ML Interest Tag: ruin

Easy DIY Frankenstein Costume for Kids

by Amber Guetebier

This easy DIY monster costume comes together in minutes!

October 31st is coming up fast, and if you want a charming Halloween costume for kids on the quick that you don’t need to worry about getting ruined, then look no further than this DIY Frankenstein costume. If they don’t want to be a monster, check out our other favorite last-minute Halloween costume ideas here.

DIY Frankenstein Costume
Amber Guetebier

Frankenstein Costume Supplies

old pants: anything with blown-out knees, ripped pockets, stains, or just too short, all work

an old shirt, ideally a turtleneck if you want to try to add the bolts. Best in any lighter color, not black or navy blue.

a black Sharpie

Optional: plastic toy bolts; yarn to add stitches

A slightly oversized blazer

For the face paint: green face paint and a black eyeliner

How to Make a Frankenstein Costume

Step 1. Shred It
Just go ahead and cut holes in the pants here and there. If it's cold when you go trick-or-treating, you can always wear an extra layer underneath (green is ideal!).

Step 2. Stitchery
Draw simple stitches on your shirt and a few across the pants. If you want to add some yarn stitches you can do that too.

Step 3. Neck Bolts  

Basic: We used a turtleneck and a pair of plastic kid's bolts from a construction game. You essentially just cut small holes, slide the bolts in (backward), and put the nuts on to hold them in place. You could spray paint them silver if you want (we left ours black). The fabric of the turtleneck kept them from poking the neck or making it uncomfortable.

More advanced: You can also try making bolts using a headband to slide around the neck (this works well for older kids but little ones will probably lose track of this). We love this tutorial which is a little more involved but a bit comfier/less bulky.

Step 4. Face Paint

No need to go overboard with the green paint: you can make it a faint green that's relatively easy to wipe back off. Take black eyeliner and make stitch marks. Avoid putting marks over the eye or too near it as it makes it harder to wipe off later.

Don a blazer for the oh-so-Karloff look. Snowboots look great as clunky shoes, but sneakers will do the trick for your active tots.

Tip: This basic costume can be altered to become a zombie!

 

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

The Fire Extinguisher Solution to Parenting

By Jamie Edelbrock

The other night I was watching one of my favorite shows, New Girl. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a hilarious show about four roommates living life as a family unit in California. In this particular episode, one of the roommates is cooking buttered bacon on the stove. An argument occurs, and he turns his back on the sizzling meat for a minute. Before the close pals know it, a grease fire starts. Chaos breaks out and one of them, thinking it will help, sprays water on the flames. That, of course, only makes things worse.

Have you ever wondered why you can’t put a grease fire out with water? The reason you can’t is that oil and water don’t mix. When water hits the grease, it causes the grease to splatter, which causes the fire to spread rapidly.

The picture of an unexpected, explosive grease fire is how I feel about parenting sometimes. I always mean well, but it doesn’t always end well. Unfortunately, my watery methods don’t always mix with my children’s sometimes oily troubles.

It reminds me of a time I was working as a Family Director at a local preschool. I opened the school at 6:30 a.m. every morning, and my children came with me. Although I worked at the preschool, my children didn’t attend this school during the day, so the bus would pick them up and take them to their public school every morning. On this particular morning, my then-seven-year-old child refused to get on the bus, and I was very frustrated. We were causing a scene in front of parents, students, and staff. I thought for sure that if I demanded and yelled that she gets on the bus, she would. Tough love, right? Wrong. It was an unexpected, explosive grease fire moment.

Amidst parents dropping their kids off at the preschool, she was crying, shouting, and stomping her feet. I was pointing at the door and was yelling for her to leave. All I kept wondering was why she wasn’t listening. I couldn’t help but feel I was a failure as a mom, and if I was a failure as a mom, I was certainly a failure as the school’s family director! Ugh. We didn’t know at that moment, but we both felt lost, embarrassed, and hurt at the same time.

