Nearly every child I run into at the boys' school or a friend's house says something along the lines of: "Guess what I'm going to be for Halloweeeeeennnnn????!!" And of course all adults play along because it's fun to see how excited the kids get.
My friend's daughter is going to be a tiger--because they say "RARRRRR" she told me. My other friend's son is going as "Handy Manny"...because he's, uh, handy, I guess? Or a cool Spanish guy? ;) Regardless, it's a riot to hear all of the stories right now.
And, in turn, kids and adults ask me what Rhys and Cole are going to be. This is where it gets fun.
My sweet, but full-of-energy Cole, shouts at every chance that he's going to be a NIN-JJAA! "Hiy-ya!" He originally was going to be a tiger, but a man can change his mind, you know.
Then there's Rhysie, my shyer, more artistic son, who in a quiet voice tells everyone he can that he is going to be a.....PRINCESS. And no, I'm not joking. Why? "Because they are so bee-u-ti-ful, mommy." This is the kid who is glued to Star Wars, but is wearing a bow in his hair as he watches. His favorite colors are pink and purple--in that order--but his favorite clothes are sports warm-ups.
So, there you have it, the quandry: do we make a big deal of it or just let him be happy as a pretty princess among a sea of ninjas, Diegos and otherwise "RARRRing" boy-like creatures?
Oh, what the heck, he's only 4, right? He's going to be a princess, dammit. Bring on the wand, the tiara, the earrings...thespian life, here we come.
Thankfully, I've got a great hubby who's cool (pretty much) with it. But man, you should see some of the funny reactions I get when I tell folks the costume of choice.
Most know my stories about Rhys, but I think they can't help but put themselves in my/our shoes and think what they'd do...and it's tough! Everything about our society says boys = manly and blue and girls = pretty and pink, so what do you do when you have a son who would much rather carry around a pink, Barbie fishing rod and a box of "treasures," including various barrettes borrowed from girls at school, ponytail holders, "gemstones," and My Little Ponies?
You crack the heck up, that's what you do! I laugh--not sure what else to do--and have to celebrate his adorable, cute self, because he just likes what he does. I have to admit, though, it does make me laugh to see all of the boys playing on the soccer field and there is Rhys, sitting on the lap of the coach's wife instead of playing.
What's a mom to do eh, but do his hair--he's got to look fab!
;)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
My dog, the goat...and his "issues"
So, my 14-year-old dog has a serious gas problem. And so does his 12-year-old "sister." And while it might have once been funny to see how fast they could clear a room, now it is just seriously annoying. My kids even wave pillows to try and waft the smell away from "those stinky dogs"...it's hilarious. Then again, if I were technically 98 (14 in people years), I guess I'd expect to have some intestinal issues, too! We joke that our poor, 70-pound mutt is decomposing from the inside out and letting us share in the "life process." (Come on, you have to laugh or you'd cry...literally.)
And if it stopped at gas, it might be a bit of an irritating problem, but no big deal really.
Well, no such luck.
My sweet, British-looking pooch (put some glasses on his nose and I swear he'll start reading you Dickens) has now decided he doesn't have to be my sweet pooch any longer. In fact, I think he might have flicked me and life off the other day...he's just over all of us. And I have to admit, it's pretty damn funny.
He has 3 main goals these days, it appears:
1) Ignore any attempt to get his attention. In fact, when you call his name, IF he decides to turn his head, it's more because he has to chew on his backside or tail...he almost fakes you out that he's heard you. Most of the time, he plays the "I can't hear you, I'm so tired and old" card, but drop a cookie and you'll watch him sprint like a frickin' Greyhound pup.
2) Eat anything that remotely smells like, looks like or could eventually be...food. So, that means, eating food out of my kids' hands if they're not watching (two grilled cheese sandwiches, a plate of cookies, tons of nuts/snacks, and some playdough--technically it IS food), eating garbage out of the garbage can, drinking pee from the toilet (I know, lovely!), eating crayons (yumm...waxy), eating grass and anything nut-like that'll bind him up for days... The result? Have I mentioned gas? ;)
3) Oh, and the BEST one: poop anywhere outside EXCEPT the grass! In fact, he loves the driveway a whole lot. Especially when he sees us watching him...it's like he's saying "I'm really old and tired and if I want to go on the cement, I will...and you'll just have to deal." Do you remember the movie Grumpy Old Men? Yep, exactly.
