Charlotte’s princess love runs deep. That’s typical for a 3 1/2 year-old girl. But, a new love has taken us by surprise. Love? Obsession? Call it what you will, but a new cartoon has become a huge part our lives. Actress Lily Tomlin’s voice fills our house and pipes out of my iPad everyday. Little Richard’s catchy theme song haunts my dreams. I sing his tune in the car and in the kitchen.

I hear, “Mama, do you want to play Magic School Bus?!” All. Day. Long.

For the uninitiated, “The Magic School Bus” is an animated series that originally aired on PBS in the mid to late nineties. It was based on a series of Scholastic books. It ran in syndication for awhile in the early 2000’s. All of this happened way after I was into children’s programming. I have Netflix and my step-brother, a well-meaning millennial uncle, to thank for introducing my daughter to this show.

Apparently Ms. Tomlin won a Daytime Emmy for her starring role as Ms. Frizzle. Ha! She’s got nothing on me. I play the role of Ms. Frizzle constantly. From the moment I am out of bed, through baby brother diaper changes, in the preschool carpool line, while I’m answering emails and even when I’m on the commode, I am Ms. Frizzle.

I hear, “Ms. Crizzle?! Ms. Crizzle?!” through the bathroom door. I say, “Yes, Ralphie?” You see, Ralphie is her favorite of the gang. I’m not sure why. He strikes me as the chubby slacker with his cap on backwards, but apparently she digs that. I then need to think of some adventure for this group of ethnically diverse tweens while incorporating elementary science education. Biology? Physics? Physiology? Climatology? Pick a concentration. I’m pretty proud of our trip “inside a flower” the other day. Without getting all “birds and bees” I successfully drove the bus through a flower, pointing out pollen, nectar, the stamen, the pistol, stem, roots etc. I should find my fifth grade teacher on Facebook and thank her.

I feel really guilty, but I must confess I’m getting pretty sick of it. It’s exhausting. I even suggested we play “Frozen” the other day for the millionth time, simply for a change of pace. Playing “Frozen used to be easy until Elsa froze something and the Magic School Bus slid on ice. I had to explain salt melts ice, not acts of true love. Charlotte knows that I am utterly repulsed by the episode where the bus gets into Ralphie’s bloodstream through the scab on his knee under his Band Aid. So, she loves to discuss that one. Gag. Some of the books we found at the library are over her head at age 3, so she focuses on the kids and their relationships.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that she loves this show about science. It’s a really good show. It’s very educational.  I hear your argument, “Amy, we need to promote science and math to our girls!!!! STEM!!!! What is wrong with you?!?” I get that, but having to act it out all day is wearing me down. I don’t want to squelch her enthusiasm, but sometimes I need a break from driving the bus.

But, then she says, “Mama, my white blood cells attack the inflection!!!” ::sigh:: That bit of learning alone makes pretending to drive a bus through a scabby knee less gross. So, I’ll see you tomorrow on the bus, fighting “inflections” and doing my part for STEM education.

There are looks only we get to see as mothers. The looks on the faces of our children. It starts with milk dribbles down their chins with sleepy, smiley eyes as they peek around our breasts or their bottle. They meet our gazes and grin between suckles.

Only we get to see the adoring eyes from a stumbling toddler when they say, “Mama!” Those sparkling, drooling smiles are for their mamas.

Their looks of horror after scraping a knee or hearing a loud noise are scary, indeed. But, they are faces that show that only you will do, mom. Only you.

I love the excited face, the face after you are reunited with your child after a few hours or days. The face of joy that we see and we can’t help but scoop up our babes, relieved they are back in our arms.

Enjoy the looks. Those faces make life better and they are for us, alone. Happy Mother’s Day.

Since being home, my wardrobe has gone to shit. When I was working full-time I may have rocked a low ponytail too often. It did have a side part to look “professional.” Let’s be honest, it was just in a low ponytail because it was dirty, but I was dressed for work. I had on clothes that weren’t yoga pants. Now I frequently squeeze into these spandex running capri things because that’s what the other moms wear when they sweat it out with me and our screaming children in strollers.