Kids are resilient, and thankfully an explosive moment or fiery disagreement doesn’t mean you have ruined your children or that you’re a failure as a parent. However, after many moments like this one, I was wondering what I was doing wrong.

It wasn’t long after that a friend suggested we see a therapist. Although worry and shame filled my mind, we eventually took the advice. Guess what? It turned out my daughter wasn’t trying to spite me when she was acting up, and she wasn’t trying to cause trouble every day. After several sessions and evaluations, she was diagnosed with anxiety. (Insert mom guilt here!)

I have seen kids struggle with their mental health throughout my life, from siblings and students to my children. Each experience was unique, but there is something in common with every situation—the children always looked to adults to be the calming voice in their chaos. They are looking to caregivers to smother their fire, not increase the flames.

Laura Guarino-Youngfleisch MA, LMHC, is the clinical manager of children’s outreach health services at SalusCare, Inc. In an article, she said, “Every child deserves to be healthy both physically and mentally. You can help any child you know by ensuring that he or she gets the necessary services simply by noticing there is a problem and advocating on the child’s behalf.”

Parents—you, yes you, are your child’s most prominent advocate and best protector. So if there is more chaos than calm, and if you are having a hard time smothering fires, it’s time to reach for outside help. Help comes in all different ways. It can be a phone call to a trusted friend, an appointment with the school counselor, or a call to a professional therapist.

I know your palms may be sweating, and you may have a knot in your stomach at the thought of reaching out for help. You’d probably rather be watching New Girl than picking up the phone and make a call. Trust me, I’ve been there, but help is ok. It’s more than ok. It’s a gift to you and your child. As I learned through trial and error, outside help is the fire extinguisher solution.

This post originally appeared on www.jamieedelbrock.com.

Jamie is married to her high school sweetheart and has three beautiful daughters. Through years of experience working with children, and raising her own, she knows how difficult parenting can be. She is an advocate for children's mental health and is best known for her creativity, optimism, and kind heart.

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

The Joys of Motherhood?

By BA Eubank

Motherhood comes with many joys, headaches, frustration, and most of all, love. Love, the one thing that makes us put up with all the not so joyous parts of motherhood, stopping us from putting our child on the curb with a large piece of cardboard reading “FREE”. But there are times when a root canal is less painful than raising kids.

Sleep. Beautiful, wonderful sleep, how I have missed you. If you’re a parent of a good sleeper, and you get six to eight hours of well-rested, uninterrupted sleep, please know how lucky you are. The rest of us, go through the day in a zombie-like state, functioning on autopilot. First, there’s the infant stage, where they wake up at least every two hours. If the sleep gods smile down on you, the baby will fall back asleep in their crib. If not, and your beautiful, sleeping angel cries the second you lay them down, you beg, plead, cry out to the gods you’ll sell your soul just to get a few hours of much-needed sleep. Then the time comes to transition to a toddler bed. I advise all moms that if your child is not a great sleeper, skip the toddler bed and go straight to a twin. It is so much easier to cuddle next to them than try to cram your adult size body into a toddler bed with the rail digging into your back. (Trust me on this one.)

Children are a hotbed for germs and us moms always end up being the landing point of whatever bile comes projecting out of their sick mouths. We all have been there, you know your child is about to be sick, but there’s no bowl or bucket nearby. You have just a split second before your carpet is ruined and you’ll have to rent a carpet cleaner to try to get the smell out. So you cup your hands or lift up the bottom of your shirt to form a makeshift bowl trying to catch as much as you can. And of course, what kid wants to sleep alone when they’re sick? You either cram into their little bed or let them sleep with you in your bed (with a waterproof pad on of course). And the inevitable always happens in the middle of the night, they puke all over the bed. You change their jammies quickly, throw a couple of thick towels on the bed because you know it’s going to happen again and you only have one more set of sheets. (Don’t judge me, I know I’m not the only one who has done this.)