So, here's the best story...and what has prompted this post. Yesterday, I get home in the pouring rain and run to let the dogs out who are crossing their paws. They run out into the pouring rain to do their business and fly back in the door soaking wet, poor babies. I feed them and they proceed to inhale the food.
10 minutes later I hear some lovely sounds near the couch where the boys are watching cartoons and there is my 12-year-old dog throwing up her dinner. GREAT. I clean that up (amidst kids telling me how much it stinks and how "pee-uuu" gross it is) only to hear them saying "Morrrryyyy!!!" There is my old-man mutt taking a walking poop across my kitchen! And he's not being shy about it in the least bit--in fact, I think he was enjoying it. So I say something to the effect of: "What's your damage, dog??" and he gives me a look and proceeds to walk across the room and lay down...out of pure exhaustion, it appears. (You know, a good poop can do that to ya...)
I laugh now b/c I could see his little mind thinking: "I'm old and it's raining...nope, not gonna do it. Kitchen floor is the answer. Yep. Done."
And if it stopped at gas, it might be a bit of an irritating problem, but no big deal really.
Well, no such luck.
My sweet, British-looking pooch (put some glasses on his nose and I swear he'll start reading you Dickens) has now decided he doesn't have to be my sweet pooch any longer. In fact, I think he might have flicked me and life off the other day...he's just over all of us. And I have to admit, it's pretty damn funny.
He has 3 main goals these days, it appears:
1) Ignore any attempt to get his attention. In fact, when you call his name, IF he decides to turn his head, it's more because he has to chew on his backside or tail...he almost fakes you out that he's heard you. Most of the time, he plays the "I can't hear you, I'm so tired and old" card, but drop a cookie and you'll watch him sprint like a frickin' Greyhound pup.
2) Eat anything that remotely smells like, looks like or could eventually be...food. So, that means, eating food out of my kids' hands if they're not watching (two grilled cheese sandwiches, a plate of cookies, tons of nuts/snacks, and some playdough--technically it IS food), eating garbage out of the garbage can, drinking pee from the toilet (I know, lovely!), eating crayons (yumm...waxy), eating grass and anything nut-like that'll bind him up for days... The result? Have I mentioned gas? ;)
3) Oh, and the BEST one: poop anywhere outside EXCEPT the grass! In fact, he loves the driveway a whole lot. Especially when he sees us watching him...it's like he's saying "I'm really old and tired and if I want to go on the cement, I will...and you'll just have to deal." Do you remember the movie Grumpy Old Men? Yep, exactly.
So, here's the best story...and what has prompted this post. Yesterday, I get home in the pouring rain and run to let the dogs out who are crossing their paws. They run out into the pouring rain to do their business and fly back in the door soaking wet, poor babies. I feed them and they proceed to inhale the food.
10 minutes later I hear some lovely sounds near the couch where the boys are watching cartoons and there is my 12-year-old dog throwing up her dinner. GREAT. I clean that up (amidst kids telling me how much it stinks and how "pee-uuu" gross it is) only to hear them saying "Morrrryyyy!!!" There is my old-man mutt taking a walking poop across my kitchen! And he's not being shy about it in the least bit--in fact, I think he was enjoying it. So I say something to the effect of: "What's your damage, dog??" and he gives me a look and proceeds to walk across the room and lay down...out of pure exhaustion, it appears. (You know, a good poop can do that to ya...)
I laugh now b/c I could see his little mind thinking: "I'm old and it's raining...nope, not gonna do it. Kitchen floor is the answer. Yep. Done."
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
He's breathing on me!!!
We had a total blast of a long weekend with some of our best friends and then with Mark's brother's brood, too. We rented a house so that our family and our friends' family could stay and play together--and it was fantastic, as usual, we love hanging out with them. And all in all, the kids were great. But the reality is that when you get 7 kids together (when Mark's bro's family joined, too), all under the age of 8, and you expect anything other than Chernobyl at some point, you're just too optimistic. (And yet I'm still smiling!)