So, yesterday I was psyched to wear a dress for the preschool Mother’s Day Tea. I had every intention to dry my hair and wear it down, but the road to low ponytails is paved with good intentions. The first dress I tried on was way too short. I was worried I would flash my vag to the three-year-old’s if I had to sit in those tiny chairs, so I opted for one a little longer. Well, I ended up being a tad too scandalous for the kids, but didn’t know it.

You see, Henry slept through the night Monday night! Woop woop! He has only done that a handful of times. My husband says I rejected his advances when I rolled over in deep, blissful sleep yesterday morning. I have no recollection of this shunning. I slept until 7:00 am! It was glorious and everything I thought it could be. Greyson woke up with Charlotte, so I could sleep. This meant that when I did wake up my boobs were like ZOMG, full of milk! I fed him, dressed the kids and decided on this purple dress.

I packed my pump in the car with everything else to pump while I drive. That’s my thing. Vehicular milk expression. But, I was wearing a dress. Blerg. Well, it was only an hour, forget it. I figured I’d be alright. I didn’t pump. I was a little lopsided since he ate on one side, but I’d be okay. Right?!

The tea was adorable! We got flowers in pots the kids had painted. Oh, God a flower! I kill anything in potting soil. I really hoped to keep this little flower alive.

I got to hear my girl sing her class songs in her pretty dress. I was able to squat down by the tiny tables in a ladylike way to take a selfie.

But again, I suck at selfies. My friend Clare caught me taking forever to take a selfie.

After the tea I got back to the car and something happened that hasn’t happened in MONTHS. My overflowing boobs leaked on my dress. I also forgot my nursing pads/nipple covers so I was straight up nippin’ out of the dress. I was so full my cleavage was busting out of the top. Yep, nips and cleavage at the preschool in the Baptist church.

Then, as if the pump was throwing itself in my face to prove a point, I was forced to slam on breaks leaving the tea. The pump slid and knocked my flowerpot, sending dirt all over the car.

So the preschool tea gave me a physics lesson I already knew. If your boobs are too full, they will overflow. I guess that’s really biology, but you know what I mean. The other biology lesson? If there is a plant, even a precious one given to me by a child, I will kill it. That’ll teach me to try to wear a dress. Today I’m back in my shitty wardrobe.  Spandex with a low ponytail and proud of it!

You know those moments when you can’t believe something so ridiculous is happening to you at that time? You know the ones. They make your face look like this:

I’ve gotten better at controlling my face in recent years. I think it was all the crazy I interviewed as a TV news reporter going on only a few hours of sleep. The crazy trained me to control my face.

Three things lately made me make this face.

1. I was rushing to get both children out of the car and into the double stroller for my workout class. If you recall, I’m really trying to properly utilize the SAHM time by making sure I’m exercising. Plus, I’m paying for it, so let’s get this booty poppin’. Anyway, I was unloading the copious amount of crap that I haul around on a daily basis when I opened the passenger side door. That’s when I heard it fall.

One of Henry’s fancy $9 bottles rolled out of the car and hit the pavement. I knew it would roll. It was like slow motion. It rolled and spun like the basketball at the end of an after school special where a young teen overcame adversity to make the winning shot for the team. It spun right into the damn sewer! Of course it had a personalized bottle band wrapped around it too. Lord forbid my kids have anything without their names on it. Charlotte was very concerned that bugs would get on his bottle, not knowing it was gone forever. I was just glad I still had milk in the pump bottles and not in the sewer bottle. I made the face.

2. I came downstairs one morning after Greyson had already been up with Charlotte. I knew we were short on groceries, but I figured he fed her. Oh, he fed her. I glanced at the plate and thought it was peanut butter and jelly on a hamburger bun. I cringed. Not an ideal breakfast, but I had not been to the store. I only had myself to blame. Turns out, I had him to blame. I asked Charlotte what she ate. “Ketchup sandwich!”

He fed her ketchup on a hamburger bun for breakfast when I knew good and well there were some eggs in the fridge.  I made the face.

3. After one of Charlotte’s extracurricular classes recently, a visiting grandparent was chatting with the instructor. This overzealous southern woman explained to the instructor that she was from a small town. She told the teacher how wonderful it is that children in our city have opportunities like this class. The kind teacher smiled and said that she was from a small town in Michigan and understood.

