Documenting Brittany: Diary Entries by The Perfect Christian Mom

Diary Entries by The Perfect Christian Mom:

I totally work out every day. I really do. I have biceps to prove it. But let’s get one thing clear: My workouts consist of doing planks, downward dog, upward dog, scolding the kids dog, drinking flavored water dog (cause plain water is yuck) and basically ALL the dogs...whilst said kids are climbing, jumping, and hanging from my yoga inspired positions. Need a bicep workout? Just add 65lbs of resistance...not kidding. I can loan you 63 of those pounds for free on any given occasion.

On second thought, can we maybe trade services? I’ll loan you my precious ankle and wrist weights for an evening out on the town. Have you tried hiring a babysitter these days? I’m not sure what is more horrifying: 1) the fact that they expect to be paid above minimum wage for doing what people should, by any obligation, DO. (Keep other humans alive, take one for the team, make it a village) or 2) that they literally sit on Facebook the entire time, and you come home to a 16 month old running around the house with an open sharpie, toilet paper unraveled, chalk drawn on the walls, and spilled food that was probably once the Seashell Shaped Annie’s Mac n Cheese smashed all over the kitchen floor. (Who eats non organic Kraft these days?) Screw babysitters. I have other mom friends who are die hard shape shifters and would watch my kids on the nonnegotiable universal fee of FREE so that society isn’t being led by frazzled, starving women who have been told they can simultaneously demote the highest ranking male CEO of their company (and likely send him to jail, too) and properly steward a home of Christ-centered offspring.

Oh, shoot. I haven’t mentioned my Christian roots yet? Eek...right. Church.
God. Bible. All the prayers.

I can’t miss church on Sundays because heaven knows I need my weekly dose of repentance. It’s good to be spiritually fed. How can we teach our kids right and wrong if we haven’t learned the Christian Code ourselves? Trying to lead your tribe by example? Piece of cake. Take modesty for starters. I make sure I’m within at least a four mile radius of a splash pad before sending my swimsuit selfies into cyber space.
I don’t believe in physical punishments. 
 I’ve never actually spanked my husband. MY CHILDREN! Oops...did I say husband? I’ve never spanked my—cough—children. Not. Once.
 Emotionally abuse them? Maybe. You decide. 
I tell them to “Stop crying!” “Shake it off!” or “Make better decisions!”  Because the end of the world is coming and my family WILL BE THE SOLE SURVIVORS OF THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, darn it! And also, Jesus will be there so...we need to be presentable, toddlers and all. 

Holding my kids to an adult level of perfection (one that even I will never meet) is always going to be the first thing I beg for forgiveness for. Why can’t they just stop fussing?! Seriously, if I hear, “Mom! He bit my hair!” One more time...I’m going to break 4 and a half of the 10 commandments. 

(Who? Like. Who, bites hair?)

On the topic of hair. I spent 12 years as a professional cosmetologist so I can confidently say that I have the nicest hair in the chapel. That’s right. I said it. I adequately wash my hair once a week. (Saturdays. The night before Sunday. Lest I lose my reputation as the Sunday Slay Queen of the Congregation) I also take time to shave. All the way up to my knees!! Borrow my husband’s deodorant, and give my kids a good pep talk about being reverent during our worship services. My husband and I {lead by an example of reverence} by not talking to each other. IIf the chitlens last more than eight minutes in the pew I call it a win, and we spend the rest of the hour in the hall playing tag and eating fruit snacks. Be jealous.

Spiritually, I think we are pretty solid. My kids know how to 
Say prayers and actually argue about who gets to say the blessing over meals. I’ve never been more proud than when one of my kids uses, “That’s not what Jesus would do!” in a sibling war. What confuses me is how frequently kids pick fights with one another. We instill values of honesty and open communication, but suddenly our children are possessed by the devil of Tattle Telling (and a Devil she is!)
“He stole my play dough!”
“She said I didn’t like this cartoon, and I do like it!”
“I called the black car seat first!”
“He’s eating the dish soap!”

{Alright, thanks for that last one.} Now go work through it like a half-rational mammal.

I’ve only been the neglectful mother who almost killed her kids a handful of times. Like the time I rolled my car window up on my kid’s throat, or discovered whole, intact Shopkins accessories in my 20 month old’s diaper. You win some, you lose some.

While I’m winning in the spiritual and bicep department, I find myself losing in the bedroom. Anyone else find romance a little gag-worthy postpartum? I really do try for my husband. Truly. I wouldn’t put so much energy into cooking healthy, and balancing three kids on my back to do push-ups if I’d completely thrown in the towel on intimacy. Where things get weird is the fine print between the reality 
that I have to hold my breath while snuggling him
and I have to ask him NOT to bump my thumb-sized hemorrhoid if we get frisky. (Not foreplay, in case you didn’t know)
Wondering if you’re still hot? Still “got it”? Nope. Not even a tiny bit. My hottest moments are catching the eye of the butcher in the deli department at the grocery store or having my 90 year old neighbor compliment me on my sense of fashion. (He was wearing his glasses!)

So what if men forget to tell you you look good, Never wash the sheets, Can’t eat a hot dog on regular bread, Work “so hard during the day” they’re just “too tired to help around the house or play with the children.” They still deserve some lovin’, ammiright?!? 
That is called  sarcasm. The S is pronounced as a Z.
Said in my most Sardonic Snow White Voice: If you’re too tired to help with the dishes I guess you’re just too tired to make love. Awww...

Is that why people start swinging??? Sigh....where’s my bible? Why am I here? I should’ve been a Lesbian...

