Young Lovers are Idiots

I had a conversation with a 23 year old female today that ignited a fire inside me. Not a good fire of passion and motivation, but a fire of rage and frustration, so I am taking to the blog to share my feelings.

Without giving away who said 23 year old is - let's call her Sara for this story's sake - I will give you a little background on our relationship. I do not know her very well, but we have the kind of relationship where she feels comfortable enough with me to share some pretty intimate details about her current relationship wither her boyfriend. I do not reciprocate, as we are living in two completely different worlds, but I do share stories about my girls and silly things that happen during the week. She gets a much more deep with me. I have basically taken on the role of her older, and much wiser, sister, with whom she feels comfortable sharing her boyfriend troubles.

Over the past few weeks she has shared with me stories about her very new boyfriend. They have only been dating for two months, and already there are issues. He has some emotional baggage that he should be talking over with a professional, but instead bottles up and releases his anger onto Sara. She has even called him verbally abusive. He snaps a the littlest things. He turns minute conversations into all-night arguments. He confides in his ex-girlfriend and rubs it in Sara's face, and he belittles her job. Shit, his mother even told Sara that she shouldn't be dating him. And she tells me all of this, in what I think is a cry for help.

Now, I am not one to sit by and listen to this kind of bullshit and not say anything. I have years of experience with this kind of situation, and consider myself somewhat of an expert in the field of horrible boyfriends. Not that I have had a ton of boyfriends in my life, but I had one, for almost 4 years, that pretty much took the cake when it comes to boyfriends that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy.

Today I looked Sara straight in the eye and said (in so many words), "get out. Get out of this relationship before it is too late. Get out while you are still young. You do not deserve this kind of bullshit. No one does. No one should be treated the way you are being treated. You are young, and beautiful and smart and motivated and have the world at your finger tips. Dump this loser and move on with your life. This is not love. You are not in love with this terrible person. Love should be easy. Love should feel good - shit, love should feel amazing. Love is not just something you feel, but something you do. This person does not love you if he treats you like this. GET OUT NOW."

God Damnit I wish someone slapped me in the face when I was 18 and said these words to me.

When I was 17 I met and "fell in love" (my blood is boiling right now as I type this - how stupid are young lovers???) with a boy. Never had a boy liked me before, but this boy did. And this boy was popular, and was friends with the older kids, and was out of high school and had a real job. How cool was it that someone like this, someone who I later found out had red flags galore (terrible childhood, treated his mother and brother like crap, overweight, didn't go to college, flirted with everything in site - and later cheated on me multiple times, disrespectful to my parents, treated my brother like shit, horrible temper, verbally abusive...I could go on), actually paid attention to me and wanted to be my boyfriend? We fought all the time. My parents LOATHED him (rightfully so). I became a different person when I was with him. I did whatever he wanted me to do...I can't even say more because it makes me so freaking angry that I wasted so many years of my life with this loser.

But oh, how I wish that someone pulled me aside and said what I said to Sara!! I wish someone shook me and said "You are better than this! You deserve so much better than this!! Why are you wasting your time, and your youth on this piece of garbage? Why do you let him make you cry? Why do you let him get to you - let him make you become this horrible bratty selfish teenager? You used have so many friends! You used to be close to your Mom! He is driving a wedge between you! You are ruining your life you stupid naive girl!!!"

Maybe my mom did say those things to me. Maybe someone else did, but I was so self-involved that I wouldn't have/didn't listen to anyone that tried to steer me away from this loser. And you know what? Looking back on my life, I wouldn't change a thing. Because of this relationship with this guy, I am the person I am now. I am in the amazing relationship I am because of who I became after I dumped this guy.

If you met me today you would not believe for a second that I used to be this pathetic, submissive shadow of a human. I am so strong willed, so outgoing and so much braver than I used to be - but it took going through all of that bullshit to become who I am today. I am not saying that everyone needs to go through something like I did to become an independent woman, as I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but that was my path to become the woman I am today.

I am fearful for when my girls get older. I am scared that they are going to fall into the same trap that I did, that Sara has, and let a man control them. I am scared they will let a man make them feel pain and sadness. I am scared they will let a man get into their head and make them feel less of a person - make them feel that they aren't deserving of what they really want. I will do my best to tell them about what I went through, and give them advice and hopefully they will start out their dating lives as strong independent women, unlike I did. I will always be there for them, even if they won't talk to me, and I will remind them constantly that they are amazing, beautiful creatures, and should be treated as so.

Here are my words of advice to women of all ages out there: No man, or woman, or whomever you are in a relationship with, should ever make you feel badly about yourself. No one you are in love with should constantly make you sad. The beginnings of a relationship should not be challenging. New love is the most exciting love - you should want to be with each other every chance you get. You should be smiling ear to ear when you see this person, and never want to let go of their hand. Your partner should not make you cry - unless it is because he or she did something insanely romantic and sweet for you. If you are constantly fighting, this is not the right person for you. If you are nervous about saying something wrong in front of this person, this is not the right person for you. If you cannot be your amazing self in front of this person, this is DEFINITELY not the right person for you.

Love is not just something that you feel, it is something that you do. This is something that my husband said to me once and I will never forget it. You can't just say you love someone and think it will all be ok - you have to live the love. You have to put their needs before your own. You have to want to make them happy as often as you can.

You have to love who you are when you are when you are around your partner. And if you don't? Move on with your life. There is a lobster out there for everyone, you just have to keep looking.

Acting a Fool!

I was just in the bedroom playing with Val on the floor. She stood up and walked over to my side, put her hand on my shoulder and said "it's ok Mommy," and then leaned in and gave me a huge hug and a  kiss...and then another kiss and an even bigger hug. My heart melted. This is one of the many "bits" she does that gets me to smile ear to ear and be thankful that I have such an amazing child.

She made up a knock knock joke that she loves to tell everyone she meets:

Val: Knock, knock, who dare?
Me: Who's there?
Val: Donut
Me: Donut, who?
Val: Donut Chicken!!!

It kills every time.

You can't see it but her shirt says
T is for Trouble.

She is loving, she is funny, she is fearless and just perfect...90% of the time.

With M, who will be 5 in December, we were lucky to never experience the terrible twos. She was honestly a little angel. Sure there was some 'tude here and there, but never a big fit. Those actually didn't come until the mid-4s (so fairly recently). With Val, it is a whole different ballgame. This kid is already giving me a run for my money and she just turned two in August.

We recently began experiencing major fits in public places. Last weekend we were at a museum and she actually laid down in the middle of a crowded area and screamed bloody murder while flailing her legs and arms around. My husband and I, who are new to this type of behavior, couldn't help but laugh and look at each other like, "should we pick her up? Should we let her work it out? Did a demon possess our child in the play kitchen area?" Ultimately I grabbed her by the waist, trying to avoid getting punched or kicked and removed her to a different location and calmed her down.

This morning she was totally content running errands with me, until we got to the fabric store. I don't know what set her off but as soon as we entered the fabric store she started in with "No! I want Daddy! I want to go see Daddy at work!" She refused to move from the entrance area, so I once again had to pick her up by the waist and carry her screaming with me through the store - this time though she was giving me what I call the "stiff body" and tensing her whole body. I ended up just planting her down a few feet away from me while she kept screaming "I can't! No! I can't!" and tried to listen to the overly sweet woman explain to me how I figure out which fabrics can be used as napkins for M's school. I still do not know which fabrics are suitable as five minutes into the store I had to once again pick up 'Ole Stiff Body McGee and carry her out of the store, where she immediately calmed down.

