Neverland Diaries

"Fish bit me," Max tried to tell me, while I was in the middle of making dinner.  "OK buddy," I shrugged and continued making my dinner. Max quickly forgot and went on to count all of the oranges in a bowl on the kitchen table.  A full 10 minutes later I walked past the fish tank on my way to the laundry room and, to my horror, poor Dingus the fish was laying still on the tile, covered in an embarrassing amount of dirt, dust and dog hair.  OMG, he's dead.  I yelled for my husband, who casually picked him up and, to our surprise, wriggled a little.  OMG, he's still alive.  Dave rinsed him off and placed him back in the fish tank where he continued to wriggle, then floated upside-down for a little, then wriggled some more. Slowly, Dingus the fish started moving more and more, until he was back to his usual buggy-eyed, O-mouthed self.  It wasn't the first time this week death had crossed our paths.  A week befor...

Somehow, in the last few months, a furry little red monster from the past has crept back into our lives. You know who I'm talking about.  Over the years, I have watched as my sons were drawn like magnets to Elmo during their baby days. From about 18 months old until their 3rd birthday, "Melmo" was #1. It wasn't my first rodeo with the muppet; my baby brother, Barry, born in 1996 during Elmo's heyday, gave me my initiation into the Cult of Elmo. I was admittedly excited to watch "Elmo Saves Christmas" and "Elmo Says Boo" along with my own sons, and enjoyed the brief wave of nostalgia those ancient VHS tapes brought.   I've heard many people express a hatred for Elmo, and I get it; his falsetto voice, screechy laughter and repetitious nature can be grating. A former co-worker of mine had more reason than most to be anti-Elmo; he was trampled by Tickle Me Elmo-hungry customers one Christmas while he was working at a toy store, an...

Growing up, I only had three addresses and three landline phone numbers that I really called home … and I still know them by heart. As a kid, just the idea of pulling up our roots as a family and moving to a new home, even if it was just down the street, was devastating. I can recall probably a dozen or more kids that followed me through school from kindergarten to graduation, whose family also stayed put in the same zip code for decades. Are things still this way? Making the decision to move my kids out of their comfort zones into a new home and new neighborhood was difficult. Lucas seems to be taking the move like me; with a grain of salt and a large dose of sentimentality. He and I are both creatures of comfort; change is the enemy. Our new pool and his new upstairs bedroom that he doesn't have to share seem to be taking the sting out of the situation. Plus, he's already flagged down some new neighbors in an attempt to make friends, forcing me to come out of my sh...

Firework-intensive holidays have never been my favorite, but now as a mother of boys, I loathe them even more.  I have good reason.  There was that one time when a couple of defective mortars shot towards our house and exploded at my feet, leaving my ears ringing and my nerves shaken for the rest of the night. Then this year, one of the members of our household (I'll give you a hint; it wasn't one of the kids) set off a grenade firecracker the wrong way and ended up with a badly burned thumb. And not to mention all the years we were forced to stay at home on the 4th of July with a PTSD-riddled giant of a dog so he wouldn't demolish the bathroom door.  The real worry for me is the pure glee, that Christmas-morning twinkle in the eyes of my boys as we set them loose in the fireworks store. Fireworks packaging features romance names like "Wolf Pack", "Mineshell Mayhem", "Exterminator" and more, the making their selection not unlike a g...

I have a confession to make; I swear. A lot. Maybe not in front of you, usually not at work and hopefully not in public. But I definitely do in front of my kids.  I know, I'm a mom and I shouldn't do that, right? I have to lead by example after all, and calling the jerk that just cut me off in traffic a "dickhole" (fun to say, give it a try sometime), probably isn't adding to my children's development in a positive way. Or maybe it is? Let me back up. I didn't have very sweary parents growing up … if my mom let one slip, you definitely knew she was tired, stressed or truly pissed off. My dad was the same, and usually only cursed if an errant Lego brick or Hot Wheels car found its way underfoot (his swear words even rhymed for added comic effect!). Either way, swearing for them was not a part of their day-to-day lexicon, so I can't blame them for my bad habit.  Maybe Quentin Tarantino is to blame then? As a young teenager I became enthr...