How many times a day does our patience get tested to the very last thread? Moments where we feel like bashing our head into a wall multiple times. Trying to explain tomorrow to a three-year-old is alone enough. 

    “This day?” They ask.

    “No, tomorrow,”  you answer.

    “When tomorrow?”

    “After night-night.”

    “This day?” And so on and so on.

I usually follow the train of thought of explaining the whys to my children. Why they must help around the house, why they must pick up their toys, whey they aren’t allowed to do this or that. 

 But, of course, this almost always turns into a debate where I end up saying what I always hated hearing as a child myself- Because I said so! Maybe my mom was smart when she just said this off the bat and avoided the headache before it.  

If you have more than one child, the fights are never-ending. Why is it so hard for siblings to get along? Some days, I can’t even go to the bathroom without World War III breaking out. I have joked that I needed a referee’s whistle since it seems that ninety-five percent of my day is spent breaking up fights. Which by the way did nothing except getting the dog more hyper. There could be a toy no one has touched in months, but as soon as one child grabs it, you can be sure another one is going to want it suddenly. The screaming, the hitting. Every. Single. Day. It makes you wonder why the hell you ever wanted kids in the first place.

But at the end of the day, as you look at them finally peacefully sleeping, you’re overwhelmed with love, wondering how it’s possible to love another human with every fiber of your being. And when you get an unexpected hug or an “I love you” it makes every one of these not so joyous moments worth it. 

 

BA Eubank is a wife and mom of five kids. She's been through all the stages from colicky baby to one leaving the nest. She squeezes writing in between playing referee and asking the dog what's in his mouth. 

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

I Hope I Can Duplicate the Magic of Christmas

By Lindsey Althaus

I recently saw a quote circulating around the internet that said: “As a grown-up I’ve learned that all the ‘Christmas Magic’ I felt as a kid was just a Mom and Dad who loved me.” I may or may not have slowed my scroll and got emotional thinking about all the fun magic that my parents brought to Christmas.

Then I panicked and thought am I bringing the fun of Christmas to my kids?! Parenting Whitman and Vivi is like parenting the sun and the moon. Whitman is very cool very chill. He accepts things for what they are and doesn’t question it for the most part. Which is amazing because he is non verbal and on the spectrum.

Then there’s Genevieve she runs hot on the daily, and asks 80 million questions. I’ve started a retirement fund—I add a dime every time she says: “Ummmm Mummy?” I asked her last week if she wanted to write Santa a letter to receive an elf on the shelf. Her response: “NO. Santa knows.” Last year, at the ripe old age of 2, we ruined her Christmas in someway. I’m not sure if it was the gifts, but she kept asking “Who got me dis, and why dis?!” People were in her space. And she informed us numerous times that this wasn’t great and she wasn’t having a good time. At any rate I feel like the “Christmas Magic” was a loss on Vivi.

Thinking back to the Christmas magic of my youth, we had all these traditions. When we lived in New Philadelphia we went to the Beitzel’s, ate, exchanged gifts, and then went to church for the Christmas Eve Service. After the Christmas Eve Service we’d go to other side of town and celebrate Jesus’s Birthday with the McInturf’s. I’m pretty sure we did this tradition through 8 Christmases. And truth be told it was my favorite. We’d come home full of hope and cake. Santa would come and we’d open presents then we’d either load up in the car and go to my MeeMee and Papa’s or they’d come to our house for a few days. It was pure Christmas magic!

As we got older and moved to Illinois, Christmas traditions looked different. One year we went to Florida. Most of the time though we stayed and made new memories. Basketball is big in the midwest so it was usually Christmas, then the next day tournaments started at 8 a.m. and that’s how you spent your break until New Year’s Eve. Truth be told, I don’t remember a lot of the Christmases in Illinois. I remember parts like the year my brother wrapped everything in duct tape. Or the year he used athletic bags as wrapping paper so the sweater he got me smelled sweaty. The year my mom had been sick and she didn’t get to go shopping so she had bought everything off of QVC (before they had a webpage). All in all, I just remember laughing and being happy.

