I was with a group of moms recently when someone asked for “practical advice” for a first-time mother. This woman was compiling ideas for an “advice book” or something for a baby shower to give to the mom-to-be. Practical advice. Okay. Advice on diapers and milk supply went around the group. I suddenly blurted out, “Pajamas! Buy more pajamas than you think you need.”

Everyone paused and looked at me. One said, “Oh yeah. Totally.”

Right now I am literally going to air my dirty laundry. Take a look, this is the inside of my washing machine this week before I ran it.

These are just the pajamas that are visible. Every load of laundry I do has at least one set of pajamas in it. Think about it. What is your kid often wearing when they do the following?

• Leak through their diaper
• Wet the bed
• Puke
• Get a bloody nose
• Eat pancakes with syrup
• Eat popcorn and chocolate milk while watching a movie
• Smear chocolate candy from their Easter basket or Christmas stocking on them

That’s right! Their pajamas! My mom asked me what I should get the kids for Christmas. “They both need pajamas,” I replied. My daughter got some Hello Kitty pajamas and (shocker) some “Frozen” pajamas. That’s another thing. Are you a mom who hates tacky character shirts for kids? Well, let them get their Lightning McQueen-Dora-Ninja Turtles-Doc McStuffins-Sponge Bob fix with pajamas! You’ll get the satisfaction knowing your kid will likely barf and pee on the tackiness. The satisfaction will wane when you realize it’s just more laundry. Here’s to more sleep!

Side Note: I used to be a mom that didn’t like tacky character t-shirts. That ship sailed when the S.S. Princess Everything docked at our house awhile back.

I love most holidays. Christmas is my favorite. I’m not alone there. It doesn’t get better than presents and food in honor of Jesus’ birthday. As an optimistic extrovert I do enjoy almost all the other holidays too. I made the most of single Valentine’s Days and 100 degree July 4th’s in the past.

July 4, 2009. It was insanely hot, yet I am so happy. (And young. Geez.)

There is one holiday, however, that I don’t like. New Years. I hate it. New Years Eve is the sad, cold and drunken let down to Christmas. I had no problem working the New Years shift when I was a TV news reporter. No social plans I ever had on December 31 came through. No one in the group could ever finalize plans. Someone always drank too much. I always spent too much money and was left too tired the next day. No thank you.

It got better after I got married and had some chill restaurant-then-champagne-toast-at-home evenings, but New Years still symbolizes the holidays being over. Twice in my life it meant I had to go back to work because maternity leave ended in January.

I spent all day January 1, 2015 being cranky and bummed out. Part of that was because my one-year-old is feverish and snotty. I was cooped up with him as my nose got stuffier. I lashed out at my well-meaning husband who did absolutely nothing wrong. I sulked at the Rose Parade, which sucks compared to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Thanksgiving, now there’s a holiday.

I think what I hate most about New Years is the insane amount of pressure we put on it to “start over” or “resolve to be better.” Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy looking through friends’ “Year in Review” or “Best of 2014” videos and collages on Facebook or Instagram, but I don’t like making empty resolutions.

I think I hate it more this year because I don’t really want to make any changes. I’m happy. I’m blessed. I feel almost too lucky, like something is going to happen if I make changes. It’s easy to be complacent when you’re in a good place. I’d rather just enjoy myself and watch my sweet babies grow than force myself to make strides. See…look at them! This picture makes me want to freeze time in December, 2014 instead of leaving the holiday season behind! Ugh!

I owe it to myself and my family to keep getting better. So with a giant eye roll to the institution of New Years resolutions, in 2015 I resolve to:

1. Write more.
2. Take more risks.
3. Be more patient with my family.
4. Have a better attitude about New Years.

Happy 2015.

Oh. Hi. I wasn’t here much last week. It was mostly because we’ve been to Christmas parties, work functions, preschool performances, church gatherings, neighborhood dinners and any other festive event you can think of.

Of all the frivolity of Christmas 2014, I think this 40 seconds will stand out as the highlight in my mind. It’s my 4-year-old’s rendition of “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.”

Maybe it’s the baby gate around the tree, the the adorably invasive baby brother waddling in his diaper or the quick pan to the laundry half-folded, but this is what I’ll remember most:  My beautiful, messy babes, ages 4 and 1, singing and stumbling. They are healthy and fun. They make our world go around and they certainly make this Christmas special.

