produce department, I do cut myself some slack. Because, I am human, and I’m still learning everyday how to be a better parent.

Besides, I’m the first to apologize to my kid when I’ve screwed up. I think it’s crucial that our kids see that their parents mess up, too, and that no one is perfect.

Later that night Luca said to me, “Mommy, I just don’t know how to control myself sometimes!”

You know what, buddy, I don’t know how to control myself either, sometimes. But, you and I? We are good people, kiddo. And even good people make poor choices. Everyone does, and it’s totally fine, as long as we try our best to learn from them. You’re my first time being a mommy and I’m still figuring stuff out. Just like you are figuring out how to be a person in this big, confusing world. So, how about we both try to control our tempers, and use our words from now on? Deal?

Barely able to keep his eyes open any longer, he gave me a sleepy smile and mumbled, “Deal, mommy.”

I’m curious to see who breaks their end of it first.

Happy Friday!

Thanks for stopping by!

Also, if you happen to work for CPS, I am totally kidding about pinching my kid. As if!

xo

My child will eat what I make him. Period. End of Story.

I refuse to be a short-order cook.

They won’t starve to death if they go to bed hungry, and next time they will eat what you make them.

And my personal favorite, lifted from my father-in-law,

This isn’t Luby’s. Everyone will get the same thing for dinner.

Ahhh, famous last words of a fool. Or, in this case, of someone who doesn’t have children yet. I used to go on and on about how things would be in my house come meal time. I envisioned myself steaming fresh vegetables nightly, and introducing my kid to cuisines from around the world. I just knew they’d be a pro with the chopsticks, and rolling their own sushi, by the time they were three years old.

Fast forward to present day, I am now the mother of two young boys. The oldest of which just ate an oh-so-ethnic bowl of three minute Kraft Mac and Cheese, after he refused the other three things I put in front of him. I mean, it’s not that I think he’ll go hungry. I still feel the same way I did when he was merely a hypothetical. It’s just that hypotheticals don’t throw themselves on the floor screaming or wake you up in the middle of the night because they want a snack.

With one of my boys still on formula, I spend my days trying to get the other to try new, more diverse, kinds of food. It hasn’t always been a struggle. When he was about a year old, he would eat anything I put in front of him. His big thing was avocados. Oh how he loved avocados! And vegetables? You name it, he loved it.

Then he had to go get a mind of his own. And this mind has decided it hates avocados. Now, it seems, there are only a handful of things he wants to eat, the most exotic being edamame, along with his other favorite, steak. Oh how the prince loves his steak. But, other than that, his meal choices are pretty plain Jane. Don’t get me wrong, I can usually get him to at least try a bite of something new. Reverse psychology works wonders with this age. I find myself saying things like, “Don’t you eat that piece of squash. DON’T YOU DO IT!” And, obviously, because three year olds are programmed to do the exact opposite of what their parents say, he will eat the damn squash. While convenient right now, this method may come back to bite me in the butt when we tell him not to run out into traffic or stick his fingers in an outlet.

My children were made by two people who love to eat and try new things. Truly, it’s difficult for me to think of a food I don’t like, aside from black jelly beans, which, duh. My husband is the same. I thought that, because of this, because my boys are exposed to different foods, that they would also be the same.

I thought wrong.

But, I know some of this is my own fault. With all that’s going on, it’s easy to take the lazy route. More and more, I find myself throwing some mac and cheese in the microwave and slicing up an apple or some grapes. And, while everyone needs the occasional bowl of mac, it’s not the best habit to get in, nutritionally. It’s also not conducive to broadening my kid’s palate and getting him to try new things.

So, in a nutshell, I’m stuck in a rut. I would love to incorporate some easy, interesting, and healthy foods into my children’s lives, but I’m not sure where to begin.

Do your kids eat ethnically diverse meals? Do they have mature palates or are they addicted to the standard PB & J and chicken nuggets? How do you get them to try new things?