Let's talk specifics:
-The sheer noise level - I probably said "Whoa...little quieter, guys"..."Turn down the volume, everyone"..."You don't need to yell, we're inside!"..."I know you're excited, but..." about 100 times. Maybe 200 times. I'm even questioning whether I now have hearing issues--or perhaps it's more like "I'm tuning you out!" issues--after this weekend. A few times during the weekend, I remember wanting to roll into the fetal position like Jodie Foster in Nell and just start murmuring "Chickabee..." and other nonsensical words until the noise stopped. Granted, I think my behavior might have stopped the noise, but whatever works--I'm a team player. :)
-The ability to keep more than 1 child sitting at any mealtable for more than 5 minutes straight - I now have new-found respect for any kid--or any adult for that matter--that has the ability to concentrate on said food on his/her plate for more than 5 minutes straight. Frankly, if more adults were like kids, there would be no obesity epidemic in this country b/c we'd eat a total of 3 bites a meal and run to and from other rooms in the house in between bites. In fact, Rhys, my bird of an eater, now finds it easier to store food in his cheeks and pretend he's done so that he can go play instead. Get this: we're at the clubhouse pool an hour after eating lunch and I hear his cousin say "Rhys is still eating his chicken!" and low and behold, there he is, swimming with a cheek full of chicken.
-The patience not to punch someone if they touch your leg, arm, head, toe, thigh, finger, plate, etc. by accident - I believe I will now be getting a tee-shirt that says: "Mommmm!!! He's breathing on me!!!" Give three kids 5 minutes on a couch and I guarantee there will be some appendage that crosses over into the invisible, but clearly outlined space of one of the other kids and a battle will ensue. Remember that scene from Braveheart where Mel Gibson, fully dressed in war paint and garb, says: "You can take my land, but you can't take my freeeedommm!!!" Yep, same concept. Freedom at 4 years old is space--you cross the invisible line (or now the line in the couch cushions, as set by mommy and daddy) and leg wrestling the likes of which Mel G. has never seen is now in full swing. I believe Cole's quote of the trip went something like this: "NO FAIR! Rhys is sitting where I wanted to sit and now I can't see and he's hurting my ears and I can't eat!" Priceless. :)
-The power of the video - I don't care what anyone says, try traveling with three 4/5-year-olds in car seats in the back seat of a sedan for 5 hours and the ONLY way to make it through is TV. I felt like at any moment, my goddaughter, Katie, who was sitting in between my boys with her lovely, lanky legs, could decide she'd had enough of this togetherness and just HIIII-YAAA! them in the head...and had it not been for my good friend Mickey Mouse Clubhouse..."come inside, there's fun inside..." (parents, you know this song, I know...sing with me!) we would had been DOA. The only drawback: kids believe that you can do 12 things at once and have no trouble repeating all 12 in case you've forgotten any of the 12 in the past 5 or 6 seconds...for ex: Rhys: "Mom, could you turn the movie on?" Me: "Sure, just let me get the kids into their car seats first." Cole: "Mom, can I have a cracker and can you turn the movie on?" Me: "Sure, Cole, just wait a second until I get into the car and I'll do that." Katie: "Aunt Missy, can you please turn the movie on? and I don't want to watch Madagascar anymore." Rhys/Cole: "Buuuutttt, IIII likkkkeee Madagascar, Mommmmmm!!!...and why is it taking so long to get my cracker, please??!" Need I say more??
Patience, videos, a few raised voices...and 10 rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat...oh, and I Spy until there's nothing else to "spy"...that's all it takes!
