I Accept This Award on Behalf of All Women

I know award season has come to an end, but for the last 10-15 years I have been perfecting my award acceptance speech. This exercise has kept me sane on the treadmill, on long drives in the car and on those nights when the worry creeps in and the sleep is hard to come by.

I decided that today, on International Women's Day, that I would share that speech with a few modifications.

Oh my goodness! Thank you, thank you so much. First of all I would like to thank the Academy. I want to thank all of my readers who read this book and let me know how much they loved it. I want to thank the amazing cast and crew--Jen, Ben, thank you for believing in this project and thank you for coming together to truly capture the inner lives of these characters.

Oops, should probably start a little later on. . .


I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for an incredible support system of women in my life. I would like to thank my grandmothers, one who is still with us and one who is not. These two women raised 15 children between them, they lived through war, they buried children, they worked full-time jobs, they prayed for me, they let me live with them, they showed up at my 4th grade field trip, and passed down a shirt that read "A Woman's Place is in the House and the Senate" that I wore, sans pants, to a local diner the day my sister fell off the loft bed and split open her chin.

I would like to thank my mother. (This is the part where I envision fanning myself a bit and holding back tears.) Thank you for your sacrifices, your selflessness and your unending support. Thank you for showing up when I needed you and knowing when to let me figure it out on my own. Thank you for continuing to show up whenever and where ever needed, for not only me and my children, but for anyone you can help.

Thank you to my mother-in-law for raising a boy who became a man who became an incredible father.

Thank you to my sisters. One led the way my entire life. Thank you for taking those first steps into the unknown so I didn't have to brave it alone. Thank you for treating my children as your own and stepping in to help me whenever I need it.

Thank you to my younger sister who taught me what it means to love unconditionally and who to this day continues to do nothing but amaze me.

Thank you to my best friend, who I have known since we were 18 months old. There are really no words to describe your influence on my life. I love you. Thank you. I'm calling you in 10 minutes to talk about all of the celebrities I have seen in the bathroom.  (I am hoping that one day I can use that line.)

Thank you to the mass group of amazing aunts, my sisters-in-law, nieces, and all my cousins--especially my DePeter girls, who make me laugh louder than anyone and let me bitch about anything I want.

To my Loyola Ladies--who would have thought that a random room selection would influence our lives in so many ways? Thank you all for your fierce friendship.

To all my mom group friends, PTO moms and the moms at school. We may not all do it the same way, we may be mothers who work, mothers who don't, mothers who volunteer or just write a check, we may be mothers who are navigating our first kids through school or our third, but we all show up and we all do what we can and I am thankful we aren't doing it alone.

Finally, to my daughters, my smart, funny, creative ladies who made me a mother. Use your voices. Don't be afraid and always dream big.


I think the music is probably playing at this point, the celebrities are wondering who I am, and I am being escorted away by who I hope is Tina Fey and Amy Poehler towards that mysterious back room where the press probably isn't so interested in the "Best Adapted Screenplay" winner. Hoping my makeup is looking good and my feet don't kill me in these heels. . .


*****

Please note: I would be nowhere without plenty of men in my life. Wait, I should rephrase that.

Motherhood in the Sweet Spot

My children are no longer babies. While they will always be my 3 Beans, we have reached what I like to call the sweet spot in parenting.

That's right. It can happen. Everyone can get dressed by themselves, feed themselves, respond to and follow simple demands (although this might take some repetition), and for the most part function normally in society, with the exception of them running through hotel hallways and Target aisles like gazelles being pursued on an African plain.

The transition from newborns to toddlers to tweens did not take long. And while I miss the sweet, smelling newborns against my skin, the inquisitive toddlers exploring their world and the toothless smiles of kindergarten and first grade, I am grateful for this time that I find myself in.

This is the best I got of all 3 of them!

The Lady is 11. While she is a full on tween who is navigating middle school, social media and the expectations and changes associated with her age, she hasn't quite reached the point where she has sequestered herself in her room. She still allows me to hug her, tell her how much I love her, and dance terribly in front of her without too much embarrassment or rolling of her eyes. She is the most introverted yet independent of my children and demands the least attention from me, for now.

The Little Lady is 9 going on 19. She wears her emotions on her sleeve, is quick to lash out, but loves, loves so freely. She is social and funny and wants more than anything to spend time with her family (when she isn't staring at a screen of course!) playing games, watching movies, baking and creating. She does roll her eyes--frequently, but what she wants most is my attention and time, for now.

QT is 7. How did my baby get so old? He asks the most random questions that I can tell he has been thinking about and then just kind of starts to speak as if we all have been part of the conversation going on in his head. He loves video games and hanging out with his friends. He is always coming really close to the proverbial "line" and can still for the most part get away with it by batting his long eyelashes and smiling, for now.

For now, what I want is to recognize this time, take advantage of it before the doors close and the eyes really roll. For now, I want my children to see our family as a safe space, to be themselves wholly and without fear or doubt before the outside influences, the peer pressure, the impact on their self-confidence continues to creep its way in. Life is coming for them but for now, in this sweet spot of time, I want them to know that their terrible dancing, Grateful Dead loving, lapsed runner and blogger of a mom is here and loving each of them for who they are right now.

Motherhood: A Timeline

Monday, February 1, 2016

8:35 a.m.: I go down into my home office to check some work emails before the final push to get everyone out the door. 

I found this note from the Little Lady on my desk. The photo is one of my grandfather I keep there. He died when I was in third grade. GG is my grandma who died this summer at almost 91. We talk about her a lot in our house.

Had to cut this off for a few reasons: 1. my grandpa is dressed as Baby New Year and while I love this photo the Internet doesn't need to see that. 2. The Little Lady signed her name. 3. The black blob is covering our home address, apparently she felt the need to use our address stamp as part of this.

So, clearly there are tears.

I go upstairs give the Little Lady a huge hug and tell her how much I love her and think "I must be doing something right."

***

8:55 a.m.: I pull the Little Lady off of the bottom bunk into a small package and carry her, yelling about how she doesn't want to brush her hair or go to school, through the hallway, down the stairs and out of the garage before depositing her in the booster seat in Minnie-Ru where her brother and sister are waiting. She isn't wearing any shoes.

