Life Lessons

Jun16Decisions, Decisions….
Tonya

Recently, on FB, I read some inspirational little ditty about “being the sum of one’s experiences” and me, being the kind of gal who hates optimistic musings, I blocked that FB friend because, really, I’m more of a glass is half empty and filled with cyanide sort of person and I hate it when people rain on that parade. Except now I can’t stop imagining myself as some amalgamation of my own decision-making. And from what I remember – there are a lot of hazy moments – it’s mostly poor decision-making. I guess not in a selling-my-body-for-crack-rock sort of way, so there is that, but it’s still questionable:

- There was my gang member boyfriend in high school. And while, yes, I know, teenagers shouldn’t even be allowed to choose breakfast cereal due to their crazed hormonal states, I’m not sure that breaking up with your first boyfriend because he’s doin’ 2-5 in the clink is really the same as letting some jock, playboy get to 3rd base.

- Then there was the clothing-optional, vegetarian co-operative (read: drug fueled hippie commune) I lived at in college. Certainly fun, but probably not the best for my G.P.A., although I was getting 2 art degrees so, really, it’s not as if the extracurricular activities interfered with all of the studying I had to do. Perhaps, though, if I had put down the peace pipe, I would’ve realized that I was most definitely NOT cut out to be a struggling artist. I’m a neurotic, overly-sensitive, germaphobe, who’s most certainly not cut out to live in the trenches, existing solely on the belief that art can change the world.

- And recently, I got rid of cable. It’s true. I thought I’d get more done. I’d finish my Pulitzer-prize winning novel. I’d become a yogi master and a meditation expert. I’d finally read Ulysses all the way through…and get it. The simple stuff, really. But it has quickly become apparent that all is not as it should be. Instead of mornings watching NY1 I now rely on podcasts and the hope that my 3 year old’s mouth will be so full of bagel he won’t be able to make a sound for 3 minutes.

Alas, most morning info sessions now go a little like this:

“Today in Pakistan, officials…” “…need chocolate cake? Because I like chocolate. It is my favorite.” “It has been confirmed that Gabrielle Giffords has been released with…” “…10 dinosaurs. They eat meat. Except for the brachiosaurus he eats plants. I don’t like green stuff so I must be a T-Rex.” “President Obama has…” “…colored on my table. It was an accident. And I colored on my shirt. That was an accident too.”

Also, I realized that without cable my confidence in both myself and my mothering has fallen dramatically. Unable to compare any daily activities to those of Snooki, a RHNJ, or some family desperate for the guidance of Supernanny, I’ve lost my way. How am I supposed to congratulate myself for making it through an entire day without throwing a table across the room or vomiting all over some policeman’s shoes?

At least there is the comfort of knowing there are some things I properly resisted:

The M.C. Hammer Tramp Stamp

Totally a picture of my back side.

The Kickin’ Kid N’ Play haircut

I do look good though. Could be the dope jacket.

The Chance to Rock Bret’s World

Perfect example of the crazy shit that gets created when there is no cable.

One of my best decisions to date has been to join the fabulous ladies over at The Mouthy Housewives! They, on the other hand, may view their decision a little bit differently…

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Milestones, My Neuroses
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15 Comments

 
Jun14Suburban Living 101: Or, Has Anyone Seen My Car?
Paula

It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost three months since we left Brooklyn.  While we miss our friends, the restaurants, the coffee shops and the bars (even though we haven’t set foot in one in years), I’m pleased to report that there’s much to like about living in the suburbs.  We eat dinner outside more than inside (and sometimes even breakfast!).  We have so many windows that we haven’t had to turn on any air conditioners, if I get annoyed with June I can demand that she “go play upstairs.”  However, there are some basics to living out here that have taken me awhile to grasp.  For instance. . . .

Maybe trading in our car for a shopping cart car would solve all of my problems?

  • When you park your car in a huge parking lot, like at Target or Home Depot, it seems you’re supposed to make a mental note of where you left it.  I forget to do this EVERY TIME.  Every time!  Like a total idiot, I am always walking out of Target with bags of stuff I don’t need, a cranky toddler, and a puzzled look on my face because I have NO idea where my car is.
  • Speaking of stuff I don’t need.  Let’s talk about Target briefly.  The second you put something in your cart, whether it be an $8.00 Merona t-shirt or an economy size box of goldfish crackers you have just committed to spending at least $120.00 at that store.  It is IMPOSSIBLE to spend less than $120.00 at Target.  Try it.  Seriously.  I challenge you to spend a penny less.
  • Okay, shopping carts.  Why is it they barely move in the actual store. . . they are all squeaky and difficult to push, yet the second you get the stupid cart out to your car and dare look away from it for two seconds while opening the trunk the damn thing is flying down the parking lot at about 50 mph toward like a major highway or a Mercedes?  Seriously, I am always sure to remove my child from the cart, like, immediately upon reaching the car (as soon as I find it that is).