I remember last Christmas before my Dad had his stroke like it was yesterday. Mainly because you don’t ever think it’ll be the last time you know things to be and when it hits you that it was the last time it forces you to remember everything about that day. I remember I spent the night at my parents instead of going to my apartment. We waited until my grandparents got to the house to open gifts. I put together all kinds of pictures of my parents and us through out the years to the song “The Gambler.” I remember thinking I thought the song described my parents. Never realizing that they’d live that song in some ways.

I went and picked up my then-boyfriend, now husband, to get him in on the Christmas festivities. My brother read a poem written in Jeremy’s honor. My dad hid a gift for Jermey in the Christmas tree and my mom boldly asked why my dad would have hid it outside in the big tree in their front yard?! My mom had bought plates from Target and it was questioned if we were at Campbell Christmas Dinner or a Renaissance Fair. The day was a messy kind of perfect with the best people. My husband and I laugh to this day and he once told me that he was grateful he got to see the Campbell Christmas in all it’s glory. The following May my dad suffered a massive stroke that changed the dynamic of our lives forever.

I think it was the following Christmas, the first, post-stroke Christmas that I realized that Christmas has always been 100% about the people you are with and not about the karaoke machine that was bought for my brother and me but that my dad used every Christmas. From Blue Velvet to Achy Breaky Heart. John Campbell would sing his heart out for hours over the holidays. There was the year Christmas was cancelled because my mom hid the tapes for the karaoke machine and my dad thought Tyler or I lost them. There was the year none of our gifts came in because my dad ordered them on Ebay so we got manilla envelopes with printed out pictures of what he ordered for us. Some of our Christmases could be compared to the movie “Christmas Vacation,” but they were always a good kind of crazy.

This will be the first Christmas that my dad is gone and I’m trying my hardest to duplicate the Christmas magic that he brought year after year. I may bring out a karaoke microphone and let everyone sing from the lyrics on our TV and hope that my dad is watching us try to make the Christmas magic he helped with for all those years. I hope someday my own kids will look back on Christmas and think about the fun crazy times and how much their mom and dad loved them and wanted them to have the best Christmas. I hope we can duplicate the magic.

 

Lindsey is a mom, wife, and blogger at The Althaus Life. She lives in Ohio with her husband and 2 children. Lindsey is grateful all things and to be able to chronicle her beautifully broken laugh til you cry cry until you laugh life.

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

23 Halloween Costumes from the ’70s, ’80s, & ’90s That We Miss … Kinda

by Jacqui Boland

Back in our day, trick-or-treating meant hunting for full-sized candy bars with an empty pillowcase, an orange UNICEF box, and a coveted Ben Cooper plastic costume. Sure those masks had no ventilation and the coats our moms made us wear ruined the effect, but man, those were the (spooky) days. Here’s a look back at some of the best ensembles from the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s. Which one did you have?

We didn’t even know She-Hulk was a thing. 

Jem from Jem and the Holograms.

“Show’s over, Synergy!”


Road Runner 

Beep, beep! Can’t catch me!

A Popple

Remember these little guys? Did we ever figure out if they were teddy bears with tails?

Barbie Cowgirl

“I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world.”

Wonder Woman

Even the Lasso of Truth won’t be able to save you from this trainwreck of a mask.

 

Princess Leia

The force was strong with this costume, but good luck fitting a cinnamon bun hairdo under that mask.

Pound Puppy

Who could resist those (pound) puppy dog eyes?

Cabbage Patch Kid

So that’s where cabbage patch kids came from!

He-Man

By the power of Greyskull! Now that we’re older, we have a deeper appreciation for built-in abs.

Glo Worm

Unfortunately, the costume didn’t come with that special inner glow.

Lisa Simpson

This was the costume if you had a pesky big brother and constantly felt like the smartest person in your family.