At home we are dealing with things like hitting her sister, or hitting the pooch. Val likes to steal whatever M is playing with, then play nice and offer the toy to M and say "here you go M!" only to run away with said toy in her hand at the last minute, while cackling her little evil laugh. I'm not going to lie, this I think is hysterical.

Val is also a runner. By runner I mean that she likes to bolt whenever you put her down. She will run away from me at grocery stores (I actually have to use the safety straps on the cart), when we are walking the dog (I now put her in the Ergo on my back to stop this) and her latest favorite place to run away from me is the parking garage in our building. She about gave me a heart attack last night when we returned home and I got her out of the seat, went to lock the car (she usually stands there and helps me lock the car) and out of the corner of my eye I see her running away from the car. I scream her name but of course this just makes her laugh and run faster. This kid!!!

It used to be that being tired or hungry set her off, but now it seems to be anything and everything can flip her switch and make her "act a fool," as I like to say. This behavior even further solidifies our decision to only have two kids. Serenity now!!!

Rules of the Road

The apartment we are currently living in while our house is being built is approximately 30 minutes (give or take 5 minutes depending on traffic and school buses) away from M's school. This means that I spend at least 2 hours a day in the car. Most days I am in the car for at least 3 hours, as I have to run errands, take Val to class or doctor's appointments, in addition to driving to and from M's school. I have gone from filling up my gas tank every 10 days to every 5. My back has been aching more than usual as I am sitting behind the wheel much more than I used to. Needless to say, I am not happy about this situation, but I have to deal as our house (which will be a four minute drive to school) is taking a lot longer to be finished than we had hoped. Anyhoo...my point is that I am driving a lot. 

Lately I have been thinking about driving etiquette and actual rules of the road and have come to the conclusion that 99% of the people on the road need to go back and take their driving test again because they drive like A-Holes (caps intended). I decided I should take it upon myself to refresh you all with proper driving behavior (in my opinion, and in some cases, the state of Massachusetts opinion too). Here goes: 

1. The wave. The wave goes a long way in my book. It can stifle a potential hurricane of anger inside me. It is a show of thanks, of compassion and in some cases regret. The wave I am referring to is the wave that is exchanged between drivers. A simple raising of the hand. When should said wave be used? All the time. You can't wave enough when you are driving. Someone let's you out in front of them? Give them a wave. You cut someone off, and truly didn't mean it? Give them a wave. Hell, if you cut someone off and did mean it, but don't really want to get them riled up - give them a wave. If everyone would just wave to each other while driving, the world would be a happier place. I had someone turn in front of me that required me to pretty much slam on the breaks today - the anger started to bubble, but out the window came his hand and just a couple back and forths my anger subsided...it's cool, he didn't mean it (even if he did, I appreciate the wave buddy.)

2. The left lane. People let's finally get this straight. The left lane is for passing only. That is highway rules 101. You do not just choose a lane and drive whatever speed you want to in that lane. The left lane of the highway is for people driving faster than the people in the middle lane. The right lane is for the grannies with walkers, or those about to exit the highway. You get into the left lane only if you are driving faster than the people in the middle and right lanes. If someone comes up behind you in the left lane, and they are driving faster than you (which in most cases is me), you pull over into the middle lane and let that person pass you. You do not drive 60 MPH in the left lane and force people to pass you on the right. That is just madness.  

3. Emergency vehicles. How do people not know that when a police car, firetruck or ambulance is coming up behind you you pull the eff over? You do whatever you have to do to get out of the freaking way. If you are on a two lane road and you see one of these vehicles coming in the opposite direction you also pull over and stop. Get out of their way...now. Don't just sit there at the light twiddling your thumbs (I'm talking to you, cars on route 9 last week who just sat there while the ambulance was honking it's horns and flashing it's lights) - get out of the way. 

4. Use your turn signals. I heard a funny thing on The Tonight Show a few weeks ago. Jimmy Fallon had people tweet their favorite lines of advice they have received from their fathers and he shared his favorites on the show. One girl said "my dad told me never to use my turn signals as it was nobody's business where I was going." People that don't use turn signals drive me insane. Are you too lazy to move your finger? Do you think you own the road? Do you just like keeping people on their toes? Don't be an ass...use your signals. 

5. If there is no sign telling you "No Turn on Red" you can make a right on a red light. I promise this is ok. 

6. And the one that I deal with multiple times a day...If you are in dead stop traffic, and I am trying to make a left across the street on which you are "parked" temporarily, do not stop directly in front of my car so that I cannot make my left. I know you see me there. I know you are just being a total dick and making me suffer along with you by making me wait to make my left. You could have just not moved and let me in front of you to make my turn, but no, you purposefully moved up and blocked me. Oh look, that nice person behind you actually backed up so that I could get out in front of her. She gets a wave, you would get a finger you d-bag, but I have kids in the car, so you get a mental finger from me. 

So to sum it up, if you see black Highlander come up behind you while driving in the left lane, put on your turn signal, pull over to the middle lane and I will happily give you a wave.  

Dear Facebook, I am over you

There was a time (not so long ago) that I would check my Facebook account about 20 times a day. There was a time (much longer ago) that I would update my status with the minutiae of my day ("So tired from being up at 4:30 AM!" or "Eating lunch at Bloomingdales!" or "Just took a poop!" - ok, I never wrote about my bowel movements, but some people put so much insignificant crap (pun intended) in their status they might as well be talking about their poops!) - what was I saying? Oh yeah, I used to be a frequent Facebook user. I used to upload photos of the girls on a daily basis, and then desperately check every ten minutes to see which of my friends "liked" my photos (what? only 10 of you like this awesome photo of M? Are you blind?).

There was a time when Facebook was fun. It was a place to stalk old boyfriends, and see what fellow classmates were up to and who they ended up marrying. It was a place to reconnect with friends from your childhood, and keep in touch with family members that you rarely see.

But now I feel like it is just a place for people to over share the intimate details of their lives. Ok, maybe it has always been that way, and maybe I too was once an over sharer, but I feel like people have gotten out of hand.

I do not give a flying fug how many miles you ran this morning!

Oh, you are at the gym? Then get off Facebook and work out for fugs sake!

You are "checking-in" to a restaurant? Who cares! Check this!

I, and the rest of your Facebook friends, do not need to know the intimate details of your marital problems (maybe you should not share so much on Facebook and your marriage would be better).

Yes, traffic sucks at rush hour.

Yes, it snows in winter and is always warm in Florida (you don't have to remind us Northerners).

No, I am not giving you money for your race (ok, some people I do give money to, I am just sick of seeing people asking for money!)

And I am fine with you being a devout Christian, you just don't need to remind us every day! I don't remind you that I don't believe in religion on a daily basis do I?

And if I sign on one more time and see a photo of some terminally ill child in a foreign country (most of them incredibly disturbing and heartbreaking) that asks me to type "AMEN" in the comments (I am assuming most of these are hoaxes) I am going to throw in the towel for good.

Maybe I am getting too old for Facebook. Maybe I realize that I don't want everyone I know to know every detail of my life (and neither should you people). Maybe I am pissed that Facebook has turned into one big marketing ploy (I have to actually pay now for all the people that like the Boston Baby Mama page to see my posts - ridiculous!) Whatever the reason, Facebook, I am over you.

