Worries

Nov9Reality Television is Making a Liar Out of Me
Paula

I’m painfully self-conscious about my education. Here’s the thing, I actually think my education was damn good. I took Latin! And Greek! But living in New York City, and working in book publishing where it seems like everyone went to a fancy pants school that had secret societies, dining clubs and U.S. Presidents as alumni can make one feel badly about matriculating from a state school that let you in even though you NEVER TOOK THE SAT. I’m envious of people who took classes in oak paneled rooms in century old buildings dripping with ivy. So romantic! And while a big part of me truly hopes June will want to attend a university or college that is full of history, I did make a big promise to myself that I would be pleased with her choices as long as she’s happy. I mean, she may choose to open a lucrative plumbing supply business. And I’m saying right now that I’m totally okay with that (hey, then maybe she could support her parents). But last night as Peter and I were flipping through channels I realized that there are limits. Can a parent really be happy with their children’s choices no matter what? Even if their kid is as happy as a clam? Case in point:

My daughter just wouldn't look good as a blonde.

JACKASS:
Johnny Knoxville et al are undeniably successful. Their latest movie grossed $111 million at the box office. But as I was watching Steve O and Dunn box on stilts, risking major spinal cord injuries with every fall, I couldn’t help but wonder, “what are their parents thinking?” Those boys have mothers! Sure, they can probably afford to buy their parents lovely retirement homes in Florida, but seriously, while their boys are gleefully flying down a street in San Francisco half naked on a toilet, can their parents really be happy?

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF ATLANTA:
Here’s a real puzzle. Kim, of “Tardy for the Party” fame – mistress of Big Pappa, she of the fake hair and fake boobs, seems to have truly lovely parents. They’ve been on the show as of late. Stopping over for a glass of wine, and this week Kim’s dad helped her have a tag sale (he managed to score $10,000 for her tacky-ass furniture). They seem as proud as can be. But could I sit back and be happy as I watched my daughter humiliate herself in a recording studio, drink wine out of a coffee thermos at 10 a.m., and act like such a spoiled shallow shell of a woman on national TV even if she didn’t have a care in the world? Um. NO.

SISTER WIVES:
I must admit that there are times when I think having a sister wife would be great. Carrie made dinner for my kid, as well as Tonya’s and Erin’s on Monday and it sure made life a lot easier. As the Wonder Pets say, TEAM WORK! And while the women of Sister Wives sincerely seem to be happy with their situation (most of the time anyway), I don’t think I could sit back and watch my daughter profess her love for a man who flies off in his Lexus to go a’courtin a fourth wife. Because as far as I’m concerned, those women deserve a hotter husband, yet multiple husbands don’t seem to be part of the deal. The unfairness!

So, yeah, we all just want our kids to be happy. And I think Tonya’s totally right when she says a goal is to keep our kids “off the pole.” I’m going to add onto that tenant and suggest that we keep them “off the TV.” But happiness isn’t that simple is it? The bottom line is that you really want your kid to be happy within your own set of values. While I’m hoping I’ll be flexible enough to understand what June needs and wants, please god may she not need to fly down a street nude on a toilet on national TV to be happy.

Filed Under: Entertainment, Motherhood: The Job, Worries
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Oct7Lice Lessons Learned
Carrie

What’s your favorite back-to-school purchase? Back Pack? Lunch Box? Pencil Case? How about Lice Repellant?

Here at ad hoc MOM, all of our toddlers started pre-school this year. Everyday, we pick up our cuties with the hope that they’ve had a great, tear-free, sufficient nap-filled day. We also pray that they don’t have bug eggs in their hair. Most of all, we plead with the powers that be if they do have cooties, that they don’t give it to us.

Lice, it seems, are part of the fall scenery here in New York City. Why didn’t anyone tell us this as we clamored desperately to gain admittance to these creepy crawly places? When we were shopping for peanut-free snacks, we really shoud have been shopping for crap to keep the lice and their nits away.

So, in an ad hoc nutshell, here’s what we’ve learned about what you need to stock up on. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!


Myth: You need toxic chemicals to get rid of lice.

Fact: We were surprised to learn from one of New York City’s most well-respected lice combatants, www.licebustersnyc.com, that the most effective tools against lice are conditioner, a comb, baking soda and garlic.

1. Mix Pantene Pro-V Conditioner. . .

2. . .with Baking Soda to form a thick, mousse-like concoction. Massage into your child’s hair while they watch Wonder Pets or some such thing.

3. Divide the hair into sections and comb through with a comb specifically designed to get rid of lice and their nits. The longer the teeth, the easier it will be to get through the hair. I made the mistake of buying a cheap comb and I actually made my son’s scalp bleed! Ouch. This one will do the trick.

