Archive of ‘Erin’ category

You Wanna Know How I know I’m a Good Mom?

You wanna know how I know I’m a good mom? The best maybe?

Because this morning, I made my child a piece of toast with almond butter in a complete pre-8am haze, same as many mornings before. And when he was finished the entire piece of toast, I trumpetted, “Good job, Abe! You ate an entire piece of peanutbutter toast!”
That would be when my heart stopped beating. Because anyone who knows anything about anything ever in the world knows that you don’t give a child PEANUT BUTTER before the age of TWO. How old is Abe? Come on, who’s been paying attention?? HE’S ONE.
ONE.
ONE YEAR OLD.
AND I FED HIM ENOUGH PEANUT BUTTER TO KILL AN ENTIRE SCHOOL FULL OF PEANUT-ALLERGIC-KIDS IN CHINA. OR ANY OTHER COUNTRY FOR THAT MATTER.
Could it be true? I peeked into the kitchen to see an open jar of peanut butter, a butter knife, and a small, black ribbon with the words, “Worst. Mother. Ever.” on the counter. I immediately grabbed Abraham and started wiping him down (because that’s proven to ward off anaphylactic shock) and asking him, “Can you feel your tongue? Is it bigger than before? Can you breathe? Is your mouth itchy?” Of course, this frantic sponge bath totally freaked him out and caused him to cry loud and hard. In turn, this convinced me he was dying of peanuts and it was my fault. I sat on the floor and held him for 17 hours before I was certain letting him go wouldn’t require a trip to the ER.

So, you wanna know how I’m a good mom? I found out my kid isn’t allergic to peanuts when he was only a year old. 100% sooner than normal parents. You’re welcome, Abe.

Let’s try shellfish next, mommy.

 

Target: A Mom’s Voice

I was recently sent this blog posting by a friend. While I read it I did one of those looking around the room to see if anyone else found this as funny as I did kind of laughs. I was alone.

Inside the Mind of a 2-Year-Old.

Later that week I made a trip to Target (please pronounce it correctly, and roll the “r” if you’re feeling spicy). It reminded me of the post above and I decided to write my own. So I present to you, Target: A Mom’s Voice.

Ready, Abe? Here we go!
I wonder if there is anything good in the $1 bins! Let’s look and see.
Ooo! What a funny squishy ball. I’m going to wiggle it in your face! Isn’t that funny? That’s funny! Ok, sit down.
Hmm, do you think we need some more of these storage containers? They might not be here the next time we come. Let me think we have 3 in your room, 1 in the sit down Abe, 1 in the play room. Yeah, let’s get 2 more.
Mommy has a list, Bubba. We need avocados and tomatoes and candy and a toy. Let’s go get those avocados first! Ok you hold the list, good idea.
Don’t eat the list. Mommy needs it.
Stop eating it sweetie or I’ll have to take it away.
Abe.
Ok, Mommy’s taking the list now. I’ll hold it, thank you. Here, you hold the keys.
Three avocados, these look good. Want to hold one? No, don’t eat it yet. Just, here I’ll take it. Thank you.
Now we need to pick a fun candy out for your cousin. It’s his birthday. Sit down, Abe.
Which one do you think? Sit down. Abraham, if you stand up you  might fall out. Sit down.
Ok, let’s pick this kind. It’s a sour kind of candy. Wow, very colorful!
Please don’t scream. Use an inside voice. Where are the keys?
Alright, I’ll put the keys in here to be safe. We can’t get home if we don’t have the keys.
Shhh, too loud.
Ok last thing is a gift for your little friend. She’s turning 2! Wow!
Sit down, sweetie. No yelling.
Please, quiet voice. Too loud. Let’s keep it together to get the gift.
Wow! Look at all these toys! Sit down, you can’t reach that. It’s too high. Sit down.
Abe please stop screaming.
Do you want to get her this Abe you are going to fall out. Ok, does mama need to carry you?
Ok, here, I will carry you while we look at toys.
Look, push this button! It makes a sound! Should we get her that? Ok great, let’s put it in the cart.
Shhhh, Abe. Stop. That’s too loud.
Mommy can’t hold you if you squirm. Just hold on.
Ok. You need to sit back down. Mommy cannot hold you if you’re going to wiggle.
Abe, stop screaming. Put your feet through here. Now sit down.
Shh. Abraham, why are you screaming?
Ok, we’re going. All finished. Let’s go.
Sorry, I’m sorry everyone!
Shh, quiet. Sit down.
Ouch. Abraham that hurt. Do not scratch me. Just sit down we are leaving right now. We’re all finished.
What? I’m sorry ma’am, what? Yes, credit. Thank you.
Abe, stop it. Too loud. I’ll pick you up but only for a minute. Come here.
I cannot hold you if fine, sit in the big part of the basket.
I don’t think it’s safe to stand up in there. Sit down.
Thanks, you have a nice day, too!
Ok, no if you stand up in the basket and fall I am going to be on Dateline. Sit down.
We’re outside now, why don’t you scream now? Go ahead. Scream it up.
Seriously? Quiet as a mouse, huh? Awesome.
I’m going to leave you here. That’s what I’m going to do. What do you think of that?
Do you mind if I leave you here? Someone will probably come and take you home if you stay this quiet, huh?
Ok, mama’s going to leave you here. Love you. Byeee.