Now, Instagram, that is another story. All photos and no status updates? A community of creative people that have likeminded interests and are nothing but positive?* Count me in!



*Yes, I know, not all of Instagram is like this, but the community that I have aligned with is totally this way! Follow me and find out! I promise! 

A Travel Nightmare (and some travel advice)

I am a firm believer that when you put something out in the universe, it will come back to bite you in the ass...hard. For instance, the second you tell someone your kid is sleeping through the night, your kid will start waking up at least once every night. As soon as you brag to your friends about how well behaved your child is, and how you never experienced the terrible twos, your kid will turn on you the second you walk through the door and throw the fit of the century when you try to get them into their pajamas...every night for a month straight.

In this case, my story has nothing to do with the behavior of my children, but something else I put out in the universe entirely. My younger brother is crazy smart - like computer genius type smart - but this kid is the most forgetful, absent minded person sometimes. I remember when we were little my mom used to have to pin notes for the teacher to his chest because he never remembered to give them to the teacher if my mother put them in his bag. She pinned an envelope to the poor kids chest!! Today he is 33 years old, and every time he travels back to the US (he now lives in Europe) something goes wrong with his travel situation...he misses a flight, he thinks he is on a different flight and goes to the wrong terminal, and once he even went to the wrong airport (La Guardia when he was supposed to be at JFK). I didn't know how this type of thing happened to a grown adult so often. I actually told one of my friends last month about my brother and his luck with travel, and said something along the lines of "I have taken hundreds of flights in my life and not once have I ever missed a flight."

And the universe heard me...and came prepared to bite me.

Last Saturday the girls and I were booked on a 6 AM flight out of Boston to West Palm Beach. We were traveling down to see my parents, as Hubs is crazy busy at work lately and we needed some love from the grandparents. That morning we awoke at 4 AM, and we pulled out of the garage (Hubs drove us) at 4:30, as scheduled. We arrived at the airport as planned at 5 AM - plenty of time to get on a 6 AM flight right? Here is where I miscalculated - I didn't account for the time that it would take us to park the car, take the car seats out of the car and put them in their carrying cases, and get us plus the luggage (with Hubs helping) down to the baggage drop off area. It was 20 minutes that I didn't think about.

We got in line to drop off our bags at 5:20 on the nose - the line was long, but consistently moving. I figured it would take us 10 minutes to get up to the front, and then we had Even More Speed so we got to skip the security line. We would be fine. When I think about it now, I want to go back and slap myself in the face. Was my brain not working? How would we be fine??

We got to the front of the line and were told that we missed our flight. There was no way that our luggage would make it to the plane in time and we had to get on another flight. The a-hole that told me this then asked me why I didn't come forward when they called out the passengers on our flight from the long line. I told him that we never heard him and would of course have come forward!

Cue the waterworks. I was sleep deprived, I was already nervous about flying by myself  with the girls, and then this crap happens. It is totally my fault. I am not one to get to an airport late, or with just enough time to walk on the plane. I like to get there early. I thought an hour before my flight would be fine - but now that I think about it, and it would have been if it was just me flying and I didn't have any luggage to check! I have no idea what I was thinking...

we were lucky to not have anyone sitting in
the seat next to us so Val got her own seat for
a bit and mommy got to stretch her arms!
Notice the Ziploc bag!

So some nice lady booked us on another flight, but we had to go to Fort Lauderdale, which is about 45 minutes south of West Palm. Whatever - we would be getting in about 2 hours later than scheduled, that is fine. The woman was nice enough to give Hubs a gate pass so that he could help us to the gate. I stopped crying and pulled myself together...

And then we were told that the flight to Fort Lauderdale was having maintenance issues (the bathrooms were broken) and that we were delayed 30 minutes...which turned into an hour. And THEN we were told that the plane was unfixable and we would have to wait another hour for different plane, coming from Orlando, which would then take us to Fort Lauderdale. Jebus!

In the end, they fixed the bathrooms on the original flight, and we left about 2 hours later than scheduled, which was 4.5 hours later than our 6 AM flight. It was a nightmare of a situation, and could have been avoided if I had actually used my brain and gotten up 30 minutes earlier.

For all of the chaos the girls were incredibly well behaved. There is nothing like being stressed about traveling with your kids alone and having multiple strangers come up to you and compliment you on how well behaved your children are. Sure there was some whining here and there (they had been up since 4 AM!) but I was shocked at how well they took all the delays - more time to run around the terminal giggling..and of course to watch their iPads!

Speaking of which, I know I have given advice about traveling with kids before, but here are some pointers I wanted to share again:

- Ziploc bag everything. I had the following in individual ziploc bags: diapers and wipes, toys and books, snacks, 2 Camelback water containers, 2 changes of clothes. This way it is so easy to keep everything nice and organized and makes going through security so much easier!

- Use your baby carrier. I had Val in the Ergo and since we were flying so early and I knew M would be cranky I brought the umbrella stroller. If M wasn't riding I put our carryon in the stroller and pushed it around. Val won't sit still in a stroller, so I kept her in the Ergo when we were on the move so I had my hands free

- Bring at least one change of clothes for each kid. We always have spills on the plane - most of the time they are my fault - but someone always ends up with wet pants or a dirty shirt.

- People are usually very nice to you when you are traveling with young kids - especially when they are well behaved. Take advantage of those nice grandparents sitting behind you and let them play peekaboo with your kid for a few minutes. Say yes to the flight attendant when she asks to hold your child so that you can pee on your own. Let that security guard help you fold your stroller. You don't have to do everything yourself (although I like to try)!

- Make sure your kids pee right before you board the plane. Even if they say they don't have to go, make them "squeeze out the pee pee" as we say. If they don't they will for sure have to go when they aren't able to go (during ascending and descending).

- Bring lollipops. We are at the age where M is starting to feel the pressure in her ears during take off and landing now. Lollipops seem to help with the pressure, and are a good distraction.

- Let your kids use electronics. I am a firm believer in my kids using iPads. Ok, that doesn't even make sense - ha. What I mean is, if it keeps them quiet, and takes some stress off you, let them look at the iPad on a plane! Sure I bring other things, like crayons and paper, and books, but most of the flight both my kids had an iPad in front of them, and they were content and quiet. I am sure some people were judging me (as they do when I have the iPad out at restaurants) but I don't care! Judge away, and enjoy the quiet flight!

Despite the chaos of the morning, we got to Florida, had an amazing time with my parents in the warm 80 degree sun. And I got to the airport an hour and a half early for our return flight!

My Not-So-Real Housewives Rant

My Real Housewives tag line:
"I used to be the Lady of the dance floor, but now I am Queen of boogers and poop."

I have watched every single episode that has ever aired of every single Real Housewives franchise.

Phew. Felt good to get that off my chest. (Queue husband shivering in disgust.)

I have been watching since Lori was working as a receptionist at Vicki's company back in the first season of OC. I remember Nene as a brunette. I also remember Bethenny living in a tiny one bedroom apartment and dating some bald dude named Jason (not Hoppy). I even suffered through the madness that was RH of DC - and secretly wish they brought that franchise back because those ladies were highly entertaining (who doesn't like a White House party scandal!)