Let me add here that the grandmother is white and the teacher is black. I feel I need to say that to give a frame of reference for the turn the conversation then took.

The grandmother looked at the instructor and said, “I’m originally from Mississippi. You know, my daughter was born at Jefferson Davis Memorial Hospital.”

The face! The FACE! I could tell the gracious instructor was trying not to make it too. Why, oh why would this woman feel she needed to add the tidbit about the hospital named after the Confederate general?! I can only assume that is  what this woman came up with because she doesn’t see many black people. I guess that’s what she came up with instead of blurting “I’m white, you’re black!”

That face had a little more to it:

Please note that Jefferson Davis Memorial Hospital has been Natchez Regional Medical Center since 1993.

Yesterday I got off to a great start for a Monday. We were out the door and had grabbed Starbucks for breakfast before my 9:30am Stroller Strides class. No groceries. It was the ‘Bucks or starve. That aside, we were doing alright with just one threenager tantrum and only a little pee through the baby’s diaper on his pajamas. I even pumped milk before we left so I didn’t have to do it while driving when pervy truckers can peer into my SUV. I had all my clothes on behind the wheel. Win!

I told the instructor we had to cut out of class a little early to get Charlotte to gymnastics class. We were making good time and I got half a workout in. I’ll take it. I downed water on the way to gymnastics. Water is my thing now. So. Much. Water. Now that I have time to exercise in my new #SAHM life, I’m gonna take advantage of it. I’m embarrassed to tell you how long it had been since I did actual exercise before leaving my full time job. We’ll just go with “more than a year.”

The water has a downside, no doubt. I wear my baby in the carrier when I have to pee. I wake up in the night when I’m not breastfeeding to pee. I hate even having to say “pee.” It’s so crass. Sorry, but bodily fluids are my life, ya’ll.

Our relatively blissful morning was cut short when after gymnastics I made the risky move to take my brood to Carter’s to round out their spring wardrobes. It was before lunch. We were prime for meltdowns. After my successful hunt for size 3T capri leggings, we headed home. Charlotte started losing it while we were still in the store. We had a bit of a “come to Jesus” discussion between racks of 30% off cargo shorts.

No worries. We got back in the car to head home. We were still hanging in there for a Monday. That is until my bladder was overwhelmed by my excessive hydration. I had to go. Bad.

That’s when they started up, both of them. Henry, the world’s happiest baby, turned on me in my time of discomfort. He wailed and screamed. No bottle that I awkwardly poked in his face by reaching in the back seat would soothe him. That’s when Charlotte decided this was too much for her. She whined and wailed. More bodily fluids. This time tears.

She hollered, “This is ruining my whole day!”

Really?! You ruined my junk for the better part of six weeks when I pushed you out and you want to tell me how this car ride is ruining your day?!

The more I pleaded with my children to calm down, the louder they screamed. We hit every red light. I was sure people in other cars could hear the wails of my discontented babes. I panicked and looked for somewhere to pull off the road, anywhere. Why did I drink so much damn water!? Why didn’t I do kegel exercises to strengthen my pelvic floor like my OB/GYN told me too?! Where is a bathroom!?

I pulled off the only place I could, a small, quiet side road. I threw on the hazards and jumped out of the car. I took Henry out of his seat to try to find out what on earth was wrong with him. I continued to do kegels so I wouldn’t wet my pants. He stopped when I rocked him a bit. I looked around. I couldn’t take it anymore. My sniffling 3-year-old stared at me with teary eyes. I looked around.

I was gonna do it, ya’ll. I was gonna do it. I was going to hold my baby, drop trow and pee on the side of this road because I couldn’t take it anymore. Just then a truck carrying a crew of construction workers came around the curve of my quiet side street. Thank God I still had my pants up.

I put Henry back in his car seat and thought about what I was about to do. I stood with the car door open and laughed until it hurt. My children looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am. I’m a kegeling, milk pumping, full-bladdered mess who almost flashed a construction crew who could very well know the truck driver who may or may not have seen me pumping milk on another day.