Let's talk specifics:
-The sheer noise level - I probably said "Whoa...little quieter, guys"..."Turn down the volume, everyone"..."You don't need to yell, we're inside!"..."I know you're excited, but..." about 100 times. Maybe 200 times. I'm even questioning whether I now have hearing issues--or perhaps it's more like "I'm tuning you out!" issues--after this weekend. A few times during the weekend, I remember wanting to roll into the fetal position like Jodie Foster in Nell and just start murmuring "Chickabee..." and other nonsensical words until the noise stopped. Granted, I think my behavior might have stopped the noise, but whatever works--I'm a team player. :)
-The ability to keep more than 1 child sitting at any mealtable for more than 5 minutes straight - I now have new-found respect for any kid--or any adult for that matter--that has the ability to concentrate on said food on his/her plate for more than 5 minutes straight. Frankly, if more adults were like kids, there would be no obesity epidemic in this country b/c we'd eat a total of 3 bites a meal and run to and from other rooms in the house in between bites. In fact, Rhys, my bird of an eater, now finds it easier to store food in his cheeks and pretend he's done so that he can go play instead. Get this: we're at the clubhouse pool an hour after eating lunch and I hear his cousin say "Rhys is still eating his chicken!" and low and behold, there he is, swimming with a cheek full of chicken.
-The patience not to punch someone if they touch your leg, arm, head, toe, thigh, finger, plate, etc. by accident - I believe I will now be getting a tee-shirt that says: "Mommmm!!! He's breathing on me!!!" Give three kids 5 minutes on a couch and I guarantee there will be some appendage that crosses over into the invisible, but clearly outlined space of one of the other kids and a battle will ensue. Remember that scene from Braveheart where Mel Gibson, fully dressed in war paint and garb, says: "You can take my land, but you can't take my freeeedommm!!!" Yep, same concept. Freedom at 4 years old is space--you cross the invisible line (or now the line in the couch cushions, as set by mommy and daddy) and leg wrestling the likes of which Mel G. has never seen is now in full swing. I believe Cole's quote of the trip went something like this: "NO FAIR! Rhys is sitting where I wanted to sit and now I can't see and he's hurting my ears and I can't eat!" Priceless. :)
-The power of the video - I don't care what anyone says, try traveling with three 4/5-year-olds in car seats in the back seat of a sedan for 5 hours and the ONLY way to make it through is TV. I felt like at any moment, my goddaughter, Katie, who was sitting in between my boys with her lovely, lanky legs, could decide she'd had enough of this togetherness and just HIIII-YAAA! them in the head...and had it not been for my good friend Mickey Mouse Clubhouse..."come inside, there's fun inside..." (parents, you know this song, I know...sing with me!) we would had been DOA. The only drawback: kids believe that you can do 12 things at once and have no trouble repeating all 12 in case you've forgotten any of the 12 in the past 5 or 6 seconds...for ex: Rhys: "Mom, could you turn the movie on?" Me: "Sure, just let me get the kids into their car seats first." Cole: "Mom, can I have a cracker and can you turn the movie on?" Me: "Sure, Cole, just wait a second until I get into the car and I'll do that." Katie: "Aunt Missy, can you please turn the movie on? and I don't want to watch Madagascar anymore." Rhys/Cole: "Buuuutttt, IIII likkkkeee Madagascar, Mommmmmm!!!...and why is it taking so long to get my cracker, please??!" Need I say more??
Patience, videos, a few raised voices...and 10 rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat...oh, and I Spy until there's nothing else to "spy"...that's all it takes!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I should be in the circus
This week may go down as the ultimate in juggling acts. The question is: can I make it through without dropping a ball (and hence have all of the rest come crashing down on me) and not looking like the ultimate clown? It's going to be a crapshoot, I can tell you that right now. Today was a test--only a test...and I nearly failed when one son lost his watch in the grocery cart at the store...and then I broke a heel (one of my favorite pairs, too!)...after a very long day of nuttiness at work, a wedding shower, etc. But I recovered!...whew.
I sometimes wonder what people do when they don't have kids, dogs, crazy jobs and some semblance of a social life (i.e. seeing your friends and family at least once a month so they remember who you are). What do they DO with all of that time?
The answer: fill it. They always say busy people get more done. Well, I think the opposite is true, too...when you don't have a lot to do, you can stretch even the smallest of tasks into weeks. (I've done it in a "past" life, so I can be catty here.) Someone I know, and who shall remain nameless (bless her heart), is a wonderful individual, but is a perfect example of this. Let me compare lives for you...