I could resist this photo of RHoA season 1. Yikes!

I used to really enjoy watching each season. The characters were so much more normal than they are now. Sure they went to extravagant parties, but that wasn't the focus of every episode. You saw their every day lives, and their struggle to raise normal kids, or to seriously find love. It was entertaining, and unlike anything else on television.

Of course, I still watch today, but I don't enjoy it. I actually loathe the show, and everyone on each franchise. My husband says this to me all the time, "how can you watch something when you hate everyone on it? It doesn't make sense!?" It doesn't make sense! But I cannot miss an episode for some reason! I need to see what insane hi-jinx these nut jobs with weaves get up to each week.

The shows have gotten seriously ridiculous. They are so set-up and scripted these days they are like a completely different show from the first seasons. Each week they set up the ladies (and now the husbands/boyfriends play a big part) in some ridiculous scenario and tell someone to bring up some bit of juicy gossip that will ignite a huge fight between the cast mates, which lately sometimes even comes to blows. It is a train wreck.

Each season the ladies get more plastic surgery, looking more and more like middle aged Barbie dolls who can't close their eyes. They all now drive Range Rovers - have you noticed that? They all wear so much make-up - what is it with the fake eyelashes??? Why do they all have to wear them every moment of each day? Do people in real life do that? Not in Boston, that is for sure.

When does a reality show stop being a reality show? When you are paying the cast mates up to $1 million per season. It was just released that Nene Leaks (Bloop! I still love her!) is the highest paid housewife, raking in one million per season. Teresa Giudice (the most painful to watch I think) comes in at second making $650k a year!

Hey Bravo, how about this for a show - you actually show what a REAL housewife does during the day! For instance, I am on my second load of deep-sanitizing laundry because my dog won't stop peeing on our beds! I took my daughter to school this morning while wearing sweatpants, crazy hair and yesterday's mascara. I just flushed some tiny poops that were in my daughter's diaper down the toilet, but when I opened the diaper over the toilet one poop went rogue and bounced off the seat onto the floor. Now that's television!!! It may not make for great television but it is what REAL housewives do.

Nothing about the show is real anymore. Women don't fight like that in real life. Women don't really fight! I have gotten in one fight with a friend in my entire life, and an hour later we were hugging and crying over how ridiculous it was, and we never fought again. I guess that is why my life would make terrible television.

Here is a question for you - if you have a sketchy past or have done anything illegal in your life, why on earth would you go on a reality television show? There is no way you are going to be able to hide anything now that your life is an open book! It is just sad how all of these cast member's skeletons are coming out of their closets now.

And what is even sadder is to watch marriages implode every season (PS. I called it from day one that Bethenney and Jason Hoppy were never going to make it as well as Ramona and her husband - next up to divorce are Phaedra and Apollo - you heard it here first!) Vicki and Don. The Countess and the Count. Nene and Gregg (only to be remarried in a later season). Adrienne and Paul. Porsha and Kordell (everyone saw that coming!) Frasier and Camille!

I could go on...I could talk about the ridiculous attempts at singing careers made (Kim Zolciak is still the worst, with Gretchen Rossi a close second - never mind they are tied for first - who told them they could sing?), the silly attempts at launching their own product lines (Gretchen Rossi again here - holy hideous bags, and Lynn with those insane cuff bracelets) and all of the cast members who are now bankrupt, but I must go watch last night's RH of Bev Hills because I need to see what the crazy pants Carlton is upset about now. Actually I shouldn't bring up her name because she might cast a spell on me!

A New Low

You know that feeling when your head feels kind of foggy and you have that metallic taste in your mouth that indicates a cold is coming on? I have had that all week. I haven't been sleeping well, and it just happens to be a week where M has stayed in her bed every night so I can't blame her waking for my poor sleep. Last night was the worst though - I had one of those bad dreams that you try to wake yourself up from, and when you actually do wake up and finally go back to sleep, you are right back in that horrible dream. I awoke after 8 hours of sleep feeling like I slept 2. Damn brain!

This morning was Hubs' morning to get up with Val, our early riser, so I got to sleep in until 6:45 (note to 20 year old self - one day you will think of waking up at 6 AM as sleeping in. I know...effing crazeballs.) I got up, did my thing, made M's lunch, got her dressed and did her hair, got Val changed and dressed for the ride to school and then gathered our stuff to leave for school and realized that I still had my pajamas on (and had yet to actually look in the mirror at myself). 

There were two things I could do in this situation - take two minutes to go upstairs and change or just get in the car as is and go. I chose the latter, and I am not proud. This is what I looked like (and this drawing is being kind):

I had on giant fleece purple pajama pants with a hideously old, stained t-shirt that should be in the trash. As I mentioned I didn't actually look in the mirror (even when brushing my teeth) and I had crazy morning hair that was sticking out ala Something About Mary all over my head. I tried my best to get those rogue hairs to come down to earth with a little mother spit, but alas they wanted to be free. I had circles under my eyes that were accented by yesterday's mascara smeared on my face. Needless to say, I was looking hot. 

Oh, did I mention I had on flip flops? No? Well I did. Hot Mama. 

At least I had on a bra...a black one under an old white t-shirt. 

I didn't think anything of it. There was no reason for me to be getting out of the car, as I drive up to M's school and they take her out of the car for me. I was already in the car when I opened the garage door and would close it before I got out of the car - no neighbors would see me. I would be home within 30 minutes. 

I should also mention that I didn't even bother to put on a coat or a sweatshirt over this ensemble. I was feeling pretty confident I would be safe in the car...

Until we actually got to school...we are the first in the car line...the teacher takes M out of the car, and then Val starts to cry. I look in my rearview mirror and see Val pointing down the side of the backseat by the car door and saying "Woob woobs! Woob woobs!" which means she dropped her precious wooby down the side of the door. Shit. 

I again have two choices. Drive off and endure Val's screams for the 12 minute ride home, or get out of the car as fast as I can and rescue Woobs by opening Val's car door. I chose the latter. I got out of the car as fast as I could, in the rain mind you, opened Val's car door and threw her the trapped woobie. I made the mistake of looking behind my car, at the 10+ cars waiting to drop their kids off and unfortunately made eye contact with the woman in the SUV behind me. I was the deer in her headlights. 

It was a new low for me...going out of the house looking like a hobo and being seen by my peers. I was mildly embarrassed, but then I put on my 90s on 9 and rocked out to Will Smith's Men In Black, which I surprisingly remembered all the words to. Damn I love me some Fresh Prince. What would have been more embarrassing is if someone caught me dancing to MIB...in my car...in my pit-stained t-shirt and worn out pajama pants. 

To the fellow mother I encountered at a certain children's store last week...

Lady, I do not know you. You do not know me. Chances are you will never read this. But I feel compelled as a fellow mother to give you some parenting advice. Who am I to give anyone parenting advice? No one really. But as an observer to the madness that ensued in a certain children's store last week I feel the need to give you a clue as to what the situation looked like from another mother.

As I (with Val in stroller), and other customers, were quietly browsing through racks of clothes your children were causing what could best be described as a "raucous." I am assuming they were twins as they looked of the same age, which I would say is about 4 (my next question would be why weren't they at school?) You stood there at the register, worried about getting as much off your purchase as possible while your children terrorized the store. They were running under clothing racks, bumping into people and behaving like little animals.