I’m sure there’s more stuff I’m screwing up – and I have much more to learn.  We’re off to the store, so please wish us luck.

And hey, if you want to horrify your friends and family by writing a memoir, I’m giving a free webinar next Monday!

 

 

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Motherhood: The Job
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10 Comments

 
May9I Think I Finally Figured Out Mother’s Day
Paula

I love Mother’s Day.  Any holiday that involves me being left alone in bed with coffee is all right by me.  But like many holidays – say Valentine’s Day or New Year’s Eve, Mother’s Day came wrapped in some pretty big expectations at first.  Naturally this led to some minor – okay major, disappointments.

Mother’s Day #1

I look fairly normal, but I assure you I was anything but.

June was only a couple of months old, so Peter is too tired make any real effort and I’m too tired to care.  Nevertheless, there is a little thing called INTERNET SHOPPING.  Peter gets the cute idea to take the baby to a local vintage store to “select” my gift.  Since our child is 8 weeks old, this actually involves dipping our baby into a pile of bracelets and jiggling her around until something snags onto her hand.  It’s much like something you’d see at a dirty carnival – or maybe Chuck E. Cheese.  What catches is a hideous orange bracelet from the Avon catalog circa 1980.  I’m presented with the gift along with a much appreciated pain au chocolate from my favorite bakery.  I’m equally charmed and horrified.  We move on with our day and don’t speak of it again.

Mother’s Day # 2

Based on last year’s carnival games it’s clear to me that I have to be specific with the gift thing (even though I know motherhood is a gift in itself!  Hahahahahhaha!!!)  It was a tough year.  I decide I want the following:

  • Pancakes
  • Bacon
  • Coffee
  • Orange juice
  • 3 magazines
  • a black Longchamp shoulder bag

The bag is easy peasy.  Hello!  Internet shopping!  Breakfast not so much.  My husband is a perfectionist.  This means that in addition to the above he aims to include a cloth napkin folded in the shape of my favorite flower, a rose in a vase (naturally hidden in the back of some god forsaken cabinet), and he sweetly decides to serve said breakfast in our wedding china which is covered in dust because it hasn’t been used since the week after we returned from our honeymoon.  These extra steps result in complications.  Bacon burns, fire alarm goes off, baby freaks out.  Need I say more? However, the bag is great.  I still use it almost every day!

Mother’s Day #3

We are on vacation.  Family is asleep.  I go down to hotel buffet and procure my own Mickey Mouse Belgian waffle and a giant coffee.  I cannot wait for these people to get up and get my coffee!  Have I mentioned I’m in god damn Disney?  However, husband buys perfect gift.  Progress indeed!

Mother’s Day #4

Mother’s Day 2011?  I’d have to give it an A+!

Peter does ask me what I want (we’re kind of over surprising each other with gifts) and I tell him.  I wake up, and there are chocolate croissants!  And they’re warm!  There is a pretty big difference this year, namely that we’re not crammed into a tiny apartment.  And we have a yard.  It’s nice out, and I sit outside with my family, and as awful as this sounds it’s easier to like the people you live with when you’re not standing on top of each other all the time.  Don’t misunderstand me.  I always love them.  But when Peter offered to take June away to the playground for awhile so I could be alone, I didn’t want him to.  I was happy just watching him cut our grass with our new lawn mower – and watching our daughter get filthy in our dirt.  We have dirt!  And as much as I loved my new crocs (the cute ones that look like real shoes), and my sun hat – I was thinking that freshly cut grass, a husband with a lawn mower and a dirty kid were the best mother’s day presents a girl could get

 

Filed Under: Celebrations, Life Lessons, Musings, Surprises, The Holidays
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May4The Nap That Destroyed My Kitchen
Paula

You know that sweet relief you feel when your child goes down for a nap?  If I had to describe it to someone who doesn’t have kids, I guess I’d say it’s like being granted three wishes by a magical genie; You can now do WHATEVER YOU WANT!  You can pee, eat, talk on the phone. . . work, send emails, clean something. . . OR EVEN WATCH REALITY TELEVISION.  It’s totally up to you!  This is your time.  Nap time is precious – and cursed are those who impinge on a mother’s precious nap time!  However, I will never experience this sweet relief ever again.  In fact, should June take a nap it’s likely I will stand guard outside of her bedroom door to make sure the child doesn’t destroy our bedroom. . . or maybe our living room.  Who knows what this kid is capable of?  So here’s what happened.