My life: Get up before the alarm b/c brain is already thinking about what I didn't do the day before and what I need to do today. Yell at dogs for barking and potentially waking up kids. Get dressed (everything but pants--they're in a sleeping kid's room) and run around the house pantsless prepping to get the kids fed, dressed and to school. Pray kids get up in time to make it all work. Pretend that I'm not crazed when they wake up so they don't feel stressed. Encourage them to eat...quicker...and to put their clothes on (..."and no, you can't wear the T-Rex "burp" shirt to school"). Get kids to school, give lots of kisses and look calm. Book it to the car and get to work 10 minutes before most and do a few "Oms" to start the day chilled. Go to meetings--LOTS of meetings. Answer calls, emails, put out fires, stuff food in face when I have time... you get the picture. Oh, and smile along the way!
Her life: Get up halfway through what is now a daylong Today Show. Eat some toast and drink coffee. Decide when to do laundry that week. Take a quick cat nap. Run some errands. Watch Oprah. Get on email. Eat. Repeat.
Ok, yes, I'm jealous in many respects, and I'd probably lose my mind if I didn't have the crazy life I do, but it still makes me nuts. Especially when I hear: "I'm going to have to check my schedule--not sure I can pull that off today!" My internal interpretation: "Are you frickin' kidding me? Do you even know what kind of circus act I take on every day and you can't pull that off?? Puhleezeee...that's child's play."
I keep hearing that Dana Carvey stand-up bit in my head where he talks about all of his younger, unmarried friends whom he calls at noon to see what they're up to, and he gets the (insert Valley voice here) "I just got uhhpppp...I can't do anything until I get a Frappachiinoooo!"
Oh wow, I think I'm getting old...I'm starting to sound like one of those people who yell "Slow Down!" at people who drive too quickly down their street. Regardless, the key to juggling is to never stop moving, right? That's my goal for this week...put on that clown suit and just keep juggling, just keep juggling!
I sometimes wonder what people do when they don't have kids, dogs, crazy jobs and some semblance of a social life (i.e. seeing your friends and family at least once a month so they remember who you are). What do they DO with all of that time?
The answer: fill it. They always say busy people get more done. Well, I think the opposite is true, too...when you don't have a lot to do, you can stretch even the smallest of tasks into weeks. (I've done it in a "past" life, so I can be catty here.) Someone I know, and who shall remain nameless (bless her heart), is a wonderful individual, but is a perfect example of this. Let me compare lives for you...
My life: Get up before the alarm b/c brain is already thinking about what I didn't do the day before and what I need to do today. Yell at dogs for barking and potentially waking up kids. Get dressed (everything but pants--they're in a sleeping kid's room) and run around the house pantsless prepping to get the kids fed, dressed and to school. Pray kids get up in time to make it all work. Pretend that I'm not crazed when they wake up so they don't feel stressed. Encourage them to eat...quicker...and to put their clothes on (..."and no, you can't wear the T-Rex "burp" shirt to school"). Get kids to school, give lots of kisses and look calm. Book it to the car and get to work 10 minutes before most and do a few "Oms" to start the day chilled. Go to meetings--LOTS of meetings. Answer calls, emails, put out fires, stuff food in face when I have time... you get the picture. Oh, and smile along the way!
Her life: Get up halfway through what is now a daylong Today Show. Eat some toast and drink coffee. Decide when to do laundry that week. Take a quick cat nap. Run some errands. Watch Oprah. Get on email. Eat. Repeat.
Ok, yes, I'm jealous in many respects, and I'd probably lose my mind if I didn't have the crazy life I do, but it still makes me nuts. Especially when I hear: "I'm going to have to check my schedule--not sure I can pull that off today!" My internal interpretation: "Are you frickin' kidding me? Do you even know what kind of circus act I take on every day and you can't pull that off?? Puhleezeee...that's child's play."
I keep hearing that Dana Carvey stand-up bit in my head where he talks about all of his younger, unmarried friends whom he calls at noon to see what they're up to, and he gets the (insert Valley voice here) "I just got uhhpppp...I can't do anything until I get a Frappachiinoooo!"