Chuck Norris

There was no tougher costume than the Karate Kommando himself.

Strawberry Shortcake

It was flame retardant, so that’s a relief.

Smurfs

Isn’t this costume smurfy?

Luke Skywalker

Luke, you sound just like your father.

The Real Ghostbusters

Animated TV series, not the Billy Murray film

 

Max Headroom 

This is MMMMMMMMaaaaaxxxxx.

 

Six Million Dollar Man

We can rebuild him.

 

Planet of the Apes

Cornelius or Zira? Who knows, we could never tell them apart …

 

The Fonz

Frequently mistaken for Richard Nixon or Ronald Reagan by those answering the door.

 

Scooby-Doo 

The irony was, you couldn’t fit ANY sandwiches in your mouth through that mask.

Morticia Addams

Were you Team Munsters or Team Addams Family?

The Hulk 

Based on the Marvel comic, not to be confused with the Lou Ferrigno/Bill Bixby TV series.

If this post makes you feel all warm and fuzzy and nostalgic, we’re happy to report there is a cult following for vintage Ben Cooper costumes on eBay, so have at it. When your kid complains about how “itchy” their $90 Plush Minions costume is, you can break into a righteous “When I was a kid …” speech with the goods to back it up.

— Jacqui Boland & Abigail Matsumoto

 

RELATED STORIES:

These Luxury Halloween Costumes for Kids Are Over-the-Top Amazing

All The Best Kids & Baby Halloween Costumes from Our Fave Places to Shop

12 Hilarious Baby Halloween Costumes That Include You

This Year’s Most Popular Halloween Costumes for Kids

 

 

 

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

Banana Bread Can Save the World

By Krissy Dieruf

“It’s not fair!” my son cried, giant wet tears rolling down his sunburned cheeks. “Why does she get to play with a friend, and I don’t?” This, a repeating question about his ten-year-old sister. Body sprawled out, half on the sidewalk, half on the driveway, he clenched rocks in his little fists, threatening to hurl them to the concrete to prove or punish. I plopped next to him, crisscross applesauce on the hard ground. I wrapped both palms around his face and wiped the tears, felt the corners of my mouth tug when he lay completely flat like a puddle wailing loud cries from his wide o-shaped mouth straight into the sky with wild abandon.

Pulling him on my lap, he let me fold him into a hug like a wrinkled Kleenex into a pocket. I tried to reason with him, explain that his sister happened to have a friend down the street who could play outside and socially distanced at that very moment. My son’s one sweet friend, whom he had already stalked three times that day, just wasn’t home. The cruelty of it, nonsensical to my youngest boy woven solely of humor and heart, gouged him. The world proves a broken place when a pandemic sweeps through it, canceling everything. When you have to limit your interactions, and even then, be so careful not to get too close to stay safe from the virus, and keep others safe in case you have it and don’t know yet. For a five-year-old, that’s hard to understand when all you know is that you’re lonely and your one designated friend is busy.

After validating and empathizing the sadness and pain emoting massively from the tiny body draped over my legs, I dug deep into my repertoire of redirections and distractions. I offered to play a game, play playdoh, get out some toys, do a puzzle, take the dog for a walk, everything we’ve already done a million times over the last five months.

“No!” he bawled, still beside himself, staring heartbroken into the sky.

I could viscerally feel his pain, knowing how lonely I, too, have felt lately. How much I miss my friends. My moms-group meetings, book club, bible study, monthly ladies’ dinners, coffee dates full of deep conversation, and connection. I miss dates with my husband, parties, plays, concerts. I miss restaurants, birthdays, family gatherings. If I could curl up into a ball and scream at the vast emptiness of the cornflower blue sky, I would too. But as the mom, I am supposed to be the reasonable one. Someone who understands the big picture, contain my emotions into small bite-size pieces that won’t become too big to swallow. If I allowed the little sugar cube of disappointment, ironically tasting bitter and harsh deep in the pit of my stomach grow fully into its whole self, something more akin to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man would emerge. I would cry all day long and bang my fists screaming and drooling about the unfairness of the pandemic and the stupid coronavirus, about all the ways it has ruined everything. Everything! More sobbing would ensue.

