Many moons ago, I used to purchased tall, wobbly high heels. Sometimes they were open-toed, sometimes closed-toe, and occasionally, peep-toed. They varied in height from kitten heels to platforms to all-out 5-inch "the-higher-the-heel, the-closer-to-God" monstrosities.

I've since come to realize these are nothing but very expensive, very pretty devices of torture.

And my closet now looks more like this:

And these, my super-snazzy Spin shoes:

And now, my brand-new-shiny-white Prince tennis shoes. They are super preppy but I love them anyways. I actually wear them while playing tennis. This is very exciting to me.

But don't fret - the five-inch heels, along with some flesh-colored Spanx and as well as a healthy amount of self-tanner, will be making an appearance this weekend at Junior League's yearly gala. But I'm jumping right back into running shoes as soon as the clock hits midnight. 

Maybe it's maturity, or maybe I'm simply addicted to the endorphins a good sweat provides. Either way, I'm very happy my heels are collecting dust while my legs get a good workout. My dogs have finally stopped barking.

...you've touched another human being's fecal/vomit/mucus with your bare hands and it barely registered.

...you realized 85% of the pictures on your phone are of your child(ren)

...the idea of traveling solo makes you downright giddy. TSA ain't got nothin' on toddlers, teenagers and whatever lies in between.

...you know nothing brings a group of women together like a round of "When I was pregnant..."

...you've secretly, passionately, and momentarily hated your partner. This usually happens when he is sleeping (and you are not).

...you've briefly contemplated if, in fact, you are actually raising a serial killer.

...you've stopped judging other moms and instead started praying fervently, "Please don't let that happen to me, please don't let that happen to me..."

...you've accidentally shouted, "Damn! I was HOT!" upon seeing a picture of yourself pre-kids.

...despite the fact your child isn't even with you, you still feel a little guilty pushing the elevator buttons.

and the #1 way you know you are a mom...

...when you start measuring time not by your age, but by the age(s) of your child(ren).

Big thanks to everyone who weighed in on yesterday's post, "Constant Correction." Your comments inspired this list, as I had no idea most of us loathed the Three's and worried about the homicidal tendencies of our toddlers. Thanks for making me feel more normal. Whether the solution is found in sticker charts, support groups, or at the bottom of an empty bottle of wine, I appreciate all of the touching and honest comments. Keep on fighting the good fight, Moms.

There is a power struggle in our house right now, and the 36-pound little bruiser is kicking our ass.

I'm trying to remember when it started (perhaps when the doctor was yelling, "Push!"??), but over Christmas, I distinctly remember feeling excited that Scotty was going to be home with me for two weeks with no school. Now, not so much. Things have changed dramatically since then. Spring Break is looming in two short weeks and I break into cold sweat when I think of what the hell I'm going to do with the little muffin for ::dramatic music:: five solid days. And how we are not going to be at each other's throats for ::dramatic music:: five solid days.

Gah.

I know, I know. Maybe some of you are shaking your heads and muttering, "About time." I acknowledge our two's were tepid at best. Potty training was a dream. Bed conversions went smoothly. The transition to preschool was a bit problematic, but that was more on me than him. I willingly admit we breezed through some of the bigger parenting challenges, but to that, I offer only one word:

CATHETERGATE.

Naysayers, you can suck it.

Anyways, regardless of the karma of Motherhood, the challenges we are facing now are all attitude. Our sweet, good-natured little Bear has developed the attitude and confidence of a teenager. Words and phrases we have said to him - no, follow good directions, use your listening ears, be respectful - are literally being hurdled back at us with venom and lots of finger shaking. It's quite humiliating to be in public when your three-year old erupts after you deny him a new toy. "YOU ARE NOT FOLLOWING. GOOD. DIRECTIONS!!" he shrieks, glaring and hissing. He occasionally will kick at me. He scratches me when mad. Just the other day at the park, I squatted down to his level to correct this wanton behavior and the little bleeping-bleeper pushed me over.

Let me say that again. He pushed.

Me.

Over.

Brian was on him like white on rice (and because of boot camp and very sore legs, I toppled over like a tower of blocks), dragging him off the playground by the arm. These incidents are not singular unto themselves; they are happening with more and more frequency. When I picked him up from school on Monday, Scotty informed me he got his name on the board twice: once for talking on the rug, and once for screaming. He then chose to make his "grr" face for the rest of the day at his classmates and teacher.

Whiskey tango foxtrot. What is going on here, people?

I gotta say, I have no idea how to handle this. Am I raising a serial killer? Is this how it starts? Will Dateline one day being showing my picture and putting all of his dastardly actions squarely on my shoulders? "...we've learned exclusively that Scott was known to push his mother at the park, causing her to fall helplessly to the ground. When she denied him a new lizard at the grocery store, the seeds of rage were planted..." 

I implored the advice of good friend and fellow mother Courtney, who has been through her share with her two kids. Carson is a glorious, beautiful, and sweet 4-year old and I can't help but look on with envy when he listens, smiles, and agrees with what she says. He's like a tiny beacon of light in an otherwise dark toddler world. Courtney just laughed and said to keep fighting the good fight; maturity will kick in (eventually). Courtney also gently reminded me that she almost lost her mind when Carson was two because he made her so crazy.

So is this a phase? Does everyone go through this? I don't remember Motherhood so tough since the infant stage (which I disliked with a passion). I'm good with toddlers - I was a TA for Behavioral Psych and totally adhere to the motto "if you can train a rat, you can train a kid." But rats never talked back. And so, I'm at a loss. And really, really, really tired.

Sticker chart, anyone?

If you have some helpful advice, please feel free to comment. If you feel I am failing as a parent, that's cool, too, but let's keep that to yourself, okay?

For those of you that have been following this blog from the beginning, you know that my sister and I were pregnant and due on the same day. Her husband, my brother-in-law, was the one who came up with the original idea for this blog. And all of you know how things turned out - both of us were due on September 4 but gave inexplicably gave birth on August 18, making our boys six hours apart.

All of that seems like ancient history now. I mean, come August, we'll have four year olds running amuck. But what started as just another random chapter of Scott family history has blossomed into a lovely friendship between these our little dudes: 

I've seen Scotty with other kids. He's a likable kid who gets along (most of the time) with other children. But with Ben, it was totally different. It was almost as though he knew there was something special about this little tow-haired giggle muffin from Minnesota. Scotty insisted on waiting outside before the crew even arrived last Wednesday night. He wanted to sit next to him at meals. They giggled and ran and played chase in a way I've never seen before. They even enjoyed "double bubble" tub on Saturday night that ended with Scotty inviting Ben to sleep in his bed for the evening. (My mom declined and let Ben sleep on the couch).

They were like two little peas in separate pods but somehow maintained a psychic cousin connection. It was pretty special to watch.

Look at how they are both sitting as they crack their geodes on our day at the Springs Preserve:

Leg out. Other leg tucked in. Head down.

And from a slightly different angle:

They look like mirror images of each other.

And finally, the result:

While Scotty and Ben are content in their unique bond, I think someone else had an even better time.