Life Lessons « ad hoc MOM

Life Lessons

Apr6Junie, I Don’t Think We’re in Brooklyn Anymore
Paula

It’s entirely possible that I’ll fall asleep in the middle of writing this blog post. Why? It’s completely silent here. SILENT. My husband is playing with my daughter ON A DIFFERENT FLOOR, and I can’t hear the hum of the subway running underneath my building five floors below, or general noise from neighbors, or the sound of the elevator running. I loved those sounds. I’m not necessarily saying that I miss them – the quiet is good too. I just never realized how noisy regular life in an apartment building can be. But seriously, this is just this tip of the suburban OMG-I’m-so-confused iceberg. And really, I don’t mean to sound like one of those dipshits from a romantic comedy who can’t function outside of a city. I’m from Wisconsin! We moved 15 miles from Manhattan! I realize I’m not trying to survive somewhere in the Arctic with just a pair of dogs and a slice of blubber. I’m genuinely surprised by some of the stuff I’m discovering about my new surroundings. . . .

Seriously, where am I? I swear to god it’s not that far? WTF?

1) Okay, our oil tank ran out. This means NO heat. The oil tank people came. Envision someone from the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, but in the oil business. They filled our oil tank, which costs like over $1,000. Instead of asking for a credit card like sane people would, THEY TOLD US THEY WOULD SEND US A BILL. WTF? Hello? Didn’t you just say this was $1,000+? How do you even know we have any money? When I expressed SHOCK and amazement, the Michael Scott figure said “we trust you.” Idiots! Oh, but I mean that in the nicest way of course because we totally pay our bills!

2) I went to the Rite-Aid to buy June some markers and crayons, etc. since hers are yet to be found. The cashier, who oddly was not disgruntled or angry – was puzzled that he didn’t know who I was. He said “Are you new to the neighborhood? Because I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” I reluctantly told him I was – fearing he’d force me to fill out some sort Rite-Aid Lifetime Membership Club Card for People Who Love Shopping At Rite-Aid or something, but then he was like “Oh! Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m KEVIN!” And then proceeded to be all efficient and polite about ringing up my markers and crayons. How weird is that?

3) June and I were walking around on the sidewalks when these kids, i.e. potential murderers who I’d guess were between the ages of ten and twelve started gesticulating wildly at us. It would appear that they were waving, but this is New Jersey! Who knows! That could mean “I’m going to cut you in your sleep” here. I told June to put her head down and keep walking. Every time we left the house it was the same story. Finally, there was no avoiding it. . . as these hooligans were approaching fast. Imagine my disbelief when these, I guess I’ll call them children? Introduced themselves to us. They told us where they lived and who their parents were. Why would they do that? What am I supposed to do with this information? Do they want me to bring them presents? Invite them over for parties? Buy them alcohol? I’m so confused. . . so confused.

I’m fading. . it’s too dark and quiet.

Filed Under: Fear, Insanity, Life Lessons, Milestones
Tags: Anxiety, desperate measures, new jersey, new york city, WTF?

13 Comments

Mar31Run For Your Lives! We’ve Got a Biter! And He Might Be The Bronx Zoo Cobra!
Tonya

You can see it in their eyes when they look at you. Sure, they’re upset, they have every right to be, but mostly, that squint is full of Nancy Grace-like judgment. I’m pretty sure it’s the same look they’d give me if my preschooler were selling crack at the playground with a “first time’s free” offer (because my kid may be a criminal but he’s also smart). Except, sadly, P isn’t out making some cha-ching to buy himself and his mommy matching pimp cups (I really want my own pimp cup, nothing fancy, just my name in rubies), no, instead, he’s trying his best impression of Hannibal Lector, which probably creates even more vitriol than if my son were, in fact, committing a felony.

This is Park Slope. Your kid can be a lot of things but he CANNOT, under any circumstances, be a biter…Nor is he allowed to eat anything that contains sugar, preservatives, unnatural dye, etc. around other precious progeny at the playground. (Not that my kid eats unhealthy – frankly my kid doesn’t really eat – but should I give him an oreo or a fruit roll-up someday I think he should be able to eat it without the entire community going to Defcon 5 and sending him to quarantine and me to Rikers).