It might feel suitable for a minute, but it’s a dark hole, and I don’t want to live there. Nor do I want to have to crawl back out someday only to look around and wonder who I have become. We must persevere with what we are given, and sadly, without what has been taken from us. We have the choice to do it with hope or with a vengeance. I choose to do it with hope. Pulling the good out of the bad is the only way to move forward from a hard place. Otherwise, I will end up moving in and hanging curtains and family photos in a room of despair.

My son’s despair, like a siren big and loud, showed me the depth of the need we all have for connection. I wanted to sink into all of it right along with him, but then I remembered the one thing in our family that lifts spirits and moves mountains of bad moods into laughter and smiles. The words alone create hope in one’s heart, not unlike that of a lonely child about to find a friend. It’s the hope that something good will come. It’s simple, not complicated, but its ability to fill and calm is astounding. Banana bread. With chocolate chips, of course. Not just savoring a warm slice straight out of the oven is magic, but the baking process itself is cathartic. Mushing the bananas, melting the butter, sliding the buttons on the mixer, watching the powders and liquids churn, the crack of eggshells on glass, sliding into the bowl, sneaking a taste in between each addition of new ingredients. Banana bread is like a balm that heals all wounds, indeed.

Perking his head up from my lap, he turned with wide eyes when he heard the words, “Banana bread?” It took two seconds for him to bolt to the kitchen and pull out the flour and sugar. We finished with the measuring, stirring, and licking of fingers. The bread pans (two loaves, of course, because one disappears too quickly) slid carefully into the oven. We thought only of the taste of banana-like heaven on our tongues and happiness in our belly’s for the next 60 minutes. When the oven timer rang, and the forks plunged in, the sun felt a little brighter, the air a little lighter. If only finding a friend was so easy once in a while. I know that will take time. But for now, banana bread is single-handedly saving the world for one five-year-old boy and one (semi) responsible mom.

Krissy Dieruf is a licensed marriage and family therapist. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and three children, loves to sing and dance around the house and has a soft spot for rebels and crazy hair. 

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

The Day I Realized Why I Shouldn’t Silence My Daughter

By Irene Tassy

Photo: Unsplash

Open hole in Earth now and allow me to be sucked in please, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY.

“Were you all just talking about how pretty I am?”

The words hung in the air like a cartoon balloon over her head. Everyone chuckled the way people do when a child says something that’s inappropriate or uncomfortable and you need something to fill the space.

It’s always the mother.

The sucky, indulgent mother who made her daughter’s head too big. She’s so full of herself she dares to proclaim her beauty audibly!

So I said, full of panic and discomfort, “Middle school will straighten her out. Don’t worry.”

What??????!!!!!

“Were you all just talking about how pretty I am?”

No, Lucy, we weren’t. But go ahead ask and make us all squirm. The world is going to try hard to mute this voice of yours. It will try and teach you all sorts of rules about being a girl. Ignore them.

This post originally appeared on Irene101.com.

I'm a mom of teenagers.  I cry.  A lot.  I also laugh when I'm too tired to cry.  So basically, I'm always either crying or laughing.  I can find the humor in most everything...except (fill in with whatever you find upsetting).  Just want to make you laugh.

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement

To the Moms Whose Kids Don’t Ever Sit Still

By Krissy Dieruf

To all the moms whose kids don’t ever sit still, I know your day is long.