We finally reached a milestone in our house that is inevitable for almost all mothers of boys … my baby is taller than me. By just barely a quarter of an inch. On his 12th birthday, he stood back to back with me and a jury of our family confirmed what we already knew; it wasn't just because of his shoes or standing on weird flooring. He was genuinely and legitimately taller than me.  At 5' 5-1/2", it was only a matter of time before a son would stand taller than me. The other two are sure to follow suit. If the pediatrician is right, he should reach well over 6', at that point, eclipsing even his own dad in height.  As I type this, he is outside painting the exterior of our home with his dad and brother, a home we may not be in for too much longer. It's funny to think how he's grown every quarter of an inch in this home, and he'll finish his growing in another house. The kitchen island that he used to toddle under as a baby now hits him at be...

Here's a short list of items that we have pulled out of Max's nose so far:  Raisins, corn, peas, ground beef, bark from a tree, cookies, cheese, old cheese from under the couch, rice, oatmeal, pieces of crayon and playdough. Basically, if it's the size of a pencil eraser or smaller, Max is going to try and cram it up into his sinus cavity. I'm really terrified of the prospect of pulling a bug or cat food or something worse out his nose one of these days.  This little quirk of his is particularly concerning for us, because, not too long ago, Max underwent ear, nose and throat surgery. Plagued with chronic ear infections and snoring (just like his brothers), we knew he was going to have to get Eustachian tubes and have his adenoid removed, and probably his tonsils eventually too.  This sticking food up the nose thing is all new territory for us. Why on earth is he doing this? It can't feel good; besides he gets mad every time he does it and cries unti...

Ali Wong in her Netflix special Baby Cobra When I was pregnant with my first son, there were not a lot of "pregnancy-truthers" out there. Pregnant women at that time were still led down a primrose path, encouraged to believe that pregnancy and new motherhood was basically the real-life equivalent of a Snapchat floral crown filter. People would ask me how it felt being pregnant, and I would be met with confused or horrified faces when I told them the truth ... I hated it. "Just give me the baby, I like the baby part!" I would say, half joking and all the way serious. The only thing that I enjoyed about being pregnant was feeling them move and kick, but even that lost its charm once those darling little fetuses figured out how to pummel my bladder and ribs. I didn't like the attention my pregnant body brought. The endless advice and words of wisdom from well-meaning and smug strangers alike were more than my soubrette sensibilities could bear. As someon...

Being a parent is challenging and rewarding no matter what, but being a "boymom" is a unique experience all its own. From now until Mother's Day, I'm going to profile a few fellow awesome "boymoms" for a little insight into their crazy and wonderful worlds.  This week, we get to know Juli, mom of Ryan, 18, from Clearwater, FL: What is the most rewarding part of being a "boymom"? Seeing a life through a different perspective. Most boys end-game is different than girls.  What is the hardest part of being a "boymom"? Giving Ryan freedom where I’m not involved. Planning the prom... I have no clue what’s going on. But I will when he needs.    Please tell me a funny story about living with all boys (I know you have them!) Everyone used to think my favorite color was pink because I used to buy everything pink so no one would touch it. It worked til I got tired of the color pink.  When you do find time for yourself, what do you lik...

Being a parent is challenging and rewarding no matter what, but being a "boymom" is a unique experience all its own. From now until Mother's Day, I'm going to profile a few fellow awesome "boymoms" for a little insight into their crazy and wonderful worlds.  This week, we get to know Jenn, a Hospice ARNP/Nursing instructor and mom of Tucker, 6, from St. Petersburg, FL: What is the most rewarding part of being a "boymom"? Teaching them empathy, oh and being ok with poop jokes, fart sounds and dirt (lots and lots of dirt...) What is the hardest part of being a "boymom"? The constant energy needed to keep up! Please tell me a funny story about living with all boys (I know you have them!)  Just the constant silliness ! When you do find time for yourself, what do you like to do?  After drop off at school in the mornings- beach, paddleboarding, reading. What do people get wrong about being a "boymom"? They think they...