4. Shampoo your child’s hair and before they go to school, drop a few drops of Garlic Extract in their hair…the smell repels lice.

We have to admit, after doing a couple of these treatments at home, it’s not that bad! Our kids’ hair looks awesome after you’ve finished.

Although it’s not pictured, we highly recommend a glass of wine or anti-anxiety medication to help you through it. Lice can smell fear.

Anyone else out there try something they liked?

Disclaimer:
Ad Hoc MOM was in no way compensated for these items and we are in no way affiliated with the above items nor have we received any of them for our review. Should you wish to have us review something or compensate us, bring it on and email us.

Filed Under: Motherhood: The Job, Reviews, Worries
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Oct4Don’t Tell Me That I Don’t Work
Paula

This is what my day was like:

8:00 a.m. Went for a run (not typical, kind of a miracle really)
8:45 a.m. Talked to a client on the phone about the title of her book. Her publisher has an idea about what it should be called, and let’s just say we don’t agree.
10:15 a.m. Finished chapter 13 of my book. Hurray!
1:00 p.m. Finished draft of chapter 14. Double Hurray!
1:10 p.m. Realized we have ONE diaper left. Ordered from diapers.com
1:15 p.m. Ate lunch while watching Grey’s Anatomy & answering emails.
1:45 p.m. Had important conversation with Tonya about likelihood of our children having head lice.
2:00 p.m. Vacuumed, yelled at UPS for losing package, paid bills.
2:30 p.m. More emails.
3:00 p.m. Sent royalty statements to clients
3:15 p.m. Threw snacks in diaper bag
3:30 p.m. Left to fetch child
4:00 p.m. Met Carrie, Tonya, & Erin at pre-school to drag children on train in rain to be checked for head lice. All are lice free! Awesome fun!
5:00 p.m. Stood in pouring rain waiting for bus with screaming toddler for fifteen minutes.
5:30 p.m. Fought for groceries at food co-op where my husband and I work for 2.75 hours per month to give our precious daughter all organic food. Massive crowds and angry wet people. Appease child with individual bag of veggie bootie.
7:00 p.m. Wait for husband to get home to bring me a drink.

According to the IRS I spend my time sitting in a chair like this: smoking, drinking, and pondering the big questions in life. . “should I watch Grey’s Anatomy or Sister Wives?”

I don’t necessarily think my day is all that different from a lot of moms. Since starting this blog Tonya, Carrie and I have met countless mothers who do all manner of crazy things to keep a toe in their careers. I’m not saying I’m special. I’m not sharing my schedule to get sympathy, or extra attention. I just want to prove to you that I DO WORK. Why? Because according to the IRS I don’t. When I started my business five years ago, I incorporated myself, as many businesses do. As a sole proprietor I’m required to pay myself a salary. Yeah, okay. Since making the choice to be an ad hoc MOM, I’m not working as much, which means I’m paying myself less. SO guess what? The IRS has informed me that I DON’T QUALIFY AS A WORKING PERSON. Okay, yeah, I understand that they have rules and all, and you don’t want to be giving tax breaks to people who sit around all day eating bon-bons and ordering stuff off of HSN for the family of poodles they are raising. But seriously, I can’t help but feel like I’m being punished for scaling back to care for my child. What about women who chose to take a break from their careers all together? Families who are struggling to make ends meet because they’ve opted to have one parent stay home? Are they getting a tax break? I don’t think so. For a country that contends to be so pro-family, we sure don’t seem to treat our caregivers very well. Because based on the above schedule, I DO think I work – even if my paycheck doesn’t impress the IRS. At least I have a husband who appreciates what I do. He just brought me a big drink. . . and tonight it’s possible I’ll require a second.

Filed Under: Rants, Worries
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Sep28Maybe This Wasn’t a Fairy Good Idea
Carrie

Has anyone seen that heartless whore, the Pacifier Fairy? Or how about that sneaky slut the Bottle Fairy? Apologies. That wasn’t nice. But those B-I-T-C-you-know-whats are messing with me and my family.

Armed with nothing more than a vague memory of an old Supernanny episode, my husband and I settled on a date to take away my son’s pacifier and bottle. For weeks leading up to the day, we told him that the Pacifier and Bottle Fairies were coming because big boys didn’t need them. She would take them and give them to babies who could use them. In return, he would get big boy things. I was scared, but buoyed by Paula’s recent success with getting June off of her bottle.

The Pacifier Fairy came first. We deposited a coffin sized plastic bin with 9 pacifiers rattling around the bottom on our front steps. Moments later, the doorbell rang and the bin was filled with a scooter and a helmet. Cue squeals of delight.

