Worries

Apr20Do I Have Any Taste? Any Taste At All?
Paula

My husband and I went on an actual date last Saturday.  And I have to say it might have been the best one we’ve been on in ages.  There was no fancy restaurant involved. . . no reservations.  What we did turned out to be much more fun.

I was tired, and so close to saying “Can’t we just stay in?  It’s raining!” that I hadn’t even bothered to ask where we were going.  Turns out we were seeing a movie.  Yeah okay.  I remember those.  I was kind of suspicious that the theatre was full of people who fit into that mysterious age bracket known as “the tween.”  I asked my husband if there was a new Twilight movie out.  He told me we were seeing a scary movie called “Insidious”, but not to worry, because it was only PG-13.  ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME?  This is how you use our precious babysitter time?  This is what I am thinking, but I don’t say it because I’m too busy shoving popcorn in my mouth.  My husband can read my mind (really, he can, it’s spooky) and he tells me he swears it will be good and if it isn’t he will buy me some sort of present.  Long story short, the movie is horrifying, but in a super fun way.  I actually scream.  Scream!  But then I am laughing because it’s hilarious that I am so scared that I’m screaming.  I am jumping in my husbands lap out of terror.  I now see why that theatre is full of 13 year olds.  Being scared is fun.  I know it seems weird, but it’s true.  Just ask the theatre full of eighth graders.

It’s been a few days since we’ve seen Insidious and we’re still scared of certain parts of our house.  I made my husband stand next to me in the bathroom while I brushed my teeth that night.  We couldn’t believe how much we enjoyed the movie.  But then we were wondering if it wasn’t the movie as much as it was us, and our lack of exposure to the world at large.  I mean hello?  The theatre was full of “tweens.”  We never managed to see The King’s Speech!  We are totally out of touch!  Are we at risk of falling into that horrible place where we’re just completely out of it?  Did we like this movie because it’s simply been so long since we’ve actually seen one?  What’s next?  Not changing our hairstyles for the next thirty years?

This toddler, who is making an “insidious” face, has seen way more movies than her parents, who are basically total losers.

And speaking of style. . I had a frightening experience at the mall earlier that very day involving a pair of designer jeans.  Since I’m smaller than I was when my daughter was born, I wondered if I could finally stuff myself into those fancy $200 jeans.  It turns out I kind of can, some of them anyway, but the ones I could get into LOOKED AWFUL.  I’m not talking about a muffin top situation I’m talking 100% pure muffin.  I like to think I have enough fashion sense to know to “just say no” to a pair of ill fitting pants – even if they are ONE FOR ALL MANKIND OF THE WORLD or whatever.  However, my friend, and some skinny sales girl were absolutely convinced I should buy them.  “Tighter is better” they kept saying, “it makes you look thinner.”  Yeah, I get that. . . “EXCEPT WHEN IT MAKES YOU LOOK FATTER.”  I hate that I’m second guessing myself.  Shouldn’t you be more confident with your choices as you get older?  Is this how we portray mothers?  As unfashionable, totally out of it, senseless, and so uncool to the point where I’m not going to let myself think I have enough sense to know what kind of movies I like or what kind of pants look good on me?  The sales girl said “you’ll be back for those jeans.”  I won’t be.  Unless I loose about twenty pounds, and if getting older has taught me a anything at all, it’s that I look just fine the way I do, and I’m not going to let some Tween convince me otherwise.

Filed Under: Fashion, Fear, Worries
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Apr13Playdate of One = NO Fun
Paula

I usually think it’s a good thing that my daughter isn’t much like me when I was a kid (June = confidence personified , I was scared of my own shadow).  However, I’m starting to worry that my daughter cannot entertain herself for one single second.  NOT one.  This became especially clear today. . as we were stuck inside the house together from 9 am to 9 pm.  It was pouring rain, and we had appointments with various people about house stuff.  June finally has her own bedroom, a basement full of toys, and one of rooms on the top floor has NOTHING BUT HER TRAINS IN IT.  And yet she refuses to pick up a toy unless I agree to play with her.  I get it. . the kid misses her friends – and I’m all for playing some of time, and it should be noted that we read books, color, and do artsy stuff with her 900 markers.  It’s not like I’m watching Days of Our Lives and General Hospital while smoking Virginia Slims while she roams the streets.  But do I really need to wear a Princess Cape for two hours of the day to placate my daughter?  Is this crucial to her development as a decent human being?

Why have friends when you have Australian beauty Olivia Newton-John and Scientologist John Travolta to entertain your young?

I was an absolute champ when it came to entertaining myself when I was a kid.  Who needed friends when you had a library card, some bitchin’ tonka trucks and your very own copy of the Grease soundtrack?  I certainly had friends, but my mom’s priorities seemed to be getting stuff done around the house rather than making sure I was “sufficiently entertained.”  While I’m not necessarily sure this was always the best approach, I do know that I managed to make do with what I had to play with, and had plenty of fun whether it was with friends or not.

Am I over thinking this?  Is it a phase?  Or do I really need to encourage June to learn to play by herself more often?  One second I feel guilty.  I should play with my child and relish every second of this precious fleeting time!  Then after the third hour of playing with the Dora the Explorer Castle set (complete with Unicorn driven rickshaw), I am seriously wishing I had a xanax. .  then we’re back to the guilt.  Sigh.

Filed Under: Motherhood: The Job, Worries
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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.

Several cocktails were consumed after this death defying act known as “riding the subway.”