Who needs attention, anyway? That is vanity, right? And we are good, Christian people with a life focus on faith, hope, and charity. 
(Side note: “Stop screaming! This is a house of harmony!” Ends up number two on your list of things to seek forgiveness for on Sundays) 

It’s tricky toeing the line of raising kids who are sweet buuuut not doormats. Where do you remind your kids to “be nice and a peacemaker” but also teach them that bratty kids have no power over them. “Uh-uh! awwww nawwww, that girl did NOT just say you couldn’t sit with her!”
Kids are straight up bullies these days.
The phrase “LOL, they’re just being kids” is the lazy parent’s guide to discipline.
Sure, they’re just being kids.
Then, they’re just being teenagers.
Pretty soon, they’re just being dipwad adults. And whose fault is that?
50% of a human’s idiotic behavior can be pinpointed to an idiotic parent. (Why do you think I suck) The other 50% is environmental factors and learned behavior, so do us all a favor and freakin turn off Sophia the First.

We must Get off our butts when our kid is being a stinker, make them accountable, have them return the toys they stole, look the other kid in the eye and ask for forgiveness, be polite, and clean up after themselves. It takes conscious, dedication to raise a new generation. It means getting off Twitter and Pinterest and facilitating decent, common curtesy and ACTING as mediatior, not just rolling our eyes as they stink their way through life.
One of my fav parts:
When you bond over parenting skills with your female BFF.
“Please, Marry me.”

Sensitive spirits (like mine and my first born child’s) take bullying to the core. It wounds their spirits and in those “they’re just being teenage years” a sensitive kid can go down a suicidal rabbit hole.

The lazy parent of a bully should get shoved up quite another hole.

Shoot. Love thy neighbor as thyself and forgive 70 times 7. We’re cool, yeah?

On top of all this, there’s the easy stuff.
Spend $800 on back to school clothes. Volunteer in the kids’ classroom 14 times out of the school year. Wait, whhaaaa??? Buy only white furniture. Keep your dogs tranquilized. Only post pics online in front of a chic wall, or standing in the middle of the street. #CauseAesthetics. Pretend you’re snacking on almonds when it’s really handfuls of skittles. Let the noodles dry BEFORE you try to sweep them up (you’ll thank me later). Set a good example at church by listening to the speakers, but don’t create an atmosphere of loathing for your children who will associate gospel learning with whatever you do. (AKA: colorful mini marshmallows)

Get into debt shopping the latest trends on ridiculously overpriced Instagram boutiques. Wipe up the third spilled cup of milk (waste is the new teach your children independence ). Be present in politics but not opinionated. No one wants to lose followers. Wake up before your kids so
 they can eat a nutritional breakfast before school, regardless of the zero minutes of sleep you 
Got the night before. Be choosey about which mom friends you marry, which you secretly divorce, don’t discriminate 
 but send that nasty, foul-mouthed neighbor child home, understand family is family, but know when to ostracize that one cousin who is literally the meanest, spawn of Satan you’ve ever encountered. Refrain from cursing at your child when they wake up screaming for a popsicle at three in the morning. Do us all a favor, squeeze in some quality “Me Time” by getting a facial (your Mom acne, fo real) in all of your spare time. 
If you’ve got tips on mom acne...
Don’t look now, but according to WebMD you’ve got every disease and malady known to man.

Fire the pervy uncle. Try not to be the pervy aunt. Realize some people will read this and laugh while others will be filled with guilt induced rage and seethe, “She’s talking about me!” Call kids’ parents before you feed them gluten, dairy, sugar, before letting them watch Spongebob, and after your five year old reveals to their nine year old Santa is not, in fact, real. Master the art of not texting back. 
Don’t hold grudges...unless the kids don’t have school on Thursday but it wasn’t marked in the academic calendar. 

It’s acceptable to be an excellent mother and a so-so
missionary (Priorities, people). Do your best, have positive energy, love with all your soul. Cut people some slack cause you’re probably more irritating then all of them. ;)
God’s grace will fill in the rest.

I could boast all day about my garden and the seasonal bulbs about to bloom, but the bottom line is weeds are still gonna grow. It’s inevitable for all of us. Life is about picking and choosing your battles. Which snotty kids you’ll let yours punch. Calculating the exact number of 70 times 7 so that A-hole number 4,957 can receive your full, pent up—haven’t been able to take Prozac because you’ve been breastfeeding for five years— justified, wrath.

A probable first step in being a Christian parent is to  Find common ground with people in all walks of life.
A) the “childless”. Perhaps you’re both interested in reconstructive surgery? Hers for a nose job, yours for uterine prolapse.
B) the “I only have one child”. Hey, a lack of sleep is a lack of sleep.
C) the “nine kids and counting”. The older you both get, the more polygamy sounds reasonable. There can never be too many shoulders to cry on or too many sugared pie crusts.

Take a breather.
I’m here for you.
If you’re about to add PARENTHOOD to your resume, I have one suggestion. Learn to meditate, for a previously undiscovered level of hate will enter your bosom when you witness:
1) someone speeding through a school zone.
2) an environmentalist criticizing your choice to keep your two younger kids in the mini van to watch movies while the older one is in gymnastics class.

If you’re a 9-5 working mom, trying to juggle parenthood and date the man child you have eternally sworn to cherish... I apologize. I can’t help you. 

I WILL pray for you. Cause I’m kind of a nice person. But...

It’s effing difficult out there...God bless all you mamas...
Here’s my therapists number and a signed copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

But seriously...Marry me.


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