ad hoc MOM

Aug9Movin’ On Up?
Tonya

It’s been so amazing here at adhocMOM but, sadly, we are moving on. Moving up.

I can now be found at my new blog: Going To Mensa and on twitter: @Going2Mensa.

I can also still be found at The Mouthy Housewives.

Unlike Weezy though my move won’t come with an apartment in the sky.

Anyway, since Gwyneth Paltrow has a cookbook and J.Lo seems to be up for Single Mother of the Year award I’ve decided to branch out into poetry. After a few attempts with a “Man from Nantucket” I moved on to the haiku.  I’ve written one for all you lovely folks out there in the blogosphere:

A train to catch. Now.

I know not where it travels.

Maybe back to you?

I know; it’s pretty damn deep.

Seriously, I just want to say I feel so lucky to have met such amazing people! I will miss everyone so much! And I really hope that you all come over and visit me on Going to Mensa and The Mouthy Housewives. But most of all, though, THANK YOU for all of the awesome comments, the wonderful advice, the amazing support, and, most of all, the huge laughs!!!

Love,

Tonya

 

Filed Under: Milestones


4 Comments

 
Apr25When the Summer (Makes Me) Come Undone**
Carrie

I’m going to be a spoil sport here. A debbie downer. A whiner. A glass is gone, let alone half empty kind of girl. Mock me if you want. But don’t come crying to me when you’re having a break down right around Fourth of July, OK?

Summer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, it is looming large, threatening to arrive any day now and it’s shaking its sweaty fists in my face and its breath smells like barbecue. I already feel nostalgic for September.

I can hear you booing. You think I care?

Last Wednesday, it was a beautiful day here in Brooklyn–sunny and unexpectedly warm. Drunk from Vitamin D, I went directly to the park after school with both of my boys–on a whim. Let’s just say, I really wouldn’t advise just “hopping over to the park after school” without a back up plan and some extra muscle on hand. Forewarned is forearmed. Consider this my shot across your bow.

After months and months spent indoors, your wardrobe is not ready for its closeup. Sure, shed your parka–but to what end? Maybe you’ll be a bit more comfortable in the temperature sense, but you certainly won’t feel at ease once you realize you are wearing dirty pants, mismatched socks, beat up clogs and a sweaty turtleneck.

Congratulations! Now that you’re strutting your sorry self around in public, you’re going to have to count on running into people you know. And, because you look like total crap (apologies), you better have something interesting to say to compensate for what you lack in aesthetic appeal. I beg of you–prepare yourself! What do you plan on saying to your neighbor after you blurt out (with spit coming out the side of your mouth) “OHMYGAWD…It’s such a BEAUTIFUL DAY?”

You have spent the winter negotiating with terrorists, making concessions that no person with any shred of dignity or sense of justice should ever have to make. But you did it for a temporary peace in that ninth hour of indoor play on that third day of snow. Your children own your ass now and they know it. And thanks to the warmer temperatures, the rest of the world will know it, too. Onlookers will see you being marched to the ice cream truck by your three-year old. They will tsk-tsk under their breath as you fork over $3.50 for an ice pop that you could buy at the grocery store for 50 cents. And finally, they’ll arch their eyebrows as they watch the cataclysmic aftershocks of the sugar rush that ensues 15 minutes later.

But you know what–who cares what people think?? It’s a BEAUTIFUL GODDAMN DAY and the only thing that matters is that you and your kids are enjoying it. BUT. But. But. You skipped Playground Spring Training. You have lost all muscle memory of what it feels like to hurl yourself through the air, grabbing the ankle of your toddler who is about to catapult himself over the side of a rail up in the playground sky while you hold your other child on your hip. You are not nearly flexible enough to pull one child off of a stranger’s child as they duke it out for the pole position on the curly slide. You do these things, because you must. But you will need pain medication and a cocktail when you get home.

So, cheers to Spring, Summer’s welcome mat. But let us meditate on Summer’s sobering, looming threats before we celebrate. Sunburn, sweat, ice cream tantrums, heat waves, park bathrooms, stroller fits, playground pandemonium, parenting on display and fashion unzipped. In the words of Michael Conrad on HIll Street Blues: “Let’s be careful out there.”
** with apologies to Yo La Tengo

Filed Under: Fear, My Neuroses, Summer
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17 Comments

 
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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11 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
Tags: ,


14 Comments

 
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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10 Comments

 
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
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