I run back inside, grab her boots, a jacket and a hat, throw them at her, throw the car into the reverse and peel out of the driveway. Late to school again and all the while thinking "what am I doing wrong?"

Guest Blog: Dear Dad at the Lego Store

Here is another guest post from another dad. 

Enjoy!

**********************

Dear Dad at the Lego store with a 6 year old and 3 year old daughter in tow....

My friend, when I saw you steering your 6 year old away from her desire to purchase a $90 Lego Cruise ship, I thought, what a salesman! 
Your enthusiasm and expertise espousing the virtues of a $24 Lego set aimed at the fairer sex was nothing short of brilliant. Mad Men have nothing over you. Hell, I was getting ready to buy the same set you were so expertly selling to your oldest little princess! With your littlest (and clueless) beauty in tow, you strode toward the check-out counter and handed the set to the clerk. You were beaming with supreme confidence, a man who stuck to his guns and got the job done...........until........ ......."IT" happened. 

You were SO close.

I am not sure if it was the tears, the screaming and frantic pointing to the upper shelves, or the dramatic, Oscar worthy performance replete with a drop to the knees, that triggered your next utterance. Whatever it was, it made this old man and parent of similar aged kids cringe, when you said, "ok-is that what you want?" You looked beaten. Little Princess stopped crying, and found a smile to melt your heart. A resounding "YES!" sealed your fate.

Awww buddy. You were SO close. I hope you enjoy the 6-8 hours it will take you to put the Cruise Ship together, not to mention the next 5 years or so of stepping on the remnants of the Showdown @ the Lego store in the middle of the night as you tuck in your Little Princess. And, of course, the next performance, which is sure to come to a Toy Store near you.

Guest Blog: Sign of the Times

So excited for my guest blogs and excited that I have such a range of readers.

This next one is out of the mouths of babes and is from a great mom friend.

Enjoy.

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A Sign of The Times

Last night I was driving in the car with two third grade girls, a preschooler and me, a 40 year old mom (2 kids of mine + a play date.) We were on a short car ride to literacy night at school.

We were discussing were in the building the event would be held. I told them literacy night was being held in the media center, and they wanted to know why they call the "library," the media center. I explained that books are only one kind of media, and newspapers, TV, and movies are also forms of media.

Our third grade play date pipes up and says "what's a newspaper?" Totally serious. Then she says, "oh I think that's what those things in plastic that they leave at the end of your driveway are?"

I am stunned! The end of and era. I have been hearing about print media dying off in favor of online sources, but has it already happened?

Kids want to know what this strange thing you call "Newspaper" is?  They will never know about getting gifts wrapped in old newspapers. They will never use silly putty to make transfers of the Sunday funnies. They will have no good excuse to hang home on Sunday mornings drink coffee and read their favorite section of the Sunday Times in their PJ's all day long. 

I think I'm going to subscribe to the Sunday Times again. I feel it's my duty to pass on to one more generation the joy of a newspaper.

This Stinks

Minnie-Ru smells like poo. That or something is decomposing in the way back.

A leaky cooler is the real culprit but I can't believe spilled water could smell so bad. I was half expecting to find a full glass of curdled milk beneath the seat.

We have been driving around in rainy weather with the windows down. I have been sticking my head out like some sort of dog. The Little Lady held her nose the entire ride to school on Monday. My husband told me he threw up a little bit in his mouth after getting into her on Tuesday after she sat and baked in the sun.

Would a wet vac work? We tried Fabreeze. I had visions of me blindfolding my husband and leading him unsuspectingly into a fresh smelling trunk (stay with me here, this isn't some 50 Shades fan fiction or Criminal Minds episode) where he would think he was in some meadow of windflowers before removing the blindfold and throwing his head back in disbelief while we both laughed and inhaled deeply that sweet, sweet air.  You know what I say to that? Fabreeze you are full of lies!

It didn't work. Our neighbor knocked on our door yesterday to tell us that the back of the van was open, we had to nod and smile, thank him for the concern, all the while hoping, praying that leaving it open for a couple of hours would actually do some good. 

I'd like to think that after four days the smell has dissipated or maybe I am just getting used to it, or maybe my nasal cavity has been so badly damaged by the smell that I am considering hanging a pair of smelly jellies from the rear view mirror just to brighten it up a bit. 

Any which way, we are still violated daily by that rank odor. Any suggestions to save us from the stank?

Part II: Saturday

Saturday

8:30 a.m.: The phone rings. It is my husband. The van is ready to be picked up. QT is still sleeping and one of the Ladies has at some point crept into my bedroom and taken one of the iPads.

8:45 a.m.: Pancakes for everyone. I prep the kids that we are going to have to leave soon to go get the van. I tell them I am not sure exactly how we are going to get there. The Lady suggests the Trolley. (Our city has a free Trolley that loops around and connects the area where we saw Frozen on Friday night with the downtown, near where the van is.) I have been talking about taking this Trolley for weeks. We have a plan.

9:10 a.m.: I Google the Trolley. I find out the closest stop to our house and see that they have a mobile app where you can follow the Trolley in real time. I throw on some yoga pants, promise donuts and start barking out commands to the kids, "get dressed, brush your hair, put on shoes we will be walking. . ." The Lady insists on wearing a nightgown with shorts. The Little Lady puts on a peasant skirt with a pair of leggings underneath, a t-shirt and a headband that she keeps at the very front of her head. They both wear flip-flops, nobody brushes their hair, however they do brush teeth.

9:21 a.m.: I check the app, the Trolley will be at the stop in 23 minutes. We can totally make it.

9:25 a.m.: We are in the garage, I grab the umbrella stroller because QT has a tendency to run. The Little Lady insists on riding her scooter. She grabs her helmet and we are off. We make it about a half a block before the Little Lady gives up on the scooter. I am visibly annoyed. I throw the Barbie scooter over the handles of the stroller and loop the helmet around them too. The Little Lady tries to keep up but is insisting that we are leaving her too far behind, the Lady and her long legs are about 10 feet in front of me.