So now, P is in heaps of trouble! The mother of the victim has her son in a vice grip and is moving backward from us ever so slowly like P is the escaped deadly cobra from the Bronx Zoo. My reprimand of P and his subsequent apology to the child aren’t enough. So, I walk over, make tsk tsk noises over the child’s non-existent “bite” because in all actuality I caught my kid before he even got a tooth within 1 inch of the kid’s forearm. And I give the mom my most heartfelt apology (and I truly mean it!) and explain to her that yes, we take biting – or any physical action for that matter – very seriously in our house and there will be consequences. Still she shakes her head, hugs her son tight and steers him far away from us.

I even try and explain he wasn’t really going to make skin-to-mouth contact. He read a story about a monster called Abbiyoyo who pretends to eat things so now P likes to do the same. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume (as I’m telling this to the mom and she’s looking me over like I’ve just stepped out of Snoop Dogg’s car and smell of bong hits) that she and her offspring have never heard of this Abbiyoyo character.

As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure she’s making posters right now to hang on every telephone poll in a 10 bock radius, warning other Slopers of the teeny vampire on the loose who probably has Rabies or H1N1! I’m sure they’ll be here soon with their pitchforks and torches. Should I be putting together appetizer trays and ginger ale spritzers for the hunting party or packing up my kid and cat and heading out west to seek our fortune? But then I remember I hate to cook and I’m not good with change so we’re staying put and taking our chances. I take precautions now though, so mornings go like this:

Me: Ok, P, what are we not going to do today?

P: I will not eat anybody.

Me: Good boy!

P (whispering to himself as we walk): I will not eat anybody. I will not eat anybody.

And this is the part where I’m stupefied because I’m not a helicopter mom, I’m not a tiger mom; I’m just a regular mom. One who’s trying to teach her kid how to behave. Sure, biting is unpleasant but so is hitting, pushing, spitting, and kicking, but did I mention, he’s a KID? Isn’t this what they do? And then it’s our job to step in and teach them right from wrong.

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Motherhood: The Job, Rants
Tags: bronx zoo cobra cleans up nyc, desperate measures, things that piss me off

17 Comments

Feb21Age Rage: How Did I Get So Old?
Carrie

OK, my title is a little hyperbolic. I’m only 38, which by most people’s standards is perfectly average. Not old, not young. But a couple of things happened over the past week that made me feel a little crazy about how fast the past ten years have gone by. I don’t quite remember the moment when I left my “youth” and started living as a middle-aged person. But suddenly, everywhere, there were clues that it had, in fact, happened.

1. I tried to join an organization that offered an enticing discounted fee for those 35 and under. I didn’t qualify. I needed to go ahead and pay the higher fee. I thought: “EXCUUUUUUUUSE me? Do you know WHO I AM?” I wanted to explain that I was young at heart, kind of like those guys and gals in the movie Cocoon. I was old-er, but in the most IRONIC way possible. Then I thought “Just keep your mouth shut and fork over the cash.”

2. I Ioaded up my iTunes with lots of songs that were either from a past era or sung by young people. I had my regular outing without husband and kids on Saturday and took along my iPod. I walked around the city of my youth, parka hood on and music blasting in my headphones for a couple of hours. I felt invincible and relevant. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a store window. People must have been looking at me thinking: “Oh look–there’s a 38-year-old mom going on some errands without her kids. I bet she’s listening to the Indigo Girls**. HAHAHAHAHA.”
** for the record I was/would not.

3. Unfortunately/fortunately, I happen to live in the exact neighborhood that I grew up in. Memories of my youth are everywhere: pizza parlors, factory smells, schoolyards. I ran into an acquaintance from high school. I felt 15 again. Awkward, flummoxed. But then the feelings got worse. I felt…mortified! What was I thinking leaving the house looking all 38 and everything? So embarrassing!

4. I put on some music for my son. I started dancing. The thing is, I love to dance. I used to be kind of good at it–at least in the way that I wouldn’t look like a total dork doing it. I can remember the feeling of dancing well. What happened in my living room the other day could not ever be described as good or cool in anyway. My limbs’ movements do not correlate with my brain’s intention. I’m a total mom dancer and I only have a couple of years left before both of my sons demand, red-faced, that I stop immediately.

UGH! So here I am: a not young person. What am I going to do about it? The past is gone forever. So what if I flipped the script? Instead of wishing that I looked and felt younger, what if I envisioned a totally awesome and enticing future for myself as an old lady? What if instead of wanting to STOP time, I anxiously awaited the passing of the years? All I needed were some positive visualizations–some role models.