Here are list of words that Max has said first; dada, oh yeah!, please, juice, boo boo (peek-a-boo), more, baby, shoes, uh oh and cheese. He has also used ASL to sign milk, shark, thank you, delicious, where and cookie.  Guess what word he hasn't said? Try as I might, I have not been able to get my boy to say "mama". Not on purpose anyway, and not directed towards me. I knew he could say it, but it every time I would try to coax it out of him I was met with a sly little grin and a twinkle in his eye.  This week on the cusp of turning 18 months old, he's finally started to say "mama" regularly, with intention, and directed towards me. It's so nice to finally hear it and he says it in such a sweet way. For a little while, I was worried about his speech development, and a trip to the ear nose and throat doctor gave me even more pause. He failed his hearing test, and after months of successive ear infections, we knew what was coming. Lik...

One of Max's favorite things to do is to beg us for a bite of our food, then promptly spit it out on the ground. He'll even do it when you least expect it, like if you give him cake, or ice cream, or something equally delicious. So, you put the baby down for a nap and have to get on your hands and knees to wipe up the mess. That's when you realize that the rocking chair in the living room is dusty! So, so dusty! The weird wooden rails underneath the seat that you never even think of? Yeah, those need to be dusted off, right away. Once you are done dusting the weird railing of the rocking chair, you look up and notice that the blades of the living room fan are also dusty. So, so dusty! So you sigh, grab your step stool and dust each and every blade. And while you're dusting, little globs of gray dust fall to the floor. Soooo.... You grab the broom and sweep, sweep, sweep. The whole entire house! But stuff keeps getting under the couches. So you move the couches...

Being a parent is challenging and rewarding no matter what, but being a "boymom" is a unique experience all its own. From now until Mother's Day, I'm going to profile a few fellow awesome "boymoms" for a little insight into their crazy and wonderful worlds.  This week, we get to know Mary, a gym/after school manager and mom of Avery, 14, Braylon, 11 and Grayson, 8, from Largo, FL: What is the most rewarding part of being a "boymom"? The never ending wonder of "what will happen next". What is the hardest part of being a "boymom"? Them breaking your heart. Please tell me a funny story about living with all boys (I know you have them!) Walking through Victoria Secrets and avery had a stuffy nose. He said out loud," I don't know why my nose is so stiffy?!" His face turned white and he immediately yelled, "I meant why is my nose so stuffy?!!!" Braylon and Grayson started asking what ...

Being a parent is challenging and rewarding no matter what, but being a "boymom" is a unique experience all its own. From now until Mother's Day, I'm going to profile a few fellow awesome "boymoms" for a little insight into their crazy and wonderful worlds.  This week, we get to know Carrie, a writer and mom of Reilly, 12, and Shane, 9, from St. Petersburg, FL: What is the most rewarding part of being a "boymom"? I love that even though they go HARD all day long, but at the end of the day they still want bedtime snuggles and "mom" time. Yes, even my 12-year-old. What is the hardest part of being a "boymom"? They are definitely not as open as girls. I try to ask about school and get a "it was good." I want to know the details! Who is dating whom. Which teacher is their favorite, etc. I do get some of this at night if I pry.  Please tell me a funny story about living with all boys (I know you have them!).  ...

My sons have seen my boobs way more than I'm sure they care to. It comes with the territory of having a baby brother and a nursing mom that doesn't give a damn. It wasn't always this way. I'm not shy, but I'm definitely a prude. As someone who wears one-piece bathing suits and knee-length dresses, modesty is definitely my usual go-to. I tend to cover my eyes when things get too sexy in movies and on TV, a holdover from my prepubescent days no doubt. Somehow, having a hungry baby and a full load of household and motherly duties has made me not care about exposing myself. I still cover up in mixed company, or when I'm out and about or at someone else's house. If you're in my home though and you're in the circle of trust (you know who you are) all bets are off. I think it's important for nursing moms to openly nurse in front of their kids, regardless of age or sex. I don't think that I'm scarring my 8 and 11-year-old sons for life...