I put June down for a nap, which is a bit of a rarity these days since she’s now three.  It was a beautiful day, and I hoped all of the running around outside would wipe her out.  I was hoping for a bit of outside time to write or read or – I dunno, have ten minutes where I wasn’t asked for a goldfish cracker.  The hubris!  After hearing her mess around with her toys for about 15 minutes things got quiet.  Success??  Not totally convinced, I stuck around long enough to make sure she was sleeping and not trying to trick me.  I grabbed some iced tea and went into the back yard.  This was my fatal mistake people.

At approximately 3:38 p.m. I heard something that sounded a helluva lot like running water.

“Sleeping child” + running water = PROBABLY SOMETHING BAD.

It was raining in my kitchen.  Raining, and I mean heavily. .  in a get out your Wellingtons kind of way.  I ran upstairs to find a very puzzled toddler standing outside of the second story bathroom where the toilet was bursting forth water like the god damn fountain at the Bellagio.

WTF? Happened here?

After shutting off the water and a massive cleanup. . . my husband (who was summoned to come home from his office immediately) and I tried to ask our three year old what happened.

INT: RECENTLY DISINFECTED BATHROOM

Toddler wearing pajamas, freshly bathed after being scrubbed clean of toilet water.  She gestures wildly:

TODDLER

I threw the paper in the pottie and the toilet started FREAKING OUT AND SCREAMING.

FATHER

(exhausted, holding martini)

Did you, put anything else in the pottie?  Like a toy maybe?  Tell us!  We won’t be mad.

TODDLER

(continuing)

Then there was a tiger.  He snuck in.  He put a dog in the pottie.

MOTHER

(annoyed, still dripping toilet water from every limb)

Forget it.  Seriously, I need a god damn shower.

Around 3 a.m. my husband and I are woken up by a ridiculously loud crash.  I have recently watched Capote, so I prepare to be murdered in my bed with my husband.  Great.  Why exactly did we buy this alarm system?  It is obviously a total waste of money.  I mean, we’re about to be knifed in our home!  Seriously, these will be my last thoughts?  About the shitty ADT system?  I decide to inform my husband that our throats are about to be slit by thieves when he spits out this gem:

“Oh, Don’t worry.  That was just our bathroom ceiling collapsing onto our kitchen floor.”

Well okay then!  Back to sleep!

Good morning!  Aren’t you glad your throat wasn’t slit?  And that you have this awesome mess to clean up?

And he was right.  Our ceiling was on our floor, and we spent all of the next day cleaning it up.  And needless to say, June did not take a nap that day – and we really didn’t mind for once.

Filed Under: Cleanliness, Fear, Insanity, Life Lessons
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13 Comments

 
Apr18ad hoc EASTER: So Many Eggs, Only One Tiny Basket
Carrie

This Sunday is Easter! Right? Isn’t it? I’m so disorganized these days I’m just going on gut instinct here.

Easter always makes me think of Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs (why can’t the drug stores ever stock these adequately?) and being cold because everyone jumps the gun on dressing for warm weather. It also makes me ponder why there are so many life lessons, philosophical musings and idioms built around eggs. “You gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet.” “She’s a good egg.” “He has egg on his face.” “I have to walk on eggshells around you!” “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

This last one is the one that gets me: All my eggs. In one basket. Don’t do it.

Ok, but where do I get another basket? If we’re speaking in egg metaphors here, I definitely feel like I have too many eggs. And they all don’t fit in my crappy basket. If they did, I think I’d be fine with just one non-crappy basket.  I could hang that basket on my stroller when I go grocery shopping. In a fire, I’d just have that one basket to grab and go.

If eggs (stay with me!) represent all the things that 1.) keep me alive, 2.) keep others alive, especially my children and 3.) make my life and my children’s lives more enjoyable, then these are my eggs:

Eggs that keep me alive: Eating. Hydrating. Sleeping.

Eggs that keep others (especially my children) alive: Parenting.  Working. Thinking. Cleaning.

Eggs that make life more enjoyable: Bathing. Relating. Creating. Exercising. Dancing.

So now that I’ve pared down my eggs,  I immediately run into another problem:

Apparently, the damn basket has a maximum four egg capacity. Thinking in strictly egg terms, I’m going to have to choose wisely. But the good news, I think I can rotate eggs in and out of the basket on a weekly basis.

So last week, these were my eggs:

Next week, I’m putting Sleeping, Thinking, Relating and Bathing in my tiny basket. And the following week, just to mix it up, I’ll take my Exercising, Cleaning, Hydrating and Creating eggs out for a scramble.

And after that…who  knows?? The world is my egg basket.

Filed Under: Insanity, Life Lessons, Musings
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