Facebook Status: (Erin Salem Cohen) He's in the Target parking lot on Roosevelt. First come first serve, but keep in mind he's got lungs on him.

360 Months

Hiee.

So, I’m 30. I am from now on going to be labeled a “grown-up”. Like, an official one. You can get away with Big Kid during the twenties decade. But during the 30’s it’s way less endearing to say things like, “I’m never going to be an adult.” You end up on Dr. Phil in a show called, “My Daughter Refuses to Grow Up” if you say things like that in your 30’s.

Poor older drunk girl.

There are some pits in my stomach regarding the social mores of turning 30. One of them is never being able to get away with getting drunk at a bar again without someone feeling sad for the poor older girl who can’t talk to anyone without leaning against a wall or putting her head down on the bar to “think”. Another is never being able to wear the mini-skirt again (although never having to shave above the knee is a plus). And obviously I’ll have to let it go when a high schooler says, “Wow. Thirty? I hope I look as good as you when I’m thirty.”

An adventure 10 years ago was going on a random camping trip with some friends and 4 people we met at 7-11, inspiring a brief love affair with not wearing a bra. Or driving to the Keys with no money and no place to stay with killer bikinis and toothpaste and ending up in some bar owners house on the river drinking his beer and eating his cereal. An adventure at 30 is getting through Ikea on a Saturday (because that’s the only day you can go) and doing minimal checking account damage; likely ending up with the same chair everyone has in their living room.

You know the chair.

My relationship with my husband has been at a lovely and comfortable stage for a while now, and I only see it getting more “comfortable”. While he did buy me a whirlwind cruise to the Bahamas for the big 3-0 that I’m extremely grateful for, I wonder how much of the “night life” we will be experiencing on the ship. I can only assume night life continues past 9:30. At night now, I like settling in with a good book or an episode of 48 Hours about a torrid love affair in Greece turned ponzi scheme, ripping money from the very hands of the African Orphans who need it most. And while watching intently to find out if the security guard will ever remember seeing the man in the white suit after the concussion he suffered while boogie boarding, my husband will turn to me from his side of the bed, put his hand gently on my shoulder, and with a determined look in his eye ask, “Baby, how do I beat this level of Angry Birds?”

You're welcome.

And then I show him. And he’s so grateful.

My relationships are much more honest, and I’m far more willing to say what I want/need to someone I used to consider my “superior.” I accept a lot more about myself, and also know what I shouldn’t accept from myself (I.E. The 8 pounds I’ve yet to lose from AbeFest 2010.) I admit when I don’t like something, and indulge when I do. I say it when I’m wrong and leave my ego at the door, unless I’m not wrong and even then I might just let you have it. Turns out I actually like gardening and I actually don’t like riding a bike. Oh, and if I want the dress at Target I’m going to buy it. Life’s too short.

All in all, 30 feels liberating and exciting. And while I’d like to write more about 30, it’s almost 8pm as I write this and that is when I brush my teeth and put on my jammies.

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