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Milestones, My Neuroses, Worries
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7 Comments

 
Feb3You Like Me! You Really Really Like Me!
Tonya

With Charlie Sheen all over the news finally fessing up to his out of control porn obsession and addiction to suitcases full of coca plant it’s difficult not to think about my own vices. Sure mine don’t come pay-by-the-hour with a possibility of herpes or out of the movie Less Than Zero but I do spend an inordinate amount of time checking the Internet, making sure it’s still there and seeing if perhaps it might be thinking about me too.

Sheen’s day probably went something like this:

wake, line, porn, shower, line, porn, get in car to go to work, line, hang out with annoying Jon Cryer and weird kid, line, line, line, break in trailer, porn, hooker, line, back to Cryer, line, line, line, get in car go home, line, porn, hooker, porn, line, avoid calls from Cryer, a fifth of Jack, passout.

Here’s a possible day for me:

wake, feed/water child so he will grow, check email/facebook/twitter/blog post, wonder about my self worth, shower (maybe…only if it’s Thursday), check email/facebook/twitter/blog post, refresh/refresh/refresh, forget to eat lunch – too busy worrying about whether or not I matter, refresh/refresh/refresh, remember I have a child and I should at least give him something for lunch, refresh/refresh/refresh, take child outside so he doesn’t get Vit. D deficiency, rush home, ccheck email/facebook/twitter/blog post, think about dinner then disregard and hit refresh 7 more times, order take out, while husband deals with delivery guy and son uses dry washcloth to ‘clean’ himself refresh/refresh/refresh, put child to bed, tell him story about crazy woman who lives in her PJs and rarely bathes so she has to have friends that are far far away, back to laptop, ccheck email/facebook/twitter/blog post, pick at food while contemplating reason for serious low self esteem, refresh/refresh/refresh, finally fingers give out and force quit, watch show that is combo reality/vampire/crime scene, vow to be online less tomorrow, go to sleep thinking about what to write for blog post.

So obviously mine doesn’t involve illegal substances from the Cartel or over-enhanced, gyrating body parts — perhaps it should? — instead I’m just consumed by the need for any connection the Internet might provide. It’s a high. A high that comes from an increase in the little number in my inbox or the ding from a new message on facebook, it’s like Sally Field’s ever-quoted Oscar speech: “you like me, you really, really like me!” But those quiet moments are a doozy, a tailspin of self-doubt, dark moments that force my mind to consider some other path…lumberjack, maybe? Frycook? Cult guru?

Filed Under: My Neuroses, Worries
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Jan11Having Fun With The Babies?
Carrie

Once kids enter the picture, is it still possible to have fun?

This  question has been running through my mind today because:

1. My friend Kate sent me this picture from a recent gathering of friends:

That field of babies is so adorable, I can’t stand it. But–there I am, looking the picture of poise as my son climbs on me and the other one crawls away. Most importantly…the glass of wine in the upper right hand corner is…just…out…of…reach. The riddle: if you need to keep the wine glass at a safe distance from the children, and you must be near the children at all times, how can you, in fact, enjoy a glass of wine? Answer: take your wine to the bathroom and chug.

2. One of my favorite bloggers, Stark Raving Mad Mommy, wrote an excellent post on going to Olive Garden with her kids. Dinner with the kids can be so stressful. For me, it goes something like this: Secure high chair. Throw out back while wrestling toddler in high chair. Gather all bottles, shakers and liquids in center of table out of child’s reach. Pick up menu thrown off floor. Get crayons. Sweat. Apologize to next table. Order drink. Sweat more. Look at veiled threat in toddler’s eyes as he holds fork above head, decide to skip dinner for yourself. Pick up pacifier off floor, re-insert into baby’s mouth without washing, hope nobody saw you do it. Sweat. Apologize to waitress. Order milk for kids, pray it comes in a styrofoam cup. Nurse baby under your baby burka, hope Kim Kardashian isn’t in restaurant to get disgusted and tweet about you. Sweat. Fish french fries out of water glasses. You didn’t order french fries. Where did they come from? You feel a dirty look burning a hole in your back. Flag down waitress, ask that all previously ordered food arrive at the table in a doggy bag. Order husband out of restaurant with both kids. Sit at table by  yourself and wait to pay bill. Take your beer to the bathroom and chug.

3. The funniest video blogger ever, The Mompetition, posted a video called “Moms Have Cooties” about being left out by friends for girls’ nights and getaway weekends because you have kids. It’s true, something inside of you becomes very uncool once you have a child. So what should you do the next time you’re at home watching White Collar and you log on to Facebook only to find out all of your friends are at a karaoke bar without you? Pour yourself a nice vodka and Fruitables juice box cocktail (an ad hoc MOM fave), lock yourself in the bathroom and chug.

Assuming that beer helmets are hard to find and a bit too showy, how can we have fun with babies? I think the key is to find people who have the same low expectations of what makes a fun evening. Aim too high (say, brunch at a bistro, a rock show in Williamsburg or a yoga retreat), and prepare to get sad, mad, hungry and thirsty. Aim too low, and all of the sudden you’re toasting your bathroom tile with 3 day old red wine.

For me, the best solution to date has been to order pizza, get beer, and invite people over in the afternoon between 4-7. No babysitter required and you conquer dinner time while having fun with your friends (the friends you have left.) But this year, I’m kind of thinking I need to try something new. I need ideas!

What about you? What’s your idea of a happy medium somewhere in between disco nights and french fry fishing?

Filed Under: Entertainment, Motherhood: Fun?, Worries
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