So what did you do? "Mommy's not happy. Please stop. Mommy's not happy."

If I had to hear "Mommy's not happy" one more time...

At one point, while looking for this precious coupon on your phone, you realized that one of your kids had actually left the store. Come on lady!! Once you wrangled in said child, what did you say?

"Mommy's not happy."

And then went back to looking for a coupon on your phone while ignoring your Tasmanian Devils.

When you finally did find that precious coupon on your phone (which ended up not being valid) you left with your children, after they knocked over half of a display. I think my favorite part of this scene was the store clerk running after you (while you were still looking at your phone) with your child's shoe that they left in the store.

Where do I begin my judgement?

Let's start with leaving the kids at home. I know, easier said than done. Could you not have waited until later, when someone could have watched them or they were in school to come to the store to shop? No? That is fine...some people don't have the luxury of having child-free time, and I understand that.

So if you have to bring your kids out here is my advice...PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR KIDS. Especially if you know they are a little more hyper than the average kid, and won't be able to control themselves in public. Did you seriously not realize that one of them had left the store? How is that possible? If you can't keep an eye on your kids and shop at the same time you shouldn't be shopping.

If you have to bring your kids with you, and you can't keep an eye on them here is more advice...bring them entertainment! How about a book? A toy? By the looks of what you were wearing, and the very expensive bag that you were carrying, I am sure there are some i-type electronics in your house that the kids could be entertained by while you get your necessary errands done.

And if all of this isn't possible, and your kids are still acting crazy, you take them aside and you lay down the law. Your kids obviously don't care what you say, because it seems like you don't care. This monotone "mommy's not happy" obviously isn't working. You need another approach.

I am not judging your kids. They are probably sweet little angels. I don't blame them for wanting to run around and get their energy out. At that age who wants to go clothes shopping? Especially with a mother that pays more attention to her phone than she does her kids. It is you that I have a problem with because you are one of those mothers that is oblivious to everyone else around you. You are one of those mothers that doesn't care what their kids do, or how they act in public. You also didn't seem too worried about where they were most of the time either.

As a mother I feel we need to stick together. We are part of a club, and we need to watch out for one another. We need to be conscious of those around us. I will be the first to hold the door for a fellow mother with a stroller. If I see a mother near me with an upset baby when we are out to eat, I will offer that mother an extra toy we have. I will wave hi to babies in strollers, and smile at the mothers pushing them. I don't mind a crying baby, and feel sorry for the mother who has this look of guilt on her face while she tries to console fussy baby as quickly as she can.

You, I kind of want to slap (did I go too far - probably :) like Cher does to Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck. 

Again, I do not know you. I do not know what is going on in your life. But I feel for your kids. I worry you will leave one somewhere some day and not realize it. Or that one of them will run into the street while you are looking at your phone and not at your kid. Or something worse. For your kids sake - Pay attention to them!

This has been a public snark announcement from Mama J.

A Note to Parents of Kids Trying to Sell Things To Me

Parents,
If your kid plans to come to my house, in hopes of me purchasing candy, wrapping paper, a candle, or whatever item their school is making them sell, here are some tips that will make them more likely to make a sale:

1. Smile

Ding Dong! We want to make you fat!

2. Introduce yourself and tell me where you go to school.
3. Tell me why you are selling whatever you are selling.
4. Explain where the money is going.
5. Seem interested in what you are doing.
6. Say please and thank you.
7. If I am unable to purchase said item (because this mama rarely has cash on her), and ask that you come back at another time don't just walk away. Look me in the eye and say thank you or good night.
8. If I do purchase said item, seem grateful. And again, smile for crying out loud.

So far this year I have bought a candle, girl scout cookies and candy from our neighborhood children. None of them smiled. None of them were interested in what they were selling. None of them told me anything about what they were selling, where the money was going...yada yada yada. I was not impressed, but I did the neighborly thing and purchased whatever they were selling so I wasn't labeled as that "mean old woman who never has cash."

A teenage boy just came to my door and said the following (with a puss on his face)...

"Wanna buy chocolate for my football team?"

And when I told him I didn't have cash on me right now (the truth) and that maybe he could come back another day, he just turned and walked away and said "ok" under his breath.

Hence, this post.

Actually maybe I do want to be known as "the mean old woman who never has cash" and that way no one will ever ring my door and ask me to buy things, that most of the time just make me fat.

Bah Humbug.

House Arrest

I am a homebody. I usually love to stay home with the family, watch some movies, make a nice dinner, drink some booze...that is all nice for a day, or two, maybe even three. But at this very moment I am stuck at my home due to Nemo, the blizzard not the fish, for the third day in a row (technically I have been in my house since Thursday at 1PM) and I am clawing at the walls to get out.

WTF is all this white stuff?
...the pooch seemed to say

Why is this different? Well, we are literally stuck in our house. The roads have at least two feet of snow on them, and there isn't a plow in site. Where do I live? In the rural suburbs you may think? NO! The city of Boston. And nary a plow in site my friends. Actually that is a lie! Plows have driven by our street, and one even attempted to plow our street, but got 10 feet in and decided to call it a day. So we are stuck. Not only is our street not plowed, but the street that is on the side of our house (we are on the corner of two streets) is not plowed either. So we are F'ed in the A, as I like to say.

The fact is even if I wanted to leave our house I am unable to physically drive my car down the street (see snow level at left - my dog is 60 pounds people!). And boy do I want to leave our house! Normally if we had a three day weekend, and we decided to make a staycation out of it and hang at home, I would be totally cool, but now that I am housebound all I want to do is drive away. To where? Anywhere!

Nemo...I like the movie better

I am not sure what happens now, as the sun is lowering over the horizon and we are trapped like rats in a cage. The one plow that attempted to dig us out has come and gone, with no other plows in site. There is absolutely no chance of driving over the 5 foot mountain the plow created to escape our neighborhood, so we will have to sit and stew for the unforeseen future.

We have tried multiple times to go out and play in the snow, but there is actually too much snow for M to play in!! We can't build a snowman because the snow won't pack and we can't even get to our yard because the snow is too high to walk through. This just adds to the frustration of being surrounded by snow - that we can't even play in!

M actually has school tomorrow, and she is probably, for once, looking forward to going just to get out of the house and away from me, and her sister that refuses to nap these days!

Oh! Did I mention our dishwasher is broken? What a pain in the balls it is not to have a dishwasher.

There are a lot of exclamation points in this post :)

When to abandond ones principals??? (rant no2)

So, my dbg is just that, a little darling!, she's filled with energy and uses it up quickly, that means she gets very tired very soon and has no energy to eat or sit down for a story once she's hit bottom.

A few weeks ago we weened her off the pacifier (we call it dummy, so for future reference, dummy=pacifier) it went ok, it took her about a week to settle for her night time sleep without it and now she sleeps like a dream (most of the time) without it, the day naps never settled, she will scream and scream and scream so in the end I told my hubby that we'll have to give it to her, I nor her can take this any longer.

So now she'll fall asleep but wake up as soon as the dummy falls out of her mouth, I try to get her to suck her thumb but she likes to pat things and forgets to suck the thumb, though she still gets upset when it comes out and forgets that it was her thumb and she can easily put it back in again, she also is still struggling to get the dummy in properly, sometimes it works but most times it doesn't so I go in to her room over and over again, her sleep is interrupted and it turns out it's not a good enough nap.