We finally round the corner towards the Dunkies. I have already explained to them that we will be stopping on the way back because we have to catch the Trolley, although I am in serious need of some caffeine.

QT jumps out of the stroller, throws a mini basketball that he was carrying into the road. I stop everyone at the corner, get the ball and check the time. It is 9:50, we are not making it. Dunkies is in sight and I tell the kids that we will go there first. QT starts to squirm, he starts itching his whole body. He is covered in ants.

I am now standing on a street corner with three kids, a stroller covered in ants because it had been lying on the floor in the garage and there was some leftover granola bar in the seat from the kids' trip to the zoo earlier in the week. QT rode for a full 10-15 minutes sitting in that ant-infested stroller. I start picking ants off his feet, the back of his neck. I give him a full body check. I am grossed out. It is hot, I need coffee. We limp into the Dunkies parking lot. I pull the stroller up along side of the building and send the Ladies in for napkins.

(The problem with being a regular at places is that you just can't anonymously wipe scores of ants off a stroller on the side of a building in private. No, the owner of the establishment has to come over and offer to watch the stroller for you so that you can go inside, and you have to tell him that "something spilled" on it and you are just going to leave it outside, but thanks so much!)

10:05 a.m.: Stroller de-antified. Everyone is sitting down enjoying a donut and I have some coffee.

10:15 a.m.: I check the mobile app. We have 13 minutes to cross four streets. We head out.

We cross one street, we cross the next. We cross the third street. The Trolley stop is on the next block. All we have to do is cross over and make a left. We arrive at the corner. The Trolley arrives at the light directly across from us. I make some gesticulations with my hands trying to get the conductors attention. Did I mention this is the longest light in Stamford? We wait for the walk sign in the crossroad. The Trolley turns, we book it across the street. I yell for the Ladies to run ahead, the Trolley stops, the Lady is running in her flip flops and nightgown, her long unbrushed hair flapping in the wind. The Little Lady is close behind her, her ankle-length skirt billowing in the breeze. I am following behind with QT in the (hopefully) ant-free stroller, the Barbie scooter on top with the Dora the Explorer helmet banging against my fingers, the Trolley doors open then close and he drives away without us. I make a half-assed attempt at following him on foot. We will never catch up.

We take refuge on a bench at a bus stop.

10:28 a.m.: I call my mom.

10:31 a.m.: QT has to go to the bathroom. Luckily the mall is not far, in fact we are pretty much at the exact spot one of my early blog posts took place and I know the Barnes and Noble bathroom pretty well at this point. We soldier on. Both Ladies are complaining about their feet hurting from the flip flops. We make it to B&N. On a positive, there is one of the benches from the Art Around Town exhibit right outside of the mall. It is painted with birds though, so obviously it isn't my favorite. We sit on that for a few minutes because the Trolley isn't coming back for another 15 minutes and then make our way to the Trolley stop.

11:00 a.m.: The Trolley arrives. The doors open, we stumble in. It it cool and clean and wonderful. Everyone takes their own seat.

We start off in the opposite direction of where the car is. After about 13 minutes aboard the Trolley, we finally get to our stop downtown. We unload. QT insists on riding the scooter, the Little Lady would like to be in the stroller, the Lady runs into one of her classmates on the street. We only have to cross two more streets. I can see the awning of VW up ahead. I convince QT to give up on the scooter.

11:22 a.m.: I park the stroller outside the entrance, I send the kids in through the front door and point them to the waiting area. They each take a seat in a large, black leather chair. I give some guy my name, he tells me everything is ready and he will bring the van around. At that point, I like to imagine what it looked like from the inside of VW as the four of us arrived, as we crossed over the parking lot and into that front door, a little sweaty, an empty stroller with a scooter on top, three kids dragging their flip-flopped feet. I wonder did they have any idea of what it took for us to get there?

I will say they had some pretty good customer service though. The kids all got some water and another guy came by with a candy bowl. Of course they can have double bubble gum and gummy worms, it just took us two hours to get here. The guy who went to get the van came back and said that there was a car blocking it and it would just be another minute. Take your time guy, wherever we are going next, we are driving there and it can't possibly take as long as this excursion did.

Then, there she was in all her glory, Minnie-Ru.

11:37 a.m.: The kids scrambled in the van, I threw the scooter and the stroller in the trunk, took the last sip from the dregs of my coffee, blasted the ac, got in and drove home.

In retrospect, I realize that I probably could have just put QT and the Little Lady in the double stroller and power-walked the 1.2 miles to the dealership with the Lady in sneakers, perhaps switching out with her sister or brother for a spell, but the double stroller was in the top of the garage and on Saturday, it just wasn't our journey to take.

Birds of a Feather. . . Freak Me Out

I think it is safe to assume that most of us have done something for our kids that places us a bit outside of our comfort zone.

In all honesty, just showing up at kids birthday parties and talking to parents I don't know gives me a little bit (more) anxiety. I can't wait until they are all drop offs.

Anyway, I also think it is safe to assume that most of you know that I hate birds. I have mentioned it here a few times. I just don't like them. At all.There really isn't anything I find redeeming about them and the fact that people keep them in their homes as pets weirds me out.

So on Saturday when we met up with a girlfriend of mine and her family at the local Aquarium, I wasn't really expecting a full-on bird exhibit.

I paid $3 for a cup of nectar and for birds to land on me. On my arms and my shoulders and my head. My head! Although, I did tell the girl in there with the stick that maybe it would be in her best interest to remove the one off the top of my head before I had a literal freak out.

Granted, the birds were very colorful and vibrant up close, non-withstanding their creepy claws in my skin and hair. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.  But it was way outside the comfort zone.

Not sure how I ended up in there with the Little Lady and QT in there by myself, but I tried to show them that I wasn't afraid/freaked out/totally skeeved by winged creatures and tried to even say things like "Look at the beautiful feathers, see how they are drinking the nectar. . ." all in what was probably a voice in a much higher pitch than my regular speaking voice and probably conveyed not one lick of confidence.

Then of course someone got pooped on. There were signs that warned of this. The really chipper guy at the front of the exhibit also warned us about it as he told us to Purell before we got in there. Like, the birds should be worried about getting something from me?

