Ask Away Friday - THE Funniest Blogger I Know

GUESS WHAT?! It's ASK AWAY FRIDAY with one of my girls, ECHO! 

   

What is #AskAwayFriday? Well…

#AskAwayFriday was created by the amazing Penny from Real Housewife of Caroline County as a place for us to connect with other bloggers by asking them ten questions to really get to know them. The sky is the limit with the questions you ask! Meeting other bloggers and making new friends is one of the best parts of this online world!

Echo blogs at Domain of the Mad Mommy and if you haven't been to her blog before then get prepared for a laughing snort fest. She's a homeschooling mother of two, a blogger who dreams of being a pioneer woman, and honestly...I cannot stress enough how funny this girl is! I'll let you figure out why I call her the meme queen (though I kind of give it away in #7 below) and I'm a strong believer that her blog is going places. Keep an eye out for her! AND HEY! You're welcome. You're going to love her just like me!
 

Here we go....!

1. So, you and are blog are totally AWESOME! Was Dylan your only inspiration for blogging? 

Thank you! Though Dylan is my little muse, I’ve been blogging since…geez, I don’t know, 2000? The blogs are embarrassing, please don't look them up! I was 16...and let's just say Dylan makes for much better blogging.

2. When was the first time that you called yourself a blogger? Either out loud or to yourself. Referring to myself as a blogger aint no thang. Referring to myself as a writer…now THAT’S a term I used to fumble with. I mean, Bob Dylan is a writer, J.D. Salinger is a writer, Tom Robbins? A writer. Me? Yeah! 

3. What is your FAVORITE post that you have written so far? What is one that you wish you didn't post? Sharing my words makes me feel naked… my stomach drops with each click of “Publish"...and yet I'm elated each time. I finished a post! I made it! Out of my brain! lol Here's one I won't read...lol  And this is my fave.

4. Dylan is seriously adorable and so expressive! What are a few of your FAVORITE Dylan faces? (Pictures please!!!!) It's cute but I know what it really is: his father. His infamous expressions are so distracting in conversation....!  

Recent faces

I put this one together a year ago

Confession: I Can See the Future

Becoming a mom has turned me into such a visionary. And by visionary, I mean that I suddenly have a gift where I see dozens of possibilities flash seven seconds prior to Dylan acting a fool. “Gift” might be the wrong word for something that inevitably results in high blood pressure and an early onset of gray hair, but this newfound mommy-vision has saved Dylan’s head from cracking open on more than one occasion, so “gift” it is. But let me tell ya, being a visionary aint all that, it’s freaking stressful! 

Trying to determine the likelihood of the multiverses I sneak peak when Dylan tempts fate through acrobatic freak shows is half the torture. I see it all: broken teeth, paralysis, concussions…you name it. The other half of my perception’s torture is trying to figure out when to swoop in and shut that shit down. Sure, I may have come to terms with the fact that keeping Dylan in a bubble is illegal impossible; and yes, I want him to experience the slips, trips, and falls of toddlerhood...but avoiding the emergency room would be nice. 

I’m beginning to think my mommy-vision emerged from a survival instinct because obviously Dylan’s trying to kill me. I mean, why else would he transform seemingly safe things into suicidal instruments?My expectations for a toddler’s sensibility may be a tad out of touch...but really Dylan? Is it really necessary to fall four feet to the ground in order to realize that standing on top of a slide isn’t a good idea? “Look Mom! No hands!” Psh, show off. 

So should you catch me running to the aid of my perfectly fine baby seconds prior to him stepping off a curb, know that it’s not just helicopter mom activating the chopper, I’m practically psychic! Honestly, I just saved the day in at least a hundred ways. I’m “gifted” like that. 

Cousins...aww!

All Things Dylan, All Things Crazy

Sometimes (okay, ALL the time) an extended weekend is much needed and this past 4th of July fit the bill. In between fireworks, a family reunion, a fancy-schmancy dinner, and a day at the beach, we were all over the place. But it was the kind of busy that comes easy because it’s voluntary, rewarding, and FUN. And I’m all about the fun, all about the sunshine. 

Last night my husband and I fell into bed like two overcooked lobsters and tried to come up with our favorite parts of the weekend but it was too good to narrow down. Considering the long nights that overlapped Dylan’s typical bedtime, he remained well-behaved and in good spirits throughout. My little big boy has changed so much since he was born that it’s nice to spend a bulk of time with him and observe details that may normally slip past unnoticed. And if Dylan is anything like me, he’s going to grow up asking a gazillion questions about what he was like as a baby kid. So while the pan of memory is still hot, here’s to Dizbaby developments: 

The name "Dylan" means: Son of the sea. Can ya tell?

• Much to my dismay, my son is a misogynist. He violently rejects female attention and refuses to engage with the opposite sex; unless you’re a kid, because… 

• My son is also an ageist. He’s down for kids under 10, but if you’re in the female over 10 demographic, either get out of his way or he’ll make you, because…

Hi! We're Dylan's Parents..!

• He’s MEAN! I cannot stress enough just how mean this 1 year old is. He’ll cry, he’ll shoot the evil eye, he’ll push, smack, scream, leave your high-five hanging because…

• Dylan knows what he wants, knows what he likes, and won’t fall for your tricks. Sure, he might love avocados, kisses, and dancing, but will take direction from no one. He’s his own boss [ugh] and too clever to be fooled. But he’s much more than a little tyrant, he’s also (and equally) extremely sweet and courteous. He will approach you with a “Hi!”, give you a kiss, hug-hug-hug, and lift his sippy-cup to in the name of “cheers.” And uhm..