Now she's also a bit wingy and the dummy helps calm her down, we have tried to hold it off, but her sad face just makes my insides shrink and I think, am I taking the dummy away for my sake or hers? It obviously bothers me to hear her whine and whinge, and part of me hopes that one day she'll start looking for it herself and I let her whine for while, though since she almost never finds it and puts it in her mouth herself I end up after having had her cry/whine/whinge for a while go over and do it for her....
I am worried that this bad habit is never ending, so this was me abandoning my principles, but I'm not sure to what good or bad

(my hubby reads this and looks at me, what happened to you? he says. I used to do this, as a nanny these things are so easy to deal with, no nonsense and it all works out great, maybe I should take a step back, stop letting cries bother me, enjoy the time we have while she's little and stop worrying?)

Mrs. S? That’s my mother-in-law.

Recently, I received a letter for the family, addressed to “Dr. and Mrs. S and family.” Mrs. S? Try "Drs. S & T and family," or something like that, please.  I was seriously peeved.  It wasn’t the first time this sender, and others, had deliberately chosen to forget this important detail: I kept my last name when I got married.

Growing up, I never thought I would change my name. My mother kept her maiden name. Interestingly, she came to this country in the 70’s, when many women in the US started keeping their name in the spirit of feminism.  But her reasons were different. Where she came from, most women did.  It was cultural, customary.  So I grew up thinking I would do the same.  And when I went to grad school in my 20’s, it seemed funny to me to trade in my professional-personal-ethnic-family identity for someone else’s ‘til death do us part. That’s when I also started noticing the great name divide: the keepers and the changers.  Two of my friends kept their last names.  But many friends I knew didn’t. And there was plenty of trash talk on both sides.

A colleague basking in his newly minted married status explained to me how his wife changed her name “so our children won’t be confused who their mother is.” I had to suppress a chuckle on that one.  Throughout my childhood, I knew who my mom was, thank you very much.  Lots of head-scratchers about my parents, but that was not one of them.  Growing up in one of the reddest-most conservative-backward-religious states, I was often called a chink (and to them I would like to say, if you’re going to insult me, at least get it right. The correct pejorative is “gook.” But I digress.). But no one ever called me a bastard.  Because everyone knew who my mom was.  She was the chink-y looking lady who picked me up from school in her orange Toyota Corolla every day. Duh.

My keeper friends scorn those who changed their name.  “Why would you ever give up your identity and become property of your husband?” they roll their eyes and sneer.  And I have definitely stooped to that, even saying to a friend of mine at her wedding, “You’ll always be Ms. B to me!” Ouch. Many apologies, Mrs. T.

Fast forward 10 years later, and I say, hey sisters, let’s give each other a break.  We’re the lucky ones, where our last name does not signify that we are the property of our father or husband.  We aren’t required to register to vote under our husbands’ names--if you can believe it, that was state law in some places until very recently.  Ultimately, unlike women generations before us, we have many more choices in life.  And one of those choices is whether or not to take the last name of our spouse. In the liberal state of Massachusetts, currently 87% of college-educated women are changers, and 13% of women are keepers, down from a peak of over 90% before 1975, but up from about 80% in 1990.  And that’s fine by me.

To my family and friends:  If you are 80 years old or older, I give you a pass.  This is a generational thing. I get it.  If you didn’t know I kept my name, I give you a pass—the first time.  Next time, before you send out that chintzy family holiday card, do what many friends have done and call to ask how to address that envelope (FYI: the T & S family will do fine).   If you went to our wedding and know I kept my name, you have no excuse.  If you call your self gen-X, Y, or whatever, you really don’t have an excuse.  Again, it’s a generational thing.  If you went to any fancy pants ivy-league-esque college or have an advanced degree or call yourself a liberal in any way...shame on you.  You know plenty of women (professors, mentors, classmates, friends) who didn’t change their name. I am one of them.  Do me a favor and remember next time. And if you fall into all of the last three categories (as the sender of the card in question did) well you’ve got me stumped.

For those of you out there who like to gossip, let’s dispel some myths. Consider the following statements: 1) I don’t love or respect my husband enough to take his name. 2) I don’t love my kids enough to share the same last name and bask in glow of our family unit.  3) I’m a bra-burning, man-hating feminist. 4) I’m saving my time, hassle, and money in paperwork just in case this marriage doesn’t work out. Sorry to disappoint the rumor mill: all are false.

Anna Post, co-author of Emily Post’s Etiquette had the following to say in the matter:

“The correct etiquette is to address them in the way they refer to themselves. So the invitation should read, for example, ‘Ms. Jane Rasmussen and Mr. Timothy Caldwell.’ That way you are respecting the woman’s choice to keep her own name.”

I am a strong proponent of gender equality, though the dude and little miss are teaching me a lot about the role of nature versus nurture (one of the dude’s first words was "bus"; little miss has taken an early liking to my jewelry).  But it’s not about making everything exactly fifty-fifty; it’s all about giving equal opportunity and choice.  And though I have my own opinions for being a keeper, I know those changers have their own point of view.  I respect their choice.  So ladies and gents, and especially the changer ladies out there--please respect mine.

My Daughter is a Girl!!

I don't know why this bothers the crap out of me, but lately I feel like people out and about are mistaking M for a boy. I get so angry when this happens, because to me, she looks 100% girl. I don't always dress her in pink dresses or put bows in her hair, but I feel like she always looks like a female. Somehow, a lot of other people in this world do not agree.

I am woman, here my Mama roar!

When we were at the Children's Museum last week she was mistaken for a boy twice. She was wearing blue jeans with a striped hoodie sweater that was red, purple, white and blue...with pink sneakers. She was wearing a bright yellow swing coat on top of all this the first time someone called her a "he." I can see how the sweater might go either boy or girl, but I seriously it is pretty girly in real life - especially with the purple in it. Then someone actually called her my "son" when we were up playing with the trucks on the third floor. Something like "looks like her son isn't done playing there so you have to wait your turn..." and of course I was all "my DAUGHTER will be done in a second."

And then yesterday we were at Whole Foods when it happened twice again. The guy giving us our American Cheese at the deli counter asked if "my son" would like to try a slice. My son? Would I dress my son in hot pink sweatpants, a blue t-shirt with a glitter bow on the neckline, a white hoodie with Minnie Mouse on the front and back (including red sparkles) and pink shoes???? Ok - so this guy had some seriously thick glasses, so I can give him a pass, but again I said "my DAUGHTER would love some cheese." The second person was a young girl, who was basically one foot away from M and said "Oh my God, he is so cute!" and I about lost it. I said "SHE is a girl." And the girl of course said she was sorry, but I wanted to punch her in the face.

As a mother, if I saw a child and didn't know for sure whether he or she was a he or she, I would avoid embarrassment at all cost and not even use a gender specific pronoun. But I feel like once the kid gets to 2, it is pretty obvious which sex they are. Of course when they are babies, it is totally acceptable to mistake gender...when it gets to around 2 and you mistake gender, either you are dressing your kid like the opposite gender, or the person who makes the mistake is just an idiot.

Does this happen to anyone else? Does M look like a boy and I just don't see it? Why does this offend me so much when it happens? It offends me even more when it is a mother with kids M's age, or a mother of daughters...those are the ladies that I want to punch in the throat when they call M a boy. If it is an old man, they get a pass, and especially one with thick glasses, which were covering up some googly eyes, like the first guy at Whole Foods.