I have to admit I was super psyched it wasn't me and it wasn't in my hair. Poor QT though!

Thank goodness the poo consisted of what I can only assume was mostly nectar and was obviously being drunk in high quantities by these birds. It also only got him on the foot, but it was reason enough for us to leave that bird enclosure and I am 100% sure I won't ever be going back.

Waiting for his feet to be de-poopified

Not sure what was worse for QT the bird poo or the sand he got on his foot when he briefly stepped into a sandbox area. I was having flashbacks of last summer, luckily, we spent some serious time in another sandbox yesterday afternoon and we have found that as long as he isn't wearing any shoes he can handle it.

I for one am looking forward to an amazing summer, that hopefully is pretty bird-free. Hope everyone enjoyed the long weekend!

Day 2/5 Five Photos of my Day

Day 2/5: Work. Work. Work. Not very exciting, but I had a project to finish so I was busy, which is always good since it was still pretty crappy out yesterday morning. I didn't go outside at lunch so I was super psyched to pull out of the parking garage and see a beautiful afternoon.

I had to pick up some prescriptions at CVS and then I was headed to a quick meeting after work. Hey CVS? Any reason why when I refill my prescriptions online for pickup at 4:00 that I am still waiting 15 minutes for it to be filled when I get there at 5:15? Yeah, didn't think so. 

I still had some time before my meeting so I took a very quick 25 minute run to the beach and back. There is nothing better than some sand and sun. Also, the meeting was with a yoga instructor who is volunteering at the Komen CT walk next weekend, so it didn't matter if I looked like a sweaty mess, which I did, but it was well worth it. 

Ahh, Costco. . . 4 gallons of milk is about average per visit. It is scary when only three out of five of us actually drink milk. Oh well. I picked up some milk, bread and some new undies for QT (they had Mike and Sully on them!) and headed out. 

Lady in front of me fishing your receipt out of your pocket (your pocket? This is Costco, you buy the stuff, you keep the receipt in your hand so you can hand it to the checker guy on the way out) while eating a churro and holding a speaker phone conversation, while trying to pull your very full cart with one hand. DO NOT STOP in front of the exit. I will hit you with my cart!

Finally, home. Three kids in the tub is a good thing to walk into. The chaos that follows is not. Let's just say they all eventually went to bed. 

Kindergarten, Crazy Hair and QT's Cuteness!

The Little Lady and her dad.

The Lady and her crazy hair.

Wednesday the Little Lady had kindergarten orientation. While, I realize that this is my second time through now, it is equally as emotional. Is it possible that I will have two kids in elementary school next year?

Now, the Little Lady was a little hesitant to join her other future Class of 2020 cohorts when they left the cafeteria with the "specials" teachers. After a few tears and about five minutes of the kindergarten teacher's PowerPoint presentation she changed her mind. I dropped her off in the art room and hoped for the best. She returned about a half hour later with a lovely little drawing ready to take the tour of the school. The tour was given by a group of 5th grade girls decked out in their Wacky Wednesday apparel (it is Spirit Week at the school) and we got a chance to peek in on the Lady in her classroom.

Speaking of Spirit Week and the Lady, we are on day 4. Today is Crazy Hair/Hat Day. Luckily, I still have purple sparkle hairspray and purple and pink hair chalk from last year to run through the Lady's hair. She was excited to get ready this morning, although not as excited as she was on Monday when it was pajama day. Looks like we will be joining the Ninja Turtles in the tub tonight. Tomorrow wraps up the week and it is Gator Green day. Let's hope she wears the green school hoodie I ordered!

Finally, here is just a cute picture of QT from last night. He should have been in bed at this point, but decided he needed to stay up a bit with his parents to watch the Yankees and try on sunglasses. Yes, we are still rocking Halloween glow in the dark skeleton pjs.

Cutie.

15 Things. . .

Clearly, I am scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

I found this on Pinterest. Yes, it has come to that.

I think I come across, on average, about 12 of these situations on a daily basis. While no one (to my knowledge) has licked the toilet seat, there is plenty of unauthorized eating in there, which shouldn't surprise anyone who read Holy Guacamole.

Since we don't have a cat (and hopefully never will) I can't comment on the kitty litter, but there was a point in time that the Lady once took a bath in a cat's water dish. 

The Little Lady is notorious for whining and barging into the bathroom.

The Lady loves some sugar and sitting on her brother.

QT is way into Dora (and can I say after a time of being away from her, I am sometimes happy to see her enormous football-shaped head, teaching him some Spanish and showing him how to use a map).

So, I am posting this here as a fairly accurate representation of the things that go on in our house.

Which ones happen in your house?

On Discovering the Three Bean

Last night as I pecked out a few words for my Monday post, the Lady happened to be sitting beside me and asked "What is the three bean?"

I have been blogging about her for 5 years and she didn't even know it.

I like to think I am not taking advantage of her childhood, her moods, her actions. I like to think I am not exploiting my kids just because I happen to like to write and this is an outlet as well as a way to capture all those moments that you can easily forget.

I don't know though. In ten years when she reads some of these things will she be embarrassed or angry?

In twenty five years will she be grateful she can look back and see what a new mom goes through? A mom of two? Of three? Will she relate? Will she be happy to hear my voice on these pages?


I write about my children because they are such a huge part of my life, and life isn't just photos on facebook and parenting doesn't always equate to joy. They will remember the big things, Disney trips and vacations, but it is those small moments of crazy, it is random afternoons at the beach, getting stuck in rainstorms, changing diapers in the trunk of a car, its puking kids and dance parties that I want them to know about as well.

The Lady and I took a few minutes to look back at some old posts. Her first birthday, Halloween, Christmas when she was 3. I am amazed always at how much she has grown. How much of a big girl she seems these days.

I am forever grateful to her as well. She changed my life. Changed the way I write and why I write and who I write for.

I hope that when my kids eventually do read these pages that even though they may not remember all the details, that even though they might be a little embarrassed or put out that they can hear through all these words how much they are loved.

Time for Bed!

The Ladies created a new bed for QT, right between the two of them. We will see how long he lasts in there.

Here's to hoping everyone sleeps in tomorrow and stop coming into my room looking for crackers. 

