101 things in 1001 days – slacking so hard

Real talk for a second, I’ve been struggling with my mental health the last… year. I haven’t been avoiding addressing it. I’m aware of it. Blah-blah. Absolutely zero to be worried about with me on this one. In fact, you should be more concerned at yourself if you think it’s a big deal to talk about mental health because one in four of you are affected in some way by a mental health disorder. Basically, all the cool kids have ishes whether or not they want admit it. (Thank you for joining me on my mental health soapbox. Feel free to visit anytime.)

My point is that I’ve had to be overly aware of my feelings, emotions, what have you and I’ve also been practicing the HELL out of the very best thing I’ve ever learned in cognitive behavioral therapy: OPPOSITION ACTION. And it’s only because of my opposite action skillz and mental health awareness that I’ve been able to accomplish anything on this list since the last time I updated it in I don’t even know how long and I’m too lazy to go back and look, so if you’re dying to know, be my guest.

For those new to my world here. back on March 4, 2016, I made a list of 101 things I wanted to complete in 1001 days, which is December 1, 2018. I’m getting down to about a

year to complete all these things. No pressure.

  • #13: Build up wendyberry.com for something. Ohhhh, I sure did. It gets about as much attention as this blog, but it’s there and it’s allll about HR, leadership, the working world, all that jazz that I like to geek out about.
  • #34: Find a new vet for June. We’re sticking to the old one. Cheated, but done.
  • #88: See the Lynx play somewhere other than the Target Center. Technically, I saw them play in two different places: Xcel Center and Williams Arena.

66% of my completions for the last few months have been frauds, you guys, and I don’t even care.

I’m pretty checked out of 2017. I’m glad Baby E to the B won’t be born this year because it’s just been a crapfest since that giant orange bigmouthed butthole mouth took office. I know 2018 won’t fix it all, but it gives me some encouragement that we’ve got one year down of that turd “leading” the country.

watch ya mouth, pals

Amelia has seriously been talking about this game forever. Every single time we’ve seen a commercial for it, she’s looked at me with the most glee on her face that she possibly could have and talk about wanting to play it. It kinda makes me uncomfortable because – teeth, spit, slobber, those things. Ish. But because marriage is all about compromise, I’m coming around.

Watch Ya’ Mouth Throwdown Edition is like an upgraded version of the Watch Ya’ Mouth game. Rather than just speak phrases, players now go head-to-head with hilarious and challenging tasks – while wearing mouthpieces. Throwdown Edition takes it all to the next level and builds on the gaming phenomena for the whole fam. So, still full of spit and slobber, but all while doing more than just yelling at each other. And I can’t wait to talk my 93 year old grandpa into this over Christmas.

Throwdown Edition has already been Awarded Top Holiday Toy of 2017 by Toy Insider & selected for the 2017 Amazon Holiday Toy List. And here is my contribution to you getting this game for your family: a 15% off coupon code: 15THROWDOWN http://amzn.to/2i6NKwG

today, my son is three. very, very three.

Exactly three years ago today, I met my son and it was amazing. (Down to the minute even because I totally scheduled this blog post.)

He had dark curly black hair, not only on his head but all over his arms and back, too. He was fat. So fat. They couldn’t even find diapers in his size during our quick stint in the NICU because was so fat. Clothes in the newborn or 0-3 range were completely pointless in our house.

We stayed in the hospital for four days. I only left long enough to make sure my big white dog (pretty much my original baby) didn’t hate me and to bring my postpartum wife a cherry slush from Sonic. When I came back from the Sonic trip, I was about to lose my mind because he was having his hearing test in the hospital room without me present and I was certain they were shoving needles into his eardrums and I wasn’t there to supervise. (Sleep deprivation is real.)

I can’t even describe the last three years in words that would make sense to anyone at all. My unsolicited advice to new parents is that it is the hardest thing you’ll ever do and the best thing you’ll ever do, all at the same time. And no matter how you decide to parent, you will figure out what works for you, your family and your baby and, once that happens, that means you’re doing it right. This little dude has changed my life in a million different ways and I’m sure there are 12 billion more to come.

I always knew I’d be a mom at some point in my life. I wasn’t sure how because I sure as hell have ZERO Interest in feeling like I’m on an episode of Monsters Inside Me. I never questioned how it would happen because I just knew. And now, here I am – the mom of a stinkin’ THREE YEAR OLD.

He loves every single sport, even when I’m not sure how he knows how to play them. He’s a “championship go go player”. He likes playing football and will let you know that you need to “throw the ball like a rainbow”. He’s the “championship” anytime he’s running a race (against himself) or throwing something into any container. When he visits his great grandma, he turns the garage sale toys from 1985 (not an exaggeration) into either a hockey game or a baseball game. He only used his tee-ball set for about three months before his Nana taught him how to hit without it this summer. He’s not afraid to jump off of anything and will ask if you say his “big hops” in the event you didn’t see him jumping off a table two feet off the ground.

He’s left-handed for most things. He hates vegetables, except for egg rolls stuffed full of cabbage and rice noodles. He loves grapes and will bring the entire gigantic bag into the living room to eat if he thinks he can get away with it. He’s independent, which is so awesome to watch, and hella slow in doing those independent things, which is the opposite of awesome when we’re trying to get into the car and he’s hell bent on buckling his seat belt and can’t quite understand why I’m impatiently telling him to hurry as the sleet goes down the back of my shirt. He sleeps with a stuffed frog half his size that he has named Beasto, a Captain America action figure and stuffed version of Lightning McQueen.

He’s in daycare full-time and I love it. He loves it, too. He talks about the other kids every day and has a special kind of bromance with his daycare provider’s high school freshman son. Our kid calls him “Mashew” and gets all googly eyed when he talks about him. It’s adorable. He always says his best friend is Liam, which is working out nicely because Liam’s parents are our close friends and those dudes don’t have a choice as to whether or not they want to be friends or not.

I’ve learned to rail in my profanity, which has not been an easy task. I’ve learned to accept the fact that my personal space is his personal space, day or night. I’ve learned to slow down. Sure, it could take me five minutes to go get dog food at Target if I threw him in a cart and hightailed it in and out of there. Or, I could take half an hour to let him “walk by my own self”, which also includes walking down four aisles of toys because “I never seen all these toys before”.

I’ve learned that I hate unsolicited parenting advice when I post something on Facebook like, “man, I sure do hope my son will eat a carrot one day in his life” and I get one million pieces of advice that involve smoothies and hiding vegetables in his waffles and treating rickets with some multi-level marketing homeopathic oil. I. DON’T. CARE. How did our parents do it back before the internet, man?

Parenting has taught me so much about myself and I can’t think this child, who currently has a clothes hanger hanging from his living room basketball hoop, enough for all that he has done to teach me. It still remains the best thing and the hardest thing that I do every single day. I’m this title in my professional life or that person in my personal life, but nothing makes me prouder than to talk about this little guy any time I get the chance.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Ozzy. You’re the greatest. I can’t wait to see what this next year is like for you, my man.