(As in: everything makes you want to, and your kids do nothing but)

Tag Archives: pink

Valentine’s Day as a parent is Hallmark holiday hell. Screw all of those depressed, single people with their “woe as me, I’m going to have to eat dinner alone and watch a movie solo.” It sounds like HEAVEN.

movie alone

There is some unspoken competition raging between moms of kids in daycare to come up with the coolest, craftiest Valentines ever. They create cute little cardboard cutout hearts and peanut-free, organic treats. These moms are the reason why Pinterest makes me insecure.


I don’t even know the names of my kid’s classmates. Granted, my husband takes them to and from daycare. How am I supposed to write up their Valentines?

To: the kid who reliably has snot running down his upper lip.

To: the little French girl who doesn’t speak any English, je t’aime.

To: The new kid who bites my daughter on the arm all the time. XOXO

This week, I am signed up to bring cookies to both kid’s classes. I learned my lesson last year and refuse to bring in a batch of burnt crusty brownies again. I’m gonna be that guy that brings in something clearly labeled “Publix.” It won’t be organic, cause that stuff is just plain expensive.

Head Waiter

Then, there’s celebrating a holiday centered around romance when there is so very little of it in a household with two toddlers. I have visions of slow-dancing with my husband after getting a little tipsy from the wine over a fancy dinner. Afterward, we will bow chicka bow wow and sleep like babies.

Ahhh, but we HAVE babies.

So, we will get reacquainted over a quick, reasonable dinner, keep the drinking to a minimum so we can pick up the kids from daycare date night without them calling the cops and hope to be sleeping by 10 so we can get up at 6 in the morning with the kids.

Shopping for my husband is worse than pulling teeth. I prefer a root canal to trying to figure out what he would actually like.

He has started providing me with a wish list, which means there are no surprises and I still somehow manage to bungle it. Wrong shoe size, books with clever titles he would never read, coffee cups that were so ginormous they looked like they belonged to Rock Biter from Neverending Story.

rock biter

They look like big, good, strong hands.

I know all he really wants is a glass of bourbon, his pipe and some privacy.

Every single Valentine’s Day card reads the same these days: “I miss you.” “I can’t wait until…” “Someday we will… ”

I hate Valentine’s Day for a plethora of new reasons.

I love my husband every day.

I love my children immensely.

Got plenty of the love stuff.

I hate candy, crafts, baking, pink and shopping. I just realized that’s everything my daughter loves. Great, I officially hate my daughter’s favorite holiday.

american horror story

These probably wouldn’t fly with 3 years olds, huh?

I always knew I was going to be the kind of parent who stresses gender neutrality in order to ensure that my children didn’t feel pressured to conform to their “accepted roles” in society.

We chose gender neutral crib bedding for our daughter with cute little sexless lambs. I bought white, yellow and beige onesies. I even dressed her in a black jumper at one point and she looked crazy cute.

alma black onesie

What I didn’t anticipate was that my children would naturally fall into the defined gender roles of pretty pink princess and tough guy.

I hate pink. Like, not a little bit. I really, really, really hate pink. I was a tomboy growing up, maybe because I had two older brothers. I lost my two front teeth because my brother was trying to pick me up by my head by squeezing two pillows on either side of my face and lifting me off the ground. One of the teeth literally popped out. (I laughed… until I saw the blood)

My daughter adores pink. She wanted our new house to be pink. She wants to ride a pink horse. She wants to paint her nails pink. She wears a pink tiara to school. She likes skirts, pink ones. Dresses, pink ones. She had to have a pink bike, pink sunglasses and pink cowgirl boots.


Oh, and purple is okay too.

She wants me to braid her hair every morning, she prefers to wear tights and despises being dirty.

I recently tried to gauge which sports or classes she might be interested in. I offered up soccer, gymnastics, dancing, swimming, football and horseback riding. She chose dancing. (and horseback riding, but I am still trying to track down that elusive pink pony)

The only problem? Alma can’t dance. At all. She does weird spastic movements to music and makes ugly faces and crawls on the floor. She’s like a drunk chick at Freaknik. I can’t wait to see what she does when we put her in a tutu with all of the other gals.

My son’s first word was “ball.” He is obsessed with balls, in particular soccer balls. He can now drop kick a ball better than most grownups.

soccer player huck

This morning, he walked into our bedroom crying and immediately threw a Mickey Mouse dodge ball at me across the room. He slept with it!


He steals the Hungry Hungry Hippo balls (the answer to the previous post’s riddle about what I had to clean up off the floor) and puts them in the trash, the laundry basket, hidden behind books on the shelves and tucked into fake plants.

He is aggressive and violent, he loves rough housing and being outdoors. One of his first several words was “Outshide.” (outside) All he ever wants to do is be outside. He likes riding lawnmowers, bikes, choo choo trains and cars. He is a man’s man.

There is an exception. Huck LOVES shoes. Not just any shoes. Pretty pink shoes. He constantly steals Alma’s pink boots and her pink sneakers. I thought it was just a shoe fetish, so Santa brought him cowboy boots for boys. He still steals the pink ones.

So, at the end of the day I think I ended up with a girlie girl and a dude’s dude and I have to suck it up and accept the fact that they are exactly who they are: A future fashionista (shudder) and a mountain hiking soccer player in heels.