Some Sticky Seasonal Situations

The Little Lady glued three, colored 8.5x11 pieces of paper to the wood floor in her room.

Oh Elmer, you are lucky it was your glue and not super glue or glitter glue. I guess I was lucky she wasn't playing on the rug.

These types of things seem to be happening with greater frequency in my house if that gives you any indication of how things have been going this fine holiday season.

QT wrote with permanent markers on my refrigerator (thank goodness for the magic eraser), he also upended a huge container of Rainbow Loom rubber bands that we have almost gotten back into the bin (on a side note, I do kind of find the sorting and organizing of the bands quite soothing, especially after trying to subdue the copious amounts of rage-a-hol pulsing through my bloodstream after finding paper glued to the floor).

The Lady insists that none of the messes have been made by her (although she is the one who was using the permanent markers for an art project and then left them out).

The one positive outcome of all this mess is that it has given me the impetuous to just get rid of stuff.

You can't play with it and put it away? Gone.

And I am talking garbage gone.

As much as I am trying to remember the meaning of this season, be grateful for the imagination and creativity of my glue and permanent marker-bearing children, I am wondering why I am even working myself up about bringing more stuff into our house, especially if it isn't going to be taken care of by the kids.

We need nothing else and clearly I am having trouble trying to get them to take care of the things that they have. I am trying to find a way to teach them about the spirit and magic of Christmas and about caring for people other than themselves in this world. It sometimes gets lost between Christmas lists, 50% off sales, and that freaking Elf.

The Elf, who the Ladies left a strawberry out for because they were concerned he didn't have enough time to eat during his nightly excursion to the North Pole, "found" a dry erase board and a marker and compiled a Naughty List with the names of the Three Beans listed. Not my proudest moment as a mother.

The Ladies came down to find the Elf holding the pen, sitting next to a half-eaten strawberry and on top of a dry erase board that listed them as naughty.

The Lady couldn't tolerate that for a second and found a way to remove the pen, without touching the Elf, and change naughty to nice. Not sure if that lesson sunk in.

I love that my kids are at the age that they can all play together relatively unsupervised and that they enjoy each others company. Granted, we have a few minor incidents but overall they have fun together. I just wonder why it is at always at bedtime when I am at my lowest and just ready to crash that things seem to go so astray. Maybe I throw away a few more plastic things I find on the floor, maybe I just let them turn their room into one big art installation, but in the spirit of the season, why can't they just be good for goodness sake?

Find a Penny, Pick it up, All Day Long You'll Have Good Luck. . .

. . .Unless of course you have spent the last three days sifting through the poo in your 2-year-old's diaper trying to find the penny he swallowed on Sunday night.

I guess it was good luck that I actually found it, clearly we tried to drive home the message of not putting anything in your mouth, and Lord knows this mamma needs a little luck in her life, but this wasn't quite the way I was looking to find it.

***********

It is full on holiday time and this year I wanted to be organized and ready to go. I had my Christmas cards ordered and delivered by mid-November, I made lists for gifts for the kids, cousins (and even myself) prior to Thanksgiving and had an Amazon cart full and ready for purchase come Cyber Monday.

Not wanting to dive right into the Christmas season and bypass Thanksgiving, I decided that we would get all the decorations down post-Turkey day.

We had a busy four days. We were all over the place and we had a great time seeing family and friends. However, by the time we got back to our place on Sunday around 2:30 we were all done. I tried to ignore the list of things that needed to be done.

Number 1 on that list? The Elf on the Shelf.

Here is where the mommy mind melt kicks in. I have a vivid recollection of talking to my husband about the fact that we had to put the Elf on the Shelf away last year. He was still hanging around post-holiday tree take down and I wanted to make sure the kids didn't discover him on my husband's dresser.

I also kind of remember putting it in a bin.

Fast forward to 8:30 Sunday night, we were about 2 hours post-penny swallow and the kids were in their beds but not quite sleeping.

I sent my husband out to bring down the decorations from the attic of the garage as I tried to decide the best place to put the Elf. He called me from the garage to let me know he couldn't find it and he had looked in "a lot of bins."

I love my husband. He does a ton for our family, but less than 24-hours earlier this conversation happened while he was looking through our diaper bag in order to change QT.

Sweet Husband: Where are the wipes?
Me: They are in the bag.
Sweet Husband: I don't see them, are you sure you put them in here? (Add some tone to this.)
Me: Yes. They are in the bag.
Sweet Husband: They aren't in the bag.
Me: Ok. I am sure there are some wipes here. (We were at his sister's house and there were like 10 kids there)

One minute later I look in the bag and there are the wipes. I am not saying he didn't look for them, I am just saying maybe he should have looked a little harder. So, I was a bit skeptical that he couldn't find the Elf on the Shelf.

The next morning the Lady came down looking for the Elf. I did some quick thinking and said that he didn't come because we didn't read the book first. She bought this as an excuse and I told her he would come that night.

I got home from work and headed straight to the garage. I looked in the Christmas bins that my husband brought down. No Elf. I looked in a lot of bins in the attic of the garage and guess what? That's right we have a ton of stuff that we don't need and don't use up there. There is also a ton of stuff that I would love to use if we just had a little more room! Also, no Elf.

We put the kids to bed, I pulled on a heavy sweatshirt and headed out again. 40 minutes later. . .no luck. WTF? Where was this Elf? Was I going to have to go out to Target at 9:30 p.m. and spend another 30 bucks on this thing? Ugh.

My husband said he would go pick up a new one, but first maybe we should look under our bed. Lo and behold, there he was in his box, hanging out for a year or so, just waiting for us to remember that we never even took him out of the house.

Victory was mine that night and the kids couldn't have been more excited to see him the next morning. Please remind me to move him tonight though!

****************

This is an actual conversation that took place last night as the Little Lady was once again on our bed a full hour and a half after bedtime. My husband was watching some sports talk show on HBO about the documentary "Trophy Kids." They showed a clip of the doc with a little girl golfing. Here is what followed:

Little Lady: Do you remember when Tiger Woods cheated on his wife?
Husband and Me: Um. . .yes
Little Lady: That wasn't very nice of him and now she doesn't even want to be around him anymore.
Husband: Yeah, he wasn't very nice.
Little Lady: I think she went and moved in with her dad.