I understand that these are the longest days you have ever known in your life, and you are hanging on by your teeth. Dad’s, you’re in it too, I know. There seems no reprieve from the endless drawl of open time, and the little ones don’t play by themselves for very long. At least the ones who don’t ever sit still. And if they are sitting still panic shoots through your chest in the realization that trouble is afoot. They have found the flour in the pantry and have decorated the living room quietly. They have unearthed your poor potted plant from its cage and released it into the wild nature of the bathroom. Granted, the bathroom does have wall hangings of flowers and leaves stenciled in patches, and the toilet wand is in the shape of a small tree, a gag gift given by a friend at some point that seemed a shame to waste. The kids can be smart, you can’t blame your budding conservationist for seeing the connection there, and wanting your sweet house plant to be in its rightful place.  

Let’s be honest. The bubbles poured all over the air hockey table in the basement was pure genius. You only wished you had been in the room when your little Einstein turned it on to see if the air would make the bubbles blow. It did, making one tiny three-year-old face light up with great joy. It almost didn’t matter that the wood surface of the hockey game was already swollen and ruined by the time your oldest child reported the misdeed. These are the confusing things with our children who don’t ever sit still. They destroy every ounce of peace, and most of our furniture, but they curate such love and admiration at the same time, you almost break in half every single day trying to parent them. They are amazing and infuriating, and they don’t ever sit still.

I know absurd things are coming out of your mouth these days, things that make you stop and ask yourself if you really just said that? Did you really spend ten minutes convincing your toddler that they can’t wear the same jammies four days in a row and then sleep in them again? I mean, three days is the limit. Or challenge your preschooler during “gymnastics” time to a pushup competition and then cheer when you won, and they lost? Because just dipping your tummy doesn’t count, you have to bend your arms! And should you be worried? No, probably not. Quarantine is an alternate universe that knows no time or space or specific dictations on how to set appropriate rules or boundaries with children who don’t ever sit still.

When your kid is jumping from the couch to the coffee table and back, cheer them on. When they run circles around the room, throw on a backpack with a few books in it, so they get some heavy sensory work out of it. When they are carving your kitchen table with a fork because you forced them to sit for lunch instead of gnawing on a cheese stick as they wander around bugging the other children, calmly hand them one of the dozens of amazon boxes stacking up in your recycling to destroy. Someday you will look back fondly at that table and think, I remember that day of quarantine 2020. That was hell. Then vow to carve up the table when all this craziness is over and keep that one piece of wood that has your kids’ artwork, albeit angry and maniacal slash line art, but still, your little one made it. Put it in their baby box for future fun. Or is this one of those things we say in quarantine that makes you wonder, is this okay? Should I be worried? Nah, it’s just a table, right?

It may not help you right now, but it’s worth it to say that children who don’t ever sit still are the ones who will dig in and work the hardest on their passions. They are the ones who will put endless hours into their families when they grow up. They are the ones who will run the longest in a race and cheer everyone on and hold everyone up because they have the energy to do it. They are the ones who will take every ounce of your energy to parent them, and drain you and climb on you, need more from you than you think you can give, and then refuse to go to bed at night.

They will wake up early as hell and make you dream of swimming in coffee, infusing it directly into your pores because you are so damn tired, and there is nowhere else for them to go. Nowhere else for you to go. Know that you are not parenting in vain. The key is to sink in when you want to run. Let go when you want to force your way. Hug tight when you want to scream. And when you think you can’t give another inch, remember you always have the bathroom with the houseplant in it because no one ever really cleaned that up yet.

Have a seat and take a breath, read one page of a magazine, bring some chocolate that you stole out of your wildest kids candy stash, and tell yourself you are a great mom. You are a great dad. As long as your kids know they are loved, they will be just fine. Your house may need a few touch-ups at the end of all of this, but paint is a magical thing. In the meantime, Godspeed. Keep going, and remember this one truth: there is always time for a dance party in quarantine. Alexa, play some gangster rap, please.

 

 

 

Krissy Dieruf is a licensed marriage and family therapist. She lives in Minnesota with her husband and three children, loves to sing and dance around the house and has a soft spot for rebels and crazy hair. 

Advertisement

Related reads

Advertisement