That is all I have to say about that.

Il faut faire le point, maman…

The French have garnered some parenting interest lately thanks to the book Bringing up Bébé.  But I am not here to defend or critique  that book—smarter and better writers than I have tackled that hoopla.  Rather, this week, my internal Francophile has been musing over a great French expression, faire le point. It has a number of meanings: finding one’s bearings, re-setting your compass, or taking stock of the situation at hand. 

Ever have one of those weeks where you feel like you got up on the wrong side of the bed, day after day after day?  When everything seems to get on your nerves? Waiting for the guy at the coffee counter who is more interested in flirting with customers than serving coffee…the lady in the fur coat in front of me at the grocery store fishing for that 24 cents of exact change in her enormous fanny pack (incongruous image, I know), the coffee leaking from that “spill-proof" mug into my overstuffed shopping bag…those little moments test my patience.

We all have those not-on-the-ball kinds of days, weeks, or god forbid, months.  But combined with a willful independent-minded 2 ½ year-old toddler, and it can be combustible.  Such was last week with my son.  Imagine: lots of throwing toys around, tackling his baby sister, and general misbehaving to get my attention. Already grouchy, I found myself at a loose end more than once, trying to keep it together for the both of us.  Not my finest hours of parenting. As I tried to take a deep breath during one difficult moment, I found myself thinking, Il faut faire le point.

I gave myself a time-out to get some perspective.  First, a little rant via email and voicemail to my two closest friends—both have young children and were able to give some reassurance: “Throwing and hitting aren’t acceptable. It’s good you are setting some limits,” and “It’s ok to be mad at your kid sometimes. We’re only human.” 

I also turned to some good old-fashioned bibliotherapy.  I took advantage of a couple of rare free hours in the afternoon midweek to go to a coffee shop, drink a latte, and read a little of “Positive Discipline” which helped me to find those bearings again. One of the phrases I thought was especially helpful was the guiding principle of being “kind and firm” with our budding preschooler. 

Not to say that we didn’t have more bumps in the road after that self-imposed time-out.  We muddled through a couple of more challenging situations, but also I tried out some new strategies, and slowly I am getting out of that rut I was in. My time-out was kind and firm to myself, which has translated to my being more kind and firm with my toddler.

The French have it right: Sometimes we gotta faire le point.

The Watertown Indoor Playspace (A Mama Rant)

I seem to be ranting about a lot lately on the blog...these pregnancy hormones are getting me all fired up about something new every day (and they made me cry at last night's Gossip Girl for crying out loud!). Today's rant is about the state of Boston area indoor playspaces, with focus on the Watertown Indoor Playspace that I just visited for the first time.

In South Florida there is this fabulous place called Latte Fun. It is a fancy indoor playspace for kids, combined with a great coffee bar for the parents. The space is large and clean. There are things for the kids to climb on, ball pits, bouncy floors, slides, etc. And the cafe area has lovely couches and tasty food (from what I have heard.) I have walked by it many a times, even before I had kids, and thought, "damn, that is a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?"

Let's compare this to the Watertown Indoor Playspace...
The location is sketchy - in this big warehouse next to a place that sells cement blocks. You walk around the back of the building to enter. Outside you see the saddest swingset ever behind a busted gate. I was suspect right from the start.

You enter into this giant space (with so much potential) and are immediately in the eating/waiting area. Pay $10 to the kid at the gate (more on him later), take off your shoes (I refused to leave my bag up front for fear it would have been tampered with in the little kid-height cubbies), and enter the playspace.

Here is what the play area consists of:
- 2 blow up bouncy things (one a bouncy house, the other a maze type castle thing)
- a Step 2 mini climbing thing with a slide
- some mini ladder slide thing (circa 1970)
- a metal contraption that four kids can sit on and spin around (circa 1960)
- a shitload of crappy ride on toys, that look like they were purchased from a secondhand shop.

In the back there is a playspace for toddlers that consists of a ball pit (that while we were there was being used by rambunctious 7-ish year old boys), some busted kitchens, giant scary baby dolls that have been around the block, random toys strewn about, and a bin full of dress up clothes that I am sure have never been washed.

I paid $10 for this?

My Problem with Princesses

Growing up I was neither a tom-boy nor a girly-girl. I fell somewhere in the middle - I played sports and loved to do physical activities, but I also loved to play dress up and make music videos with my friends. I loved all things arts and crafts, I loved to wrestle with my brother (I had some sweet leg lock moves) and to dance and listen to music. Because Disney was such a big part of my childhood, I of course knew all of the princesses - Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty were pretty much all we had at that point. But more often I could be found acting out scenes from Grease or copying Michael Jackson's dance moves in front of the TV.

When The Little Mermaid came out in 1989, I was 10 going on 11, and I loved it just as much as any other girl my age did. I knew all the words to the movie and the music right away...same goes for Beauty and the Beast three years later. I wasn't obsessed with the movies: I wasn't dressing up like a princess or having my mom buy me Ariel merchandise, but maybe that is because of my age when these movies came out (and because movies weren't as commercialized as they are today.)

Now I feel like everywhere you go all of the merchandise for girls is all princess all the time!! Everything is about dressing up as a princess, putting on make-up like a princess, watching princess movies, reading princess books - everything is pink and glittery. But what kind of message is this sending our girls of today?

At Disney World the princess merchandise is so shoved in your face it is ridiculous. These parents spend an average of $160 a kid to get them a princess costume, and have their hair done up like "a princess"- but it ends up looking like a bad white trash prom do. Almost every store you go in you see Princess dresses, and wigs and wands and shoes and accessories...and of course all the girls want it! Where are the Jessie the Cowgirl (from Toy Story) costumes? Now she is someone I would love my daughter to dress up as - strong willed, intelligent, opinionated...but more on her later.

Let me get to my point and break this whole princess thing down for you...starting with Ariel of The Little Mermaid. 

Just recently (after our last Disney trip where she saw the Little Mermaid show) my daughter has been asking to "watch Ariel on the TV." She had never seen the movie, but has seen the DVD lying around the house, and now finally recognizes her red flowing hair and 1/2 fish body. So I gave in the other night and turned it on for her to watch. I don't think I have seen it all the way through for many years, so I was totally picking up on different things than I used to. Here is my take on this movie, as a 33 year old mother of one two year old daughter (with one in the oven - sex unknown):

Ariel, a spoiled, selfish 16 year old brat, falls "in love" with a person of a different species after seeing (not communication with) him for a total of 3 minutes. When her father finds out he, rightfully, punishes her and tells her she can't see him, but she decides to sell her soul to a witch, thus giving up ever seeing her father, sisters and loved ones ever again just to be with this person she has seen for 3 minutes. And did I mention she is 16 years old???? All works out in the end, and she marries (at 16) this total stranger, thus giving up her life with her family for all eternity. 

The family cold strikes again...redux

I mentioned in my last post that, being a newbie at this, I had accidentally deleted my first full-length post.  So now I am trying to recreate it in the light of day, two cups of coffee strong…and without cough medicine on board. 