Actually Little Lady, I am pretty sure she knocked down and rebuilt some huge palatial home in Florida and is dating her neighbor, but I am sure her parents wouldn't have minded if she moved back in. 

Happy! Happy! Mamas!

Happy Mother's Day to all my lovely mamas out there. I hope you enjoyed your day.

Perhaps you had breakfast in bed, got to sleep in a little, were able to escape for a spa day or a nice brunch or perhaps you were woken up a full 30-60 minutes earlier than usual by your children, one of whom carried a tea party basket full of homemade cards that she had worked on for over a week and kept hidden under her bed, cards that she signed from each child and my husband ("form, Tory").

They were super sweet and very detailed.

However nice they were it didn't quite erase the fact that my husband was out of town and that I was going to have to get to the grocery store with all three kids in order to pick up a few things for the barbecue we were going to later in the day at my sisters.

First stop, coffee.

Initially, I thought we would all go into Dunkies, sit down for a few minutes, eat a couple of donuts and then make our way to the supermarket.

This idea was quickly squashed. As we pulled into the Dunkies we passed a makeshift flower/balloon tent.

These are the tents with a spray painted "Roses" sign and giant carnival-sized pink stuffed animals hanging in plastic bags from the sides of the tent that pop up on Valentine's Day or Mother's Day as a last ditch stop for those who have zero foresight and are in pure desperation mode.

Guess what tent guys? Moms don't want giant, pink stuffed animals. Do you know who does want a giant pink stuffed animal? Five-year-old girls.

Know who wasn't going to buy her five-year-old girl a giant, pink stuffed animal from the side of the road? Me.

Thanks for ruining Mother's Day. To say the Lady was upset by this, would be an understatement. There were many tears. There was also no way we were all going to go sit inside and enjoy a pink frosted donut together, so I shifted Minnie-Ru into drive and we headed to the store.

There is nothing like having a Mother's Day brunch in the parking lot of a Fairway supermarket while listening to a Team Umizoomi movie. Umi! Zoomi! Umizoomi! Umizoomi!

Once the kids finished off their donuts, we headed in. I put a glazed-covered, still-in-pajamas-wearing QT into the front of the cart and tried to make it clear that the Ladies shouldn't be riding on the side of the cart. That lasted for about two minutes.

The Ladies were very helpful in picking out some hanging plants for my mom and for the Wild One's Omi, but like most trips to the store the need to leap and run and stop in front of moving carts overwhelmed them.

Good thing we only had a few things on the list to get. By the time we made it to the pasta aisle, QT had had enough. I relented, took him out of the cart and allowed him to dance in the aisle with his sisters to Mumford and Sons.

What can I say? The kid likes to move.

I was able to corral them to the check-out line and quickly pay. The Lady insisted on pushing the cart with no help. Just so we are clear, the basket was full of groceries, two hanging plants were hanging off the handle bar, QT was riding in the front and the Little Lady was holding onto the side. The cart was heavy, lopsided and she couldn't see over the top. We might have hit a few walls and doors, but we eventually made it back to the van.

Once there we revisited how unfair it was to not buy giant, pink stuffed animals.

I was eventually able to wrangle QT back into his donut-covered car seat and in an attempt to keep them all in one place for just a bit more time, we took a small detour to find two of the horses from last summer's "Horsin' Around" exhibit that had been bought by a family and were now just hanging out on their lawn.

Things were looking up.

Once home, it took another 20 minutes to get the kids inside. The puddles from the rain on Saturday were much too much of a distraction and I was just as happy to let them run around outside for a while.

In all honesty, it was actually a pretty good morning. It was a true reflection of Mother's Day to me. While it would have been great to have had a nice breakfast or to sleep for just a few minutes longer, I got to spend the day with my kids. That is something that I haven't been able to do for a long time and something I miss more than anything after going back to work full-time.

They may be too energetic in aisles, a little sticky, terribly put-out by stuffed animal injustices, and moved to dance at inconvenient times, but they are mine and I love them and I have become a better person because of them.

As Seen on TV

So as you well know from my last post, the Lady has eagerly been anticipating the arrival of her "Hot Buns" in the mail.

I have been hoping upon hope that they actually work and that she won't be super disappointed if they fall out of her hair after two minutes.

I finally got the email that the Hot Buns had shipped but in the meantime the Little Lady and I went on an excursion to Michael's to pick up some poster frames for the Lady's artwork. As is typical on any outing with the Little Lady, she wanted to buy a million things, had to make a stop at the bathroom and did some serious skipping around the store.

What did she find? Why the As Seen on TV section that included the Magic Ice Cream Shake, something she has been desperately wanting ever since she saw it on a commercial. Again, advertisers I have to applaud your efforts at selling to the under-5 set. If they had credit cards our house would be overflowing with even more useless junk.

I was dubious of course, but the Little Lady was insistent. I had to buy it because on the other side of the aisle was, you guessed it, Hot Buns. Why wait for the mail delivery? The Lady needed her Hot Buns and apparently the Little Lady needed some Ice Cream Magic. I am either A. the greatest or B. the worst mother ever.

We headed home and as soon as the Lady got home from school we tried the Hot Buns. I have to say I was impressed with how easy it was to do. Basically you just put a pony tail in the hair, take the Hot Buns and roll it up like you would a curler, snap it, and then distribute the hair around it. It comes with two sizes, small and large. The small was more than adequate for the Lady and I gave the large one to our sitter because I have no hair.

Anyway, the Lady was initially impressed, but as with all things new it takes her a while to get used to things so she had me take it out about 5 minutes after it got put in. Know what isn't easy about Hot Buns? Taking it out. Imagine trying to unroll hair off of Velcro. Yeah, that's about right. There was some hair pulling, some complaining from the Lady and I might have had to throw out a fistful of her baby wisps, but hey, sometimes there is a price for beauty.