• It’s confusing. The contrast between his pleasant disposition and serial-killer attitude is a cluster of madness. Nice to meetcha, toddlerhood. 

• And he’s SHY! I’m constantly asked if Dylan can talk...of course he can! Is it not obvious? No, it’s really not. Apparently my chatter-box-Charlie is a mute in the presence of large groups. His favorite, “Can Dylan Say…” game becomes a round of “Mommy is a braggy liar” with anti-climactic silence followed by, “I swear he can talk.” But his shyness extends beyond small talk intros...

• Warning, TMI! My kid wont go number 2 anywhere but home. He’ll hold his uhm…you know, all day long if he has to. This means that there’s a lot of catching up to do once home. But hey- when duty calls.... 

So yes, my legs may be covered in a series of 4th of July mosquito bites and a sunburn that screams idiot alert, but whatever! It’s all good. And even if my son is turning out to be a bit of a high-maintenance weirdo who doesn’t trust women, yet will fly to the arms of any male stranger, it was nice spending three days with my little (HAH) pooper. My only complaint? I want to do it all over again. Translation: Expect a festivity filled photo dump. 

How Adults Are Born - Ick

My childhood may be long gone but my inner child lives; not as much as I’d like her to, but she’s still there. She’s easily excitable, believes in magic, wonders why/why/why, and at her best- will forgive fully, apologize sincerely, and judge nothing. She’ll also unintentionally embarrass those around her (it's too fun to act a fool have fun). You see, I don’t wanna grow up! I want to be forever young [in spirit] and enjoy experiences the way children do. So when I eventually did “grow up,” I was delighted that my newfound freedom enabled chili-cheese fries with each meal, T.V. until midnight, and making my bed when I freaking felt like it. Doing what I want sans restrictions? Every kids’ dream. 

But as much as I want to goof-off, run rampantly, make-believe, and eat junk food all-day-all-night, I can’t shake the truth: I’m responsible, I’m a mom. Being a rule maker/enforcer/straight up bossy is part of the whole child rearing shebang and is proving to be a powerful antidote to my anarchist nature. I thought having a kid would allow me to be more of a kid but the opposite is happening: I’m actually becoming more of an adult. Ick, what a drag. 

My high hopes for playing one of the “five little monkeys jumping on the bed” alongside my son has been replaced with motherly concerns for the bumping of heads. The back-to-back chocolate bar binges are further and farther in between and I have zero desire to stay up later than need be because quite frankly, I’m exhausted. Skipping dinner? Not a chance. Waking up whenever? Ain’t happening. I once believed I would be the cool mom who'd let her kid do whatever because said kid would appreciate boundaries and would actually want to be sensible. Obviously if you stand on a toy car enough, you WILL fall on the tile floor; it has wheels, Dylan. Yeah uhm, not so obvious and not so appreciated, apparently. And though I still take every chance I get [within reason] to be childlike with Dylan, "within reason" is proof enough that my childhood really is long gone. 

This whole “parenting” gig has taught me that with each sticky-handed, freedom-seeking, shelf-climbing, nocturnal child that comes to be, an adult is born. And according to my [at times] boring but rewarding routine, my fatigued but well-nourished body, I’m really okay with being forever young on a part-time basis because have you seen my son? He’s pretty neat. Take a good look, I’m a no-nonsense mom...now.

Food Fights – The Struggle is Real

Even though I’ve [pretty much] come to terms with the fact (yes, it’s a fact) that toddlers are unintentionally evil, the struggle is real. For the past couple of weeks, my fatty-little-big-boy has decided that he no longer needs to eat meals, he just needs to taste them. It’s his new “thing.” It makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner an epic fail every time. Dylan has been historically fat, eating twice, sometimes triple of what a kid his age would should be eating, so I thought perhaps the food itself has become the problem. Oh, he’s learning what he likes! Oh, he’s sick of eggs; he doesn’t like cheese. Oh, this rice is hot! 

 

But there’s just no way; Dylan’s food rejection is far too frequent to be picky eating. Besides, picky? HAH! Dylan is practically a garbage disposal; three weeks ago he would’ve eaten a piece of paper with an “Mmm” if I let him. But sure, he's picky. If by "picky" you mean he only pulls the chew & spit behavior with mom and dad. So what gives? I cross-checked the possibilities: too many snacks in between meals? Too much water? New-found flavor/texture discrimination? Highchair contention? Let’s get mommy to lose her shit syndrome? Who knows!? The bottom line is the kid needs to eat. Why? Cue the Mom Anthem: BECAUSE I SAID SO. 

My house looks fairly normal from the outside. One would never guess that there’s a war taking place behind those walls. You’d never anticipate dinner being flung at your face when you open the front door. I might even hand you the problem child with a stern, “GOOD LUCK” before locking myself away in the bathroom until the food dust settles. But don’t worry, I’m not just escaping the wrath of a baby gone bad, I’m googling search terms and coming up with obvious clever ways to get this situation under control. Because when all else fails, there’s nothing like 23 different websites all telling you the same thing: toddlers are evil rebels without a cause.