In a world where you can be anything, be kind—until they say “6-7,” and then, well, all bets are off. That’s my new motto, etched into my boy-mom soul with the same grim permanence as a Sharpie stain on a couch cushion. You know the original saying, the one that sounds like it was dreamed up by someone whose biggest household crisis was a slightly wilted ficus? Mine’s been battle-tested in the trenches of a home where survival sometimes feels like the main event.
Picture this: I’m in the thick of what I call the “keeping them alive” phase of parenting three boys—Cub, Oz, and Wynn, my little whirlwinds of testosterone and poor impulse control. It’s not hyperbole. These kids have elevated “6-7” (you know, that endlessly clever knockoff of the world’s dumbest joke) to a kind of tribal chant. Say it once? Adorable. Twice? Tolerable. By the 47th time before breakfast, I’m wondering if the neighbors would hear a scream or just assume it’s the dog again. Being a boy mom isn’t for the faint of heart; it’s for those who’ve stared down a fart joke epidemic and lived to tell the tale. Poop? Fart? Endless variations on bodily functions? I’ve banned those words so often I sound like a malfunctioning parrot: “Quit saying it! Napkin! Napkin exists for a reason!”
And don’t get me started on selective hearing. You can deliver a State of the Union address about bedtime, and it bounces off them like rain on a raincoat—yet whisper “ice cream” from the next room, and they’re there faster than a Disney Lightning Lane Premier Pass holder. Dinner tables? Forget Norman Rockwell; ours is a spill zone of biblical proportions. Ketchup arcing through the air like a poorly aimed missile, milk pooling mysteriously under chairs—it’s inevitable, like taxes or that one sock vanishing in the dryer. The shirts? Always, always stained, not from heroic spills but from the casual genius of wiping grubby hands right across the chest, napkin be damned. I’ve done laundry loads that could fill a Laundromat, each one a testament to why paper towels were invented.
Then there’s the trail of abandoned gear—water bottles sprouting like mushrooms in every corner of town, jackets draped over bleachers from wrestling meets to soccer fields as if we’re auditioning for a lost-and-found world record. We’ve left behind more Owalas than a hydration influencer. It’s chaos, pure and operatic, the kind that would send a lesser soul fleeing for the hills. But here’s the magic: amid the “6-7” choruses and the perpetual crumbs, there’s this ferocious joy in it. These boys are my tornadoes, my glorious messes, and somehow, in the eye of the storm, I wouldn’t trade a single stained shirt for all the quiet in the world. Kind until 6-7 hits critical mass—then mama roars. Be kind out there, friends. Or at least napkin-adjacent.
It’s 7:02 am, and I have already checked multiple things off my to-do list.
The year 2017 has been filled with a lot of heartache, as far as I am concerned. As summer approaches, I continue to hope for better things on the horizon, and I think they are out there. We have had some interesting developments since my last post, so I decided I would take a few minutes to share them with you.
For my Resolution/Goal: To be a better mom. I am an ok mom, but there are so many times of my day where I put Cub on the back burner so I can just do one more work thing, or start dinner, or get that load of laundry in. Honestly, it can all wait, because he deserves every bit of my attention, and in 2017, I am going to do my best to give it to him.
My January Goal: I want to walk Lucy more. She has so much energy, and deserves a good walk every day, and some days, I just send her in the back yard with Milton to play for a while. She’s getting a walk today, and hopefully many more days this month.
There are basically 3 elements to my life nowadays. The first is Parenting. The second is work, and the third is attempting to get back into shape. I am taking the first day by day. I mean, how else to do you parenting. Very little planning can be done, and the messes are inevitable. I still have yet to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time in going on 8 months. However, my little boy is growing up to be a fierce, tough and determined young man, but then again what else should I have expected? He is half Ginn after all.
As I have told you on my last post, I have started using a service call The Daily Burn. It basically gives you access to workout videos via an streaming device. I have found it very convenient because I don’t have to pack up Cub and got to a gym or class. As soon as he goes down for a nap, I can flip on the Roku and work up a sweat. I highly recommend it to moms looking to get their body back. It is only about $15 a month, and I definitely feel like I have gotten my moneys worth in just the 3 weeks I have been using it.
This year is already flying by, and my little baby is 7 months old. He’s crawling, talking, standing up on everything and is turning out to be this stubborn, tenacious little person. He is such a great combination of both Chas and me. We went to the doctor the other day, and he is in the 19% in height and only the 5% in weight. We are a little worried about that, but the kid is an eater. We just have to work a little harder I guess. Another light weight in the family.
Running From Everything 