At dinner that night, we went to a restaurant and the waiter gave us a coloring book—of FAIRIES! What a coincidence! “Look, Mommy, Fairies! Is that the Paci Fairy?,” he asked me with a huge smile. “I don’t know maybe it’s the Bottle Fairy!,” I fired back cheerfully. If this scene were a movie, the soundtrack would get screechy and ominous at that very moment. “Bottle Fairy?” he asked with a preternatural stillness, big brown eyes on me.

A week passed with barely a word about a pacifier. We were so proud of him! It was so easy! We got cocky.

The following Saturday, we placed the bin of bottles on the steps. The doorbell rang—and there was a fire truck. Cue the same squeals of delight.

It started at bedtime. Running around his room in tight circles. “I want baba…I WANT baba…I WANT BABAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!” Tears. Kicks. Pleas. Negotiations. Tantrums. Sleep finally came, but many, many, many hours later. The next day, it was more of the same.  His requests became more bizarre. “I don’t want those pajamas, I want to go downstairs, I want to go on the couch, I want crackers, I don’t want this cup, Dada—sit down, Mama—go away.”  His eyes looked crazed. The naps were the first to get annihilated. By the end of each napless day, he doesn’t look tired. He looks charged up, pumped and ready for the baba battle.

I know that boys are supposed to give up their bottles because I’ve never seen a man on the subway reading the Wall Street Journal while sucking on a bottle. But I’m worried that we’ve done the wrong thing—too much, too soon. A sibling, starting school, no pacifier and now, no bottle?? I’ve never felt this kind of doubt before. Sleep training was excruciating, but after 3 days, he was fine. The first day of school drop off wasn’t so great, but he’s a trooper now. He’s totally fine without the pacifier. But the bottle—have we pushed him too far? Have we pushed ourselves too far? Unfortunately, we’ve painted ourselves into a corner with this Fairy fiction. If I decided to give him a small bottle of milk at night to taper him off more slowly, I’ll look like a big fat liar.

And BELIEVE me, I don’t want my son to think I’m a liar. So I’ve come up with a good lie to make me look like less of a liar. Here’s what I plan on telling him. “In one of the largest busts ever, federal investigators have arrested the Pacifier and Bottle Fairies on charges of misappropriating millions of pacis and babas under false pretenses for their own personal gain. Federal officials have started an emergency fund in an effort to compensate victims in a timely and prudent manner. For more information, please ask mommy to visit www.just_one_or_two_more_bottles_to_tide_you_over.gov.

Filed Under: Milestones, Motherhood: The Job, Worries
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Sep22And Out of The Ashes Will Rise A Clean Towel?
Paula

There are about 100 things that I would rather be doing than finishing my taxes. I’d rather be on a flight to Tahiti for one. But if running off to a South Pacific Paradise isn’t reasonable, I’d settle for a colonoscopy or even a root canal. The drugs! Quicken has made it clear we are not to be friends. We’ve spent many late nights together, and Quicken is determined to make these next few days tough for me. I realized if I was to survive the next week in tact, I was going to have to ease up on a few things. My daughter would be aloud to watch 9 billion hours a day of the “Fresh Beat Band”. No harm there, other than my guilt of course. What mom hasn’t been there and done that? Take out was a given. But then there was the issue of housekeeping. Now I have never been one to brag about my housekeeping. I’d give myself maybe a B-. There is no visible mold growing anywhere (okay, maybe in the fridge), the dust bunnies are dealt with somewhat regularly, and I do try to keep a handle on the clutter. I don’t wash my floors enough, but if your kid ate a goldfish cracker off of it I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t end up in the ER with a freakish disease. You get it, we’re not perfect, but we’re not going to be locked up by the department of health. We have a kid, our place gets destroyed on a daily basis, but we put it back together. But I have found that since Quicken and the beast that is tax year 2009 (um, yes, I did file for an extension) has been kicking my ass, I just can’t find the energy to keep putting it all back together. Normally just the site of a stray Lego is enough to send my mind wandering. I have to stop whatever it is I’m doing to PICK UP THE MESS. How can one be expected to concentrate when Elmo is lying prostrate across your living room? But time is ticking, and I have to ignore the toys, the crumbs, the sippy cups and the pile of laundry, or I will be completely derailed. I know it’s there – it’s like I can feel the squished cereal bar calling to me from the other side of the room. I AM STICKY. COME GET ME. But life is full of annoying tasks, messes can wait, and surely we’ll survive one more day without clean towels right?

Just the thought of Legos such as these lying around is enough to drive me completely mad.

Filed Under: Cleanliness, Motherhood: The Job, Worries
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