There is a holiday epidemic plaguing the homes of infants and toddlers around the world. This year it hit our home.

Escaping Christmas trees.

Trees are taking their boughs and baubles and getting out of the homes where they are imprisoned. Many trees in the houses of young children say they’re sick of only being decorated 2/3rds of the way down. Their lower thirds remain naked. I can’t blame them. How would you feel if your lower third was bare? I like mine looking just as festive as my top, thank you very much. Why should a Christmas tree be any different?

Other trees feel gypped because the adults in their homes no longer put fine crystal ornaments on them like they used to. Cherished ceramic ornaments remain boxed up, replaced by BPA-free plastic balls. It’s insulting to the trees. If you have to be chopped down and hauled away from your family on the tree farm, you want to be decorated properly. Not haphazardly covered in makeshift toys some rugrat will drool on.

If your tree is artificial, check to see where it was made. China? It’s likely. The National Christmas Tree Association says 85% of artificial trees are made in China. Your tree may be trying to leave your house to get home before the Chinese New Year. It’s just after our New Year and it’s a long journey to your homeland if you’re made of polyvinyl chloride.

The number one way trees try to escape? Toppling over. Trees hope that if they topple over enough that you will get sick of them and drag them to the curb even if it’s just a week before Christmas. Broken ornaments? Water on the carpet? That’s what they want. They want out. It’s a conspiracy. That’s why they make tree stands so lousy.

Yes, you can dispose of an artificial tree on the curb too, although it’s much more rare. AE’s or “artificial escapes” don’t happen too often. Artificial trees are doomed to live in boxes. They want you to throw them out. China, remember?

Solutions For Taming Trees:

How do you prevent your tree from escaping? Fence it in. Check out ours. It’s going NOWHERE! That bad boy is doomed to live in our attic in a musty box 11 months a year! Bwa ha ha! You WILL bring us holiday joy, tree. You will! You live HERE! NOT in China!

Another option is to tether your tree to the wall like our neighbors did to their fresh cut Fraser Fir after it fell over when the kids were playing with it. They also have a one-year-old at their house.

A little known fact is that Christmas trees are afraid of heights. That’s why so few of them grow tall enough to be the tree at Rockefeller Center or at the White House. Funny, I was unable to find a fact from the NCTA to back that up. One family I know exploited their tree’s fear of heights by putting it up on a table. The tree stayed put, not daring to venture down near the family’s toddler.

It’s a holiday battle! Keep your trees contained and your little ones safe.

He’s 13 months old. He nurses less and less. He would drink more if I let him, but today he just nursed before bed. I stopped pumping right after his first birthday. He kept breastfeeding each day before naps and bed, but we’re doing it less. His big sister stopped at 13 months. I remember being a little sad, but I was okay. Time marched on. I would have another baby. No biggie. It was actually nice to have my body be my own again.

This time I’m sad.

This might be my last baby. All the infant milestones have been a little more bittersweet with the second baby, but this one hurts.

What if this is the last time I ever nurse one of my babies? This might be it. It may be over. I may never be pregnant again. I may never snuggle my sleepy newborn or snuggle my round little infant as they suckle.

If I stop nursing him, will he still want to snuggle with me? Maybe. Maybe not. Everyday I steal kisses and snuggles in “catch and release” style as he wobbles toward toddlerhood.

Part of me is ready to be done breastfeeding. He has a mouth full of teeth and vigorous kicking legs. But, the other part of me looks into his eyes that are turning a darker shade of blue into the green of my own and I want to hold him tighter. I cradle a baby that is (kind of) calm when he nurses. He smiles with coos and grunts that make us both giggle. Those times are ours alone, and they are numbered.

I don’t know when the last time I nurse him will be. I don’t remember the exact last time with my daughter. I just know it’s coming soon.

Instead of mourning the time gone, I’m trying to be thankful for being able to successfully breastfeed two healthy babies. I know not all mothers get that. I’m thankful that breastfeeding was a mostly positive experience for me.

This just marks the end of infancy. I am excited for what is to come. I am. I’m just bracing my heart for more milestones that may be a little bittersweet.

Alright. I’m bucking up. I’m looking into their little faces and being excited and thankful. I can do this. It’s almost time for the last time, and that’s okay. Writing this makes me feel better. Time marches on. Ah, motherhood! It is bittersweet.