To Bed

Back in January, Shawn and I decided that it was time to enforce the no-toddlers-in-mom-and-dad's-bed rule. And then the shitstorm of awfulness happened and enforcing any rules beyond "no playing with knives" and "no electronics in the bath" was too difficult and ate up too much energy.

We moved Grady's mattress to the floor beside our bed and he slept there every night and crawled into our bed every morning. It was an improvement over fighting a sleeping ninja toddler all night but it wasn't a perfect solution. 

Grady has a few stuffies (Ryder from Paw Patrol, Olaf from Frozen, and a baby doll) so Shawn and I had the brilliant idea that we would buy them the IKEA doll bed for Grady's birthday. He'd see how his loveys slept in a big boy bed and he would want to sleep in a big boy bed. We felt very smug. We were going to outsmart the Tiny Dictator. Our parenting prowess is unmatched. 


Yes, that is a sleeping child and his doll bed in my bed. The Tiny Dictator has outsmarted us once again. 


In puppy training, one of the first and most important things they tell you is: don't repeat yourself. Give your command once. Don't say something over and over and become background noise that your puppy learns to tune out.  

Lately, more than ever, Grady is like an excitable puppy. He bounces from one spot to the next with no focus or attention to anything around him. I find myself saying the same phrases over and over, to the point where I tune myself out. "Watch where you're going!" "Eyes up!" "Please be careful!" Lather, rinse, repeat.  

This morning I was packing Grady's lunch while he buzzed around the kitchen. He walked full speed into the drawer I had open. Face first. Right into the corner of the drawer. He was so excited to show me the piece of Lego he'd been working on that nothing existed outside of it - his entire focus was on getting to me to show me the Lego.  

He had a good cry in my lap (and I'm pretty sure he'll be rocking a black eye when I pick him up tonight) and after he calmed down I told him that next time he needs to be more aware of where he's walking. "Next time you should protect me," he replied. I'm trying, buds. I'm trying.  



I have two super awesome jobs.

One I do in an office three days per week. I wear grownup clothes. I have my own office with a computer and phone that are touched by only me. I drink hot beverages while they're still hot, and when I finish there are no rogue drowned Lego men at the bottom of my mug. But it's difficult. The commute is two hours on office days. I spend six hours per week stuck in stupid traffic.

I do my other job from home. It's flexible hours. I fit it in around my schedule (read: Grady's schedule) and it's for a company that I love. I wear my damn pyjamas while I work. The commute is amazing. But it's difficult. I do not get uninterrupted blocks of time to do my work-from-home job. I fight a toddler for my laptop because who cares if mama has work to do - these Mickey's Clubhouse games aren't going to play themselves.

I love my jobs. I love the balance. I love the opportunity to be at home with Grady while he's young. I love working for two great companies.

But it's difficult.

Today was a work-from-home day. I had a giant list of things I wanted to accomplish for my job. I had a giant list of things I wanted to accomplish around the house. I had a giant list of things I wanted to do with Grady. And I failed. Miserably. And loudly. All day long. I got so little done today. I had a bad attitude. I was kind of a dick to my kid. More than once. My house is suffocating me. Laundry - clean and dirty - and Hot Wheels and junk mail and dust bunnies are piled on every available surface. There is some sort of funky pink film growing in my bathroom sink. I bought the  magic organizing book* months ago and it remains unread.

I am overwhelmed. I feel like I'm failing in all the different areas in my life and then I feel completely unoriginal for feeling that way (way to fail at being original, Hillary!)

Someone please tell me there's a solution to all this and the perfect work/life balance exists. And then tell me how to do it.

*Affiliate link because mama ran out of the good gin:


I'm heading out of town for the weekend (Blathering, here I come!) so Grady and I went on a date last night.  

We went to his favourite restaurant and he ordered the cheesy pasta and I devoured a burger. We coloured the placemat and chatted about Iron Man (obvs). He charmed the waitress into an extra large scoop of chocolate ice cream and then, after wiping up his area with his napkin and then crumpling it up into a ball, waved her over. He handed her the napkin ball, which had a bit of weight to it thanks to a few stray pieces of pasta, and said with an eyebrow wiggle, "here! There's just a little poop in there." 

I froze. The waitress froze. And this, my friends, is life with Grady.