The Mommy Sleep Schedule

My husband usually passes out to the sound of the TV around 9PM. On weekends, he naps once, maybe twice a day.

Me? I function on 4-6 hours of sleep every day, staying up late even if I don’t need to. How do I do it? One word: kids.

Pregnancy warmed me up to disrupted sleep with middle-of-the-night bathroom breaks and vomit runs. When she finally arrived, J was up every two hours for a feeding. When my maternity leave ended, I had to do it all at night and teach 130 hyper teenagers by day. I was in a sleep-deprived, breastfeeding daze for a year. But I survived. And now I can’t stop.

My mom says she still runs on the same 4-hour sleep schedule that she had when we were young. She occasionally dozes off to the TV, so I guess I have that to look forward to.

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Branding Blues

Branding can be difficult for the multifaceted human.

 

Are you a mommy blogger or a blogging mommy?

Self-sustaining artist or self-promoting marketer?

Misanthrope or introvert or just a lonely extrovert?

 

Foodie, not a chef.

Calligrapher, not a writer.

Photographer, not a traveler.

 

The business of likes and follows says to do one thing and do it well.

But the nature of being human is to

branch,

twist,

develop,

evolve.

 

I think I’ll just be me, messy and dabbling in all things, and hope you’ll like me all the same.

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My Wild and Crazy Spring Break – Part 4

I had been thinking about it for years, and this time, I was actually going to do it. On Monday, my heart started racing at the thought of it and I had to talk myself out of talking myself out of it. By the time I walked in to my Thursday appointment, I had practiced my speech thirty-seven times.

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I showed her pictures of what I was looking for. She advised me on the best one, probing to see if I was sure. I looked her in the eye and said, Yes. This is what I want.

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I watched each lock fall and desperately tried to hold back giggles as I peeked at the mirror. She had done it, the cut that other stylists were too afraid to do on thick, wavy hair. I was finally myself: practical, individual, and just the right amount of quirky to disappoint my mother.

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And now to update all my profile pics.

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This is the last of my great domestic adventures during my very chill, very boring Spring Break. See my other Spring Break posts here: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3

My Wild and Crazy Spring Break – Part 3: We’re Going to the Zoo, Dammit.

We were set to be one of those perfect families you only hear about on Facebook: he took the day off, I got survival tips from my local Supermom, J knew her animal sounds. We were going to the zoo. It was 10:30AM on a Wednesday. Nothing could stop us.

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Except Spring Break.

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At the exit, Google Maps said we were five minutes away. Traffic said otherwise. A caravan of parents, minivans packed with excited children and fully charged cameras, lined up bumper-to-bumper, hoping it wouldn’t be too long.  

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We might as well have gotten out for a stretch break.

It took an hour. I encouraged the team with, “We lasted this long, we’re going to the zoo, dammit.”

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Me and my husband, every time he wanted to switch lanes and leave, and I made him stay and wait because surely it wouldn’t be much longer, and then we would get to go to the zoo, dammit.

Then they ran out of parking.

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We left, tails tucked between our legs, hungry, exhausted, and defeated.

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The closest we got to seeing animals that day. That, and the zoo-themed McDonald’s down the street.

On Saturday, still angry, we told the zoo it would not break us. We set out early, and we went to the zoo, dammit.

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My Wild and Crazy Spring Break – Part 2

My friends Ashley and Jem spent their spring break chaperoning students on a trip to France and England. Watching a group of teenagers in foreign lands must be like herding chihuahuas.

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And that’s how we shared a spring break moment. My domestic spring break included actually herding my chihuahuas at the vet.

How the vet discovered us: dogs cowering on my lap as I calmly stroke them like an evil genius.

The boys were grossly overdue for their annual check-ups, and my mom only had one day off to watch the baby that week. So I took both hyper, anxious, shivering chihuahuas at once. Henry didn’t pee on anything, Ron only snapped at the vet tech once, and my vet didn’t scold me too harshly for letting Ron gain some weight, so it was a success.

While waiting for the doctor, I was reading an article in a dog magazine about dog expressions. This is the classic “clown face,” meaning, “I’m scared shitless.”

When Ashley and Jem completed their week-long trip in Europe, I’m sure they felt much as I did: worn out, frazzled, but proud of their ability to be the responsible adults among chihuahuas.

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The Wild and Crazy Spring Break of a Tired Working Mom – Part 1

I know the Spring Break adventures you want to hear about: girls gone wild, bras optional, living free.

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Well, how about settling for a wild toddler, putting on a thick enough sweatshirt to where you can go out in public without wearing a bra, and using a 40% off coupon at Michael’s so that washi tape is practically free?

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Because that’s my spring break. Welcome to the life of a tired-af teacher mom. This week, I’ll be getting back in the groove of blogging with tales of the most boring, most domestic spring break of all time. For example, today’s Wal-Mart purchase consisted of Dos Equis, 2 limes, Paw Patrol chewable vitamins (for her), and a reasonably priced moisturizer (for me, because those late nights are making me look like my mama). Thrilling!

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Join me as I write with my Dos Equis this week! It’s going to be wild!

 

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Worse than Mansplaining

I am not an idiot. I have the educational record to prove it. I also accept that I don’t know everything. I don’t mind admitting ignorance. I’m not embarrassed of asking questions. But it irks me when my questions are met with the most basic of teacher strategies: explaining a concept using a child’s favorite topic.

When I question a concept or ask for clarity, my colleagues will jump to the insulting practice of Pottersplaining. Rather than explaining themselves better, they assume that I can only understand their convoluted ideas through Harry Potter analogies. And worse—they don’t even know the Potterverse well. They can’t pronounce “Hermione” and confuse professors’ names and classes, aggravating my initial confusion to Snape-ish fury.

Ok, not what he actually says, but I couldn’t resist. THIS MUCH FURY.

As they bumble their way through explanations, I try not to pull a Hermione in Divination…

…and, in the face of Lockhart-level idiocy, I remember to keep calm and McGonagall on:

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