Sean is a vegetable freak.

What I mean is that he is a tad obsessed with making sure our kids get their daily recommended servings of fruit and vegetables.  I know that should translate to me being grateful for what a caring and involved father he is.  Because he is.  But let’s be realistic, folks. I’m a 44 year old peri-menopausal mother with five kids (three of whom exhaust me) which I’m sad to say causes me to hover around a five on the continuum of crabbiness.  Inquiries from Sean about what I’ve fed the children translate, in my brain, to inferences that I’m inept at feeding my kids and ultimately push me to about an eight on the richter scale of bitchy.

I’m working on that.

I am trying not to take Sean’s parenting suggestions as insinuations that I’m not good at being a mom.  He’s entitled to a say.  For the life of me I don’t understand why his involvement in my kitchen pisses me off so much.  So, I’ve been trying to temper my annoyance with deep breaths and kind responses.

This is hard work, people.

Especially when my choice to follow his menu requests back fire because of his lack of ability to identify certain vegetables.

Confused?  Well get this…

On Wednesday morning I got this text…

It arrived at 7:58 in the morning.  Breakfast wasn’t even cleaned up, and I was instantly annoyed that he was already onto dinner when I had a lot of in-between-now-and-then to navigate.  Seeing as how I am trying to temper my bitchy impulses, I refrained from responding with the first text that popped into my mind.  (It involved the words ‘sprouts’, ‘shove’ and ‘ass’).  Now before you send me a private message about managing my anger via mood stabilizers, let me explain something.  I’ve never served brussels sprouts to my family; I’ve never seen Sean eat a brussels sprout; And, I don’t know how to prepare brussels sprouts and wasn’t keen on learning.  So, yes.  I was annoyed.

But I’m working on this, right?

So, I squelched my inner bitch and channeled June Cleaver.   Maybe they’ll love them.  Maybe I can add a new recipe to my rotation.  Trying new things is good.  And off to the market I went for a pound a half of brussels sprouts.

An hour before dinner I drizzled those mini heads of cabbage with olive oil, generously sprinkled them with kosher salt, cracked pepper and garlic, and roasted them for 30 minutes at 400 degrees.  When I put them on the plate with the steak and pasta they looked just like the picture from allrecipes.com.  I was proud.  Not only had I controlled my inner witch, but I was about to successfully add a new veggie to our palate.  Sean was going to be so pleased.  Right?

Not so much.

I first sensed something was wrong when I placed the plate on the table.

Sean      What are those?

Me         Um…brussels sprouts.  You asked for them.

Looking confused, Sean put one in his mouth, promptly gagged, and spit it back out on the plate.

Sean       What did you do to them?  I’ve never seen them look like that.

I could feel the bitchy richter scale tipping in an unfortunate direction as I willed myself some self-control.

Me           I’ve never made them before and YOU ASKED FOR THEM.

Sean        [bewildered] You make them every week.  You know…those long, green, stalky things that we all like.

And that was it.  The straw that broke the bitchy camel’s back.  I grabbed the plate, stomped into the kitchen, and threw those bitter, nasty tasting brussels sprouts in the disposal  Then I spun on my heals, and said…

“That’s asparagus.  A-S-P-A-R-A-G-U-S!!!”

(Oh…and I may have muttered the word ‘moron‘ in my response as well.)

*****

At my cousin’s bridal shower this past weekend we were to write a piece of marital advice on a pretty little card and attach it to our gift.  My Aunt Judy started her’s with this sentence…

“For sure, there are times when you’ll want to trip him.”

We all burst out laughing because it was such a true statement.

She went on to advise Jessica to make a point to hold hands with her husband.  ”Holding hands rekindles the bond that caused the two of you to fall in love with one another.”

So true.

*****

Sean and I laughed about the sprouts incident later.  I told him I’m trying to be nicer so I refrained from questioning his request.  He told me I should’ve inquired.  Then I told him that it was honestly better that I didn’t because the words ‘shove’, ‘sprouts’, and ‘ass’ were involved.  I then warned him that future veggie requests were most likely going to be ignored.

He’s good with that.

We both have things to work on.  Communication is at the top of the list.

We decided to celebrate our first day of summer with a dip in our back yard pool.  It was a good idea, in theory, but sometimes, my good ideas are easier conceived than implemented!  You see, one would think getting two 10 month olds to a pool, twenty steps from my backdoor, wouldn’t be that difficult. 

But once again, twin reality slapped me in the face.

First of all, who do I carry out first?  And when I go back in, is the babe I carried out first safe?  And can I leave one sitting on the sunning step (which is rather large) while I play motor boat with the other? 

There are just not enough of me sometimes.

Then I had a lightbulb moment. 

When Drew and Ryan were babies I had a bath seat for them. 

I could buy a new one, and then I’d have instant stability for at least one baby while I diverted my attention to the other. 

Problem solved?

Not exactly!

Turns out they don’t manufacture bath seats anymore.  I guess too many brilliant adults thought it was okay to leave the room while their baby…uh… bathed themselves…which rendered the seats safety hazards. 

Why do stupid parents have to ruin everything for the rest of us? 

So…I improvised. 

Yes, that is a Bumbo seat.  And yes, I’m pretty sure there’s a warning label on it somewhere that says I’m not supposed to use it to secure a child in a pool.  But sometimes a mom’s gotta do, what a mom’s gotta do!

And, it actually worked. 

Now before you start sending me messages about child safety, please know I’m not putting my kids in Bumbos..in pools… while napping… in a hammock.  I’m just using it to stabilize one of my 10 month old weeble-wobbles while I’m tending to the other! I’m never more than a few feet away. 

That being said, I do have a history of improvising when it comes to baby gear.  Sometimes it’s simply an off-label use (like a bumbo in a pool).  At other times, we’ve had to make due in manners, that in retrospect, may have not been the wisest.

Case in point…

Now, given the above depicted parenting fail, I may deserve your messages of concern!  If you feel the need to send me a note of disgust please address it, “Dear idiot mother who used a case of Miller Light as a booster seat while securing her one year old to a chair with her husband’s belt“!  (I know that’s a long salutation  but it fits…don’t you think?)

And don’t forget to mention the ironing board in the background with the hot iron teetering on the edge. 

Clearly the scene depicted above occurred prior to the emergance of Sean’s alter ego, Captain Safety! 

It’s a wonder Ryan has made it to 15!  But he has. Without major medical incident.

A miracle? 

Possibly…

…but I don’t think so.

As parents, we have to get creative with our kid related problem solving by channeling our inner MacGyver.  Improvise.  It’s an art and, I think,  a necessary part of surviving parenthood.  Bumbos in pools and cases of beer as booster seats require that common sense is enlisted.  (Let me repeat the words…common sense!)  

So next time you are faced with a parenting dilemma, use your God-given creative mama-instincts by thinking outside the box!  Then pat yourself on the back, and make the phrase, “I CAN do this is” your mantra. 

Oh…and take a picture of your solution and send it to me!  I can use all the mothering help I can get!

*Important*   Edited to Add…

Bumbo seats have recently been recalled due to a high incidence of infant skull fractures.  Please see link here for information on how to get a safety harness for your Bumbo seat!