I had wanted to contribute to this blog with the best of intentions: to join a great group of Boston mamas in chronicling life with the young kiddos.  We had our second child this past May, and it has been a year of transition—I thought, hey I’d love to write about my experiences as a WAHM, my thoughts about raising biracial children in an urban setting, my take on the latest parenting controversies (WSJ articles about the tiger mom and raising kids a la francaise), share a delicious-nutritious-fast-easy recipe.   The idea of being part of a progressive, thoughtful parenting community appealed to me. The suggested half-hour to one-hour commitment to writing a week didn’t seem daunting.

That is of course, until my son curled up like a ball in my lap two weeks ago, sick as a dog with fever.  That fever morphed into the worst cold ever.  For everybody.  Our nine-month old daughter had these cute but sad crustaches when she woke up every morning.  Our nanny caught it.  My husband got it. Even our nanny’s husband got it. And then I caught it.

Fast-forward two weeks, and I am still nursing that cold.  Just went to the pharmacy this morning to pick up more cough syrup.  I’ve gone through the distinct phases—the head cold to beat the band, the bone-crushing fatigue, and now the incessant cough. I’ve crawled into bed many a night at 830pm, exhausted from the day. I have reinvented the term polypharmacy—just look at our bathroom shelf! Ibuprophen, decongestant, nasal spray…if it is nursing-friendly, I have taken it.

Mostly though, I am one grumpy mama.  Nursing two sick kids (literally and figuratively) while you are sick yourself is no one’s idea of fun.  My poor husband has tried to help—soup and medicine runs included—but he’s had to work over last weekend and this week go on a business trip, all while nursing his own cold.  So we’ve limped along.

But I do not mean to whine.  I knew raising kids would be a lot of work, blah blah blah.  I knew there would be weeks like these. But when I signed up to be a mama, somehow no one told me in the instruction manual that:

1) I would wake up every morning at sunrise for the foreseeable future—well, at least until our children graduate to teenage years, and

2) Someone in our house would ALWAYS be sick.  And the corollary: that I would spend a lot of time for the rest of my life at the doctor’s office or at the pharmacy…or be the taker or pusher of a variety of medications, antibiotics etc.

Well, I have resigned myself to my fate.  This won’t be the first or last cold.  Or even the worst—for us, the worst so far was the first cold my daughter caught this summer at the tender age of two weeks, landing us in the hospital for a week with RSV bronchiolitis (just me, my daughter, and a room with a view of the Charles at MGH). So I count our blessings. We are on the mend.  Things could always be worse, I tell myself.  But now I am stocked up and ready for anything. And as I signed off on my first abbreviated post, bring it on!

The family cold strikes again

Earlier today I posted my first post on this blog. Then in my cough suppressant-induced haze I realized I had misspelled strikes as "stikes" (did I mean "spikes"?) and in my haste to correct the title wiped out the post all together. Figures. Well I was trying to convey the point (probably better than I will now) that I had all these great intentions joining this blog. I was going to wax poetic, contribute amazing recipes, debunk patenting myths...until two weeks ago my 2 1/2 year old son gave us all a cold, knocking family members down one by one. And now I am the only one left not standing, still hacking up a lung night after night, day #13 and counting. Ultimately this is not our first or last family cold...but now I am prepared...Tylenol, check. Ibuprofen, check. Decongestant, check. Humidifier, check. Bring it on!

The state of America as seen at Walt Disney World

We just returned from our second adventure to Disney. I know I said after the last trip we wouldn't be going for a few years, but the opportunity arose and I couldn't pass it by! So my mom, M and I traveled up from South Florida and this time we stayed 3 days on property and visited 3 parks.

There are many things that have changed in the 30 years I have been visiting Disney World (about 100 visits, and 6 months of working there in those 30 years). Rides are updated constantly due to technological advances. There are new movies, which means new characters, new merchandise, etc. There are new parks and the old ones are constantly growing and changing. And in the last 30 years strollers have taken over the parks.

When I was young we never used a stroller. I went to Disney for the first time when I was 3, and my brother almost 2, and we ran around the park until we passed out, and then were carried by a parent. When I worked there I actually worked in the stroller department a few times, and while many were rented, the sheer amount of strollers in the park today is out of control.

Now my gripe isn't with the majority of parents pushing their kids in strollers. We had our Uppa Vista for M, and followed the rules and parked it in the designated "Stroller Parking" areas like the law abiders that we are.

Here is who my gripe is with: the totally lazy parents who are pushing around their 4+ year old kids, who 9 times out of 10 are totally overweight, and taking up the stroller space that should be used for kids with 2 and under kids. And this is just the root of my problem...

America is fat. America's children are fat and out of shape.

My wishes for this Wednesday

I wish...

...that I realized I had poop on my finger this morning before walking into my doctor's office. I changed a crazy messy diaper in the back seat of my car, I wiped my hands with a wipe, thinking I was all good, and headed into my Dermatologists office. After standing at the desk, and filling out some paperwork, I realized when I sat down in the waiting room that my nail or my index finger on my right hand was covered in poo. I was horrified and ran to the bathroom to scrub it off, but I know that little woman behind the counter noticed it - she was totally acting weird.

...that I didn't see the poster for forehead botox at aforementioned Dermatologist. They had three photos of the three levels of wrinkles they use it on - and I saw my face looking back at me in photo one. There was a girl with brown eyebrows and green eyes with a giant dent in between her eye brows. Now I have ideas about something else to ask for Christmas. Not that I would do that...would I? No way...maybe?

...that I knew I was going to get a full naked body scan at the Dermatologists. I would have shaved and groomed a little. Thankfully I showered, but still it is always totally embarrassing to have this man look at every inch of your body, and have you lift your boobs and spread your legs (with underwear on, but still). I think I need to get a female dermatologist. And I know I need to get new underwear.

...that cars came with bumpers like bumper cars, a programmable horn and a camera where you could record peoples wrong doings and send them directly to the police so that they are immediately arrested for traffic violations. The programmable horn would allow you to record your voice, instead of a horn, to say things like "Light's Green!" in a friendly voice so that the person in front of you who is texting and not going at the left hand turn signal does not give you a middle finger when you honk at them to go. I would also like it to say "STAY IN YOUR LANE" as well as "YOU MOTHER F)(#*@&#*( ASS B*#$@ C#@)..." You get the picture. And with the bumpers like bumper cars everyone was allowed 5 bumps a month, and no one would get hurt, it would just prove a point that the manuever you just pulled to cut me off would have ended in a pretty nasty crash if I didn't slam on the breaks. Cue the expletive horn.

...that M hadn't pulled out her biggest birthday gift (which is this Sunday) from behind the tree and opened it while I was in the kitchen putting groceries away. All of the sudden I hear "ELMO DANCING! ELMO DANCING! LA LA LA LA! Mommy I'm dancing with Elmo!" and I look in to see her dancing away in front of a half unwrapped Elmo Let's Rock. So now we have one less gift to give her on Sunday, but it was worth it to see her reaction today. After playing with it for five minutes she is over it though. She has a very short attention span like her mother.

...that the underpants gnomes would come out and help me get the house together for a big weekend full of 5 family members staying with us and a party for M's second birthday. I am feeling a little overwhelmed right now with all I have to do. And this year is a small party with just best friends and family! As usual I am going overboard with craft ideas for the party, special drinks, fancy decorations...all for people who wouldn't care if I was unshowered and in sweat pants for the event. Except my mother. She would tell me to clean up and put some "color" on my lips.

Happy Wednesday to you all!