The next time I feel completely awash in grief for the younger person I once was, I’m going to look at my future self. I could be an unassuming English gentlewoman who just so happens to be the most kick-ass crime-solving sleuth without a badge this side of the Thames. Or a morally loose lady named Alexis living in Denver, scheming and smoking cigarillos and hating on a lady named Krystle. Or a luminous stage actress with piercing blue eyes that shine with experience and romance. Or a television and film star who can play gritty crime drama like nobody’s business, but who also happens to look amazeballs in a bikini. I guess, actually, all I really have to be is…British.

So how about you: who are you going to stop wishing you were and who are you going to start striving to be?

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Milestones, Musings
Tags: Anxiety, overlooked awesomeness

13 Comments

Feb14Happy St. Dashed Hopes Day!
Carrie

I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE AS EXCITED ABOUT VALENTINE’S DAY AS I AM!!!!

Yeah, right. Anyway–I drew the short stick today by having my weekly post scheduled on Valentine’s Day. Don’t expect any incredibly cute craft ideas or optimistic messages of the hallmark variety from me. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to write about today and I hope you are as enthused as I am about today’s topic: dashed hopes. So, if this post isn’t lovey dovey, what is it? Nothing short of relevant, insightful and low in cholesterol.

The object of my disappointment? That old friend I used to call “the weekend.” The weekend used to be a time to sleep late, take in a movie, get some fresh air, and to pole vault my professional stature into the stratosphere. These days, Saturday and Sunday feel like a regular old weekday, except with no school and no babysitter. Behold, the weekend of downward spirals: where expectations flow the way of a toilet flush.

This weekend, I hoped to go grocery shopping for nutritious ingredients for a week of healthy eating. I came home with an assortment of juice boxes, macaroni and cheese mixes and cookie dough.

My husband hoped to change all the dead light bulbs in the house. Instead, he shocked himself so badly from a faulty light fixture that he collapsed into a heap on the floor and felt the need to go take a nap right afterwards, complaining of a tingly arm and a sore chest on his way up the stairs.

I intended to go pick up my prescription refills at the pharmacy. Now, I’m making my own placebo meds out of life savers in the hopes I can carry myself over until the time the pharmacy opens on Monday.

I wanted to make a million phone calls to friends I desperately need to catch up with. Instead, I had strange dreams of acquaintances I’d rather forget forever.

I wanted to do my laundry. I gathered it up in a huge bag only to realize I had nothing left to wear. I dumped it all out and cherry picked the least dirty of the bunch. This game could go on all week.

So what about you? What didn’t you get done this weekend?

Love and kisses, your friends at AHM. If your day is filled with dashed hopes, let it also be filled with chocolate.

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Rants, Uncategorized
Tags: Anxiety, things that piss me off

15 Comments

Feb10Sometimes I Should Actually Just Listen To My Husband
Paula

June and I like to reminisce. We’ll sit back on the sofa, open up iphoto (because I’m a terrible mother and we have exactly ONE photo album that has about 15 real photos of her) and look at her baby pictures. Today a photo of herself at just about age two and her dad on the subway was of particular interest. I completely agreed with her that it was cute, until I remembered when I took it. We were on our way to her friend Eli’s second birthday party, and June was at the awkward stage where she’s getting too heavy to be carried down the subway steps in a stroller, but still too little to walk more than 30 feet. Peter thought we should try traveling without a stroller. OUR SPASTIC TODDLER LOOSE ON THE SUBWAY? I immediately envisioned a NY1 headline. NEGLECTFUL MOTHER LOSES CHILD TO SATANIC CULT BECAUSE SHE TOOK HER TODDLER ON SUBWAY WITHOUT A STROLLER AND OF COURSE SHE RAN OUT OF THE TRAIN CAR THE SECOND THE DOORS OPENED AND WAS NEVER SEEN AGAIN. WHAT DID THESE STUPID PEOPLE EXPECT? I was about two seconds away from calling my primary care physician and begging for an emergency klonopin prescription before getting on the 2/3 train. Anyone who knows us knows that Peter is the rational half of the pair. He finally convinced me that literally hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers (really, that many???) take their children on the subway every single day without incident. I demanded proof, but he said there wasn’t time, and it’s true that June was getting restless – which was ultimately just going to add danger to the trip. Bottom line was we made it. And he was right – in the end, everything was okay and it really did make a cute picture.