The next morning the Lady was willing to give it another try. I had to do a high pony, not a medium or low pony. The Lady couldn't have been happier. We topped it off with the light blue scrunchy I had to buy her for ballet and I sent her off to school. She came home with the Hot Buns still in, maybe not as neat as when she left, but I was impressed.

How was the Magic Ice Cream Shake you ask? Well let's just say it took longer than the promised 3 minutes, was a bit more work then anticipated, and ended up tasting like whipping cream with a bit of vanilla extract in it. The Little Lady did like to shake it, but I think we will be using the cup and spoon provided to eat actual ice cream that I have purchased from the store.

What else was on that As Seen on TV stand? The Callous Clear, which the Ladies have both insisted that I get for my feet. I believe the Little Lady's exact words were "Mommy, you should get that because your feet aren't good." Thanks Little Lady, but it isn't flip flop weather yet and Momma has a few more things to worry about than her feet. She is totally right though. Maybe I should get it. . . .

He Said/She Said: QT Needs a Haircut

Here is another He Said/She Said for your reading pleasure. Access our first "conversation" here.

As usual, I go first.

************

The mullet

She Said:

QT needs a haircut. He is almost 16 months old and he has what can only be described as a mullet. Granted, the mullet is comprised of fine, wispy baby curls, but the fact remains that the look is essentially a cross between Bowser from Sha-Na-Na and a hockey haircut.

Look, I love Grease and if QT wants to suit up and take the ice so be it (I just won’t be driving him to those super early morning practices) but it is time for a haircut.

The problem is my husband doesn’t want him to get one.

I know that I waited 4.5 years to cut the Lady’s hair, but she is a girl and her hair is long and straight. QT is now beginning to resemble those early 90’s kids who used to hang out on the patio behind our high school with their tight black jeans and white high-tops, while smoking nic-sticks and wearing leather jackets.

My husband wants to wait for all his hair to grown in on top before we cut it. This is, of course, ridiculous.

By the time the rest of his hair grows in the tail on the back of his head will be down to his mid back. I know that QT is the baby and maybe this first haircut will make him look too much like a “big boy,” but the truth of the matter is that even though he is the baby of our family we have to stop always treating him like he is still a newborn.

Trust me; I have shed tears over the fact that he will be my last child. My atrophied, uterus will never again grow another human being. I cherish the small moments I still have with my precious baby boy, but that kid needs to grow up a little.

By fifteen months both the Ladies were walking, talking, and drinking out of a cup.

QT is pointing at things and growling like he is E.T. before he finds the Speak&Spell, still drinking out of a bottle, still only walks when I am behind him--hunched over like Quasimodo--or if he receives a round of applause for his efforts, and just making as much noise as possible. The kid opens the doors to the laundry and just bangs on the washing machine like he is part of a Native American drum circle and he is on the lookout for his spirit guide.

I just think it wouldn’t hurt to have his hair reflect the fact that he is growing up. I mean, I can tie his hair back with a ribbon, send him off with a fife and have him join some local Minuteman reenactment group (what? we live in New England), or we can suck it up, send him off to Snip Snaps and get the kid a proper haircut.

*******

He Said

So what if QT has what can, in some circles, be described as a "rat's tail," a hockey haircut or a mullet. These would be appropriate descriptions of his hairstyle if he was living in the 80's, Canada or if he wasn't a one year-old.  He's one and he's adorable.

I've never had one person tell me he needs a haircut; besides my wife of course. It's not like he looks like the kid from the Little Lady's 3rd birthday party, who could have been trying out for the role of Tarzan's son. He's just now getting a full head of hair up top, and genetically speaking, he might want to hold onto all he's got now. Because it doesn't look like he'll have much later in life. And, I guarantee you he's not going to want anything to do with that barber's chair.

Maybe it's because he's our baby, and I'm not quite ready to admit that he is in fact not a baby anymore. Lord knows I want him to start doing other "big boy" things, like walk and talk instead of grunting at everything he wants. But, I also don't want to start thinking about the fact that when he does walk or talk, it will be our last set of "first steps" or our last "first word."  I'm holding onto our "baby" as long as I can, and if that means he goes a little longer than usual before his first trip to the barber, so be it.

The minute somebody mistakenly thinks he's a girl, I'll give him a haircut myself, but until then, he's business in the front, party in the back.

******

Me Again

"Business in the front, party in the back?" Really? Really? You're better than that.

I don't want a Ryder Robinson on my hands here or even worse what Celine Dion's kid looked like for years. When I give QT a tub his hair is at mid-back. Even the Ladies have commented on its length.

There is a possibility that when you come home tonight his hair will be in a ponytail. We have already seen him in barrettes courtesy of his sisters, and although I am pretty sure it might be awhile before he is mistaken for a girl, it doesn't change the fact that he still needs a haircut.

Oh, and by the way, you are bringing him. There is no way I am going to try and control that kid while he gets his haircut.

Boy, That Escalated Quickly

Yesterday, I was reading an article about how you shouldn't yell at your kids. Apparently, it might not be beneficial to them in the long run.

I get it. I do. I have been trying to curb the amount of yelling that goes on in my house because I recognize that sometimes it is more about me than about what my kids may or may not have actually done.

But to paraphrase the great Ron Burgundy, things sometimes escalate quickly, and boy can they get out of hand fast.

Tuesday night my husband's flight was delayed getting home. Instead of arriving home at around the same time I would from work, he didn't make it in the door until about 11:30.

But the nighttime routine had to go on.

QT isn't much of a talker. I say things like "use your words" to him a lot. He likes to point at things and direct me to his intended target. After getting yet another update that the hubby would be delayed, QT heard me tell my husband on the phone that I had to give tubs. His little ears perked up, his pointer finger extended and I followed his directions to bring him to the bathroom. It is much easier to bathe him separately from his sisters who slide their bodies around the tub and think it is funny when he splashes the shit out of whomever is bathing him. Also, since I bathe him in $29 eczema relief bath and body shampoo, I want to make sure that his sisters aren't in there using it to clean the tiles above the tub or wash their Barbie's hair.

The problem with only having one kid in the tub is that the other two are out there unsupervised. Well, partially unsupervised. The Little Lady was curled up on the couch with the iPad watching the Electric Company and the Lady was in my room trying on my heels and whatever lingerie she could find that is still stuffed in my bottom drawer, a sad reminder of what once was.