Tonight we will build a leprechaun trap. The execution and idea of said trap is fairly rudimentary and simple. Ok, it's essentially just a deadfall trap with a pile of Lucky Charms and some of my best costume jewelry underneath but stay with me.  Growing up, my family and I were heavy into the holidays, with my mom and dad making a celebration out of even the most mundane calendar events. Of all of the made up, pseudo-holidays, St. Patrick's Day was probably my favorite. Every year it was the same; green food dye in our milk, corned beef and cabbage in our bellies, "Darby O'Gill and the Little People" on the TV and my dad speaking in fake Gaelic to make us laugh. Sometimes we even woke up to a trail of golden coins leading to some kind of mischievous setup (in your face, Elf on the Shelf). My grandmother's Irish heritage gave us legit license to celebrate the holiday in our own utterly Americanized way, and I'm happy to pass it down to my ...

On a recent trip to Louisiana, while we were waiting in line at a grocery store for some boudin and cracklins, Max caught the eye of one of the locals. He was a large man who could have probably pulled a gator from the swamp with one arm, and he remarked in his best Matthew McConaughey voice " that's a skinny baby ." He proceeded to boast to us about the girth and size of his own baby boy, whom he lovingly referred to as a "hoss." It's a conversation that we've had a number of times now, and to be fair, everyone is right. Max is in the less than 3% range in height and weight for his age (for those of you that aren't in the know ... that's small). At 16 months old, he only weighs 18 pounds; by comparison, his 12 month old cousin weighs 23 pounds. He started out small though, weighing a full pound less than his older brothers did a birth, due maybe in part to a condition I didn't know I had.  But just because Max is small, doesn...

A voice message from the school nurse today went a little something like this " ...something something height, weight and age ... your child's BMI indicates they are overweight and do you need any counseling on making healthy food choices ... ". The tone of her voice gave me the impression that she didn't like making the call any more than I liked getting it. In retrospect, it's a good thing I didn't answer, because the snarky mother in me may have asked what her BMI was, and whether the school lunch menu's chocolate milk and honey buns constituted as a good food choice.  She wasn't telling us anything we didn't know already. In the grand tradition of kids his age, things have started to fill out around the middle. Historic photographic evidence from the Owen family archives indicate that this was a fate my siblings and I all befell from about 3rd to 6th grade. Chubby cheeks peeking out from under prescription eyeglasses, XL t-shirts and ...

When Luke was 2 or 3 years old, he climbed into our bed while we were asleep. That night, David had a nightmare that he was being stabbed in the back and woke up startled; he could feel the blood dripping from the knife wound. Turns out, Luke just peed on him.  This wasn't the worst thing that happened in the last 12 years of nighttime parenting mishaps. Somehow, David always felt the brunt of it. Toddler-sized heads turn into sledgehammers; size 1 club feet bicycle kick into your softest, most vulnerable spots. Your mattress is ruined.  You go into the whole bedtime routine with good intentions as a new parent. All of the experts and literature tell you they need to be in their own bed. You try; they cry. Your 5:00 a.m. alarm for work nags at you as you try to put them down again, and again and again. You give in and everyone is happier to just drift off to sleep, the baby nursing in the crook of your arm and you in your own damn bed. Many would say to let my...

"Hey mom, can I have $6?" "Uh sure ... what for?" There's a dance at school tomorrow. Valentine's Day dance. He needs two tickets. He says he'll pay me back. Must be important.  And so it begins. Girls. He gets his black button-down shirt ready for the next day; worried about wrinkles, he wets it and puts it in the dryer. It's hanging from his loft bed, ready to be worn.  "Can you give me a haircut?" He's not worried about how he looks, but he wants to be his best. I take a little off the sides and clean up the back. He's really starting to look and sound like his dad.  "I hate Valentine's Day! Can we just skip it?" his little brother feigns disgust at the holiday of love. I know he'll still be disappointed if I don't get him a giant Reese's chocolate heart. This may be the last Valentine's Day where Lucas cares to pick out his own store bought Valentine's to give ...