So, QT is in the tub, splashing, smiling at his reflection in the fixtures, throwing a wet football at me and generally enjoying his evening soak. The Little Lady is watching the Electric Company at a volume so loud in the other room that she might as well be standing next to me, and the Lady walks in the bathroom wearing some costume jewelry, a white, silky nightgown, and a pair of heels. In her hand is a gold claddagh ring and on her finger is a toe ring that I think I wore in 2002. We talk about the rings, she does some modeling poses and leaves the room. All is under control.

In the middle of rinsing off QT, I hear the Lady say that my ring holder fell. Now this is a Waterford ring stand, which has both my wedding ring and engagement ring on it. I tell her to put it back. She then informs me that the second drawer to my jewelry box is not closing. I can only assume that this is because she has tried to jam everything back in at once. I tell her to clean up and get ready for her bath. 

I take QT out of the tub and attempt to lube this kid up with Aquaphor to offset the eczema. That is when I look over and see the Little Lady playing with a small ceramic heart that has come from my jewelery box. I start to get a little heated. Again, I tell them to start cleaning up because they both need a bath. Both Ladies go into my room and put on more heels. I attempt to wrangle on QT's pajamas over his cream covered body. It is a process that couldn't possibly take more time.

I finally put a pj'd QT on the floor and address the situation in my bedroom. My Waterford ring holder was teetering on top of an old college t-shirt and the edge of my dresser. I put it back in its rightful place when I realize that my engagement ring was no longer on it.

This is where things turn from heated to freak out. I start yelling. I am not proud of it, but WTF? it is my engagement ring. WHERE IS IT?

The Lady can't remember where the ring might have fallen, the Little Lady is still trying to put on three-inch boots, I am losing my mind.

In that moment, I should have stopped to take a breath. I should have realized that the ring had to be somewhere in the house, and that I would find it in either the top drawer or under the bed. I should have realized that the three kids standing before me, one in a negligee, one in undies and three-inch boots, and one so covered with skin ointment that his clothes were clinging to his body, were much better proof of the "love and fidelity" my husband and I committed to on that gorgeous June day than that ring.

Instead, I blew up. The kids scurried about and I lashed out at them over something that wasn't that big of a deal. Clearly, I had given the Lady permission to play with my stuff, ultimately the blame was on me.

The situation had escalated.

That is when I saw QT crawling on the floor out of my room. When I went to scoop him up, I realized that he was wearing my engagement ring on one of his fingers, while his hand was clasped around a dime and a wooden domino. I had to pry that ring off his finger and he wasn't happy about it. I returned everything to its sort of proper place and ordered the girls to the tub.

As I put QT in the living room to play with his trucks, I noticed the glint of gold peeking out from between the couch cushions. That gold claddagh ring the Lady had earlier had somehow made its way out to the couch. No one knew how this had happened.

GET IN THE TUB!

The Ladies doth protested. Both of the girls have had a few minor scrapes lately. They are very concerned about not putting these "injuries" in water. I am pretty sure a 4-day-old scab is going to be fine in the bath, but they insist that I do not get water on the afflicted area. This actually works out OK for me. Instead of filling the tub and having them play in it for entirely too long, the Ladies will stand in the tub and I will basically shower them off with a Mickey Mouse cup and a washcloth, careful the whole time not to get anything near or around whatever minor injury they used 14 Disney Fairy band-aids to help heal.

The process is fairly quick. Not quick enough though. When I finally got the Little Lady out of the tub and went back into the living room to check on QT, this is what I found.

 

That is QT clapping. Those are dirty dishes. When I found him he was holding a steak knife. He was certainly proud.  

I will admit to letting out a bit of a roar before I removed anything dangerous and took a photo, but I tried to reign it in and remember that they are just kids. They don't care about schedules or getting the lunches packed in time. They just want to play and imagine and have fun and they want to do those things with a mother who isn't crazy. Since they are stuck with me, there might still be a few moments where I lose my mind, but I am making an effort to make sure those times are reserved for moments that warrant it, like when not yelling might mean a trip to the emergency room because someone thinks the changing table is a diving board and their bed is an Olympic pool.   

When Kindergarten Kicks Your Ass

Ugh.

Ugh, I say.

So that beautiful smiling face that gladly rode the bus with her parents last Monday has now resorted to trying to fake stomach aches and woke up proclaiming "I hate school."

It really isn't school. The Lady seems to love her teacher and although she told me that she was sitting on the bench at recess instead of playing, she seems to be making it through the day engaged and interested in her classroom.

The problem is the bus. More specifically, the bus ride to school.

Last week at this time I was being told about how the kindergartners sit at the front of the bus, how they get on first and very careful care is taken to make sure they are well tended to.

However, that is only on the ride home.

On the way to school the Lady is on a bus with 56 other kids ranging in age from 4-to however old  5th graders are, with no monitor, no seatbelts, and no assigned seating.

For the past five years I have been strapping the Lady into every type of carseat imaginable. I have been telling her that the car does not move unless seatbelts are on and that cops can give me a ticket if she isn't strapped in, and then I just throw her on a moving vehicle with a ton of other kids and only one adult and am expected to just accept it.

I know that the Lady has to get used to riding the bus. I know that in a few weeks this (hopefully) will be a non-issue. But for now it is.

I called the transportation office. They didn't call me back. Her father drove her to school for two days last week. We have resorted to having the sitter get her on the bus. I feel badly for the sitter because she has to deal with the drama, but at least with her there are no excuses.

This morning the Lady cried while getting on the bus. I am calling the transportation office again.

I don't want the Lady to dread going to school each morning. Selfishly, I don't want to have to worry about it. I want her to be excited for school, for all the opportunity she will have there. I don't want fake stomach aches and manipulative behavior. I don't want to have to watch my phone every morning at 8:30 and every afternoon at 4.

I had to bribe her last week. This should not be my parenting default. This is kindergarten right? A time where they are meeting new friends, becoming accustomed to the school day, going to art, going to gym, reading stories, playing games, being kids. Why then is it kicking my ass?