Oh wow, I think I'm getting old...I'm starting to sound like one of those people who yell "Slow Down!" at people who drive too quickly down their street. Regardless, the key to juggling is to never stop moving, right? That's my goal for this week...put on that clown suit and just keep juggling, just keep juggling!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
I could live in my PJs...seriously
A few months ago, I realized that the minute after I walk through the door and kiss all three of my boys after work, I'm in my bedroom shedding my clothes. I'm serious--in minutes, I'm in my PJs with clothes strewn everywhere, my face washed, hair up in a Pebbles-esque position, and Birks on my feet. (Yes, I am quite the hippie at heart...not the pachouli oil and hemp sort of hippie, though, just the "if I wanna go commando and wear my Birkenstocks with socks" sort of hippie, I'm gonna do it and be oh-so-Drew Barrymore happy about it, k?)
Funny thing is that it never dawns on me I'll ever have to go anywhere or look presentable after I walk through the door with a work "hangover"...I just want to rid myself of all things uncomfortable and get into my jammies. (Of course, when I do have to leave my "safe house," which is more often then I'd like, I always seem to run into clients--gotta love it...lookin' real pretty.)
The kids notice it, too, and often comment: "Mommy, you're soooo sillllyyyy, you're in your pajamas and it's not even dark yet!" To which I respond, "Yep, you're right. They make mommy happy." Nuff said. And you know that good ol' golden rule: "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." So true, so true.
I often wonder if this is how Cybil's many personalities first revealed themselves...by day, I'm "Working Melissa In Professional Clothes, Hair and Make-Up Ready and Willing to Act on Important Business Transactions"...by night (or perhaps more accurately, one minute after work), I'm "Sloppy Melissa Who's Hoping Her Face Doesn't Break Out From the Day's Worth of Make-Up and Just Wants to Eat PB&Js and Uncooked Tortellini With Her Kids (don't ask...I just love it)."
If you were to talk to Sloppy Melissa, say at 7pm-ish, I'm willing to go out on a limb and say that I would not carry the same credibility that I might, say at noon, when I've combed my hair and don't have a bleach-stained t-shirt on.
Sometimes I see those working parents with their cute "after work" outfits on and I have to laugh...not because they don't look cute, they do, dammit, and it's really irritating!! ;), but because I seriously can't imagine wanting to put on anything even remotely like it. In fact, I take serious offense to having to wear "real" clothes after work.
My favorite recollection is when I flew out of town for a client conference...my coworker and I got in around 8pm and immediately upon entering my hotel room, I started dropping clothes and shoes everywhere, not thinking that I hadn't talked to the client yet and she was in the hotel...not thinking that she might want to have a drink, etc. I just didn't care! So, naturally, the phone rings about 8:15pm and there I am, fully PJed, hair on top of my head, no make-up and the client wants to "grab a quick drink and catch up" in 15 minutes downstairs.
Not surprisingly, this is when Working Melissa and Sloppy Melissa met up for a MTV Grudge Match-like "event." Sloppy Melissa was downright pissed that she had no choice but to get redressed and go downstairs and was trying to find every excuse why not to go, but Working Melissa kept thinking what an idiot she was for turning into Sloppy Melissa so quickly. It was hilarious...hence: Cybil revealed!
So, I'm now thinking that with workplaces getting so flexible that they're allowing job-sharing, dogs in offices, tele-commuting, etc., that I'm going to vy for a PJ-friendly workplace. In fact, I think I'm going to stand up for all of the PJ-oppressed workplaces out there. I guarantee I'd be more productive in my jams--wouldn't you?? Granted, that whole credibility factor may slightly diminish...but, it'd be really fun to see Sloppy Melissa kick the stuff out of Working Melissa with a Birkenstock just once!
Funny thing is that it never dawns on me I'll ever have to go anywhere or look presentable after I walk through the door with a work "hangover"...I just want to rid myself of all things uncomfortable and get into my jammies. (Of course, when I do have to leave my "safe house," which is more often then I'd like, I always seem to run into clients--gotta love it...lookin' real pretty.)
The kids notice it, too, and often comment: "Mommy, you're soooo sillllyyyy, you're in your pajamas and it's not even dark yet!" To which I respond, "Yep, you're right. They make mommy happy." Nuff said. And you know that good ol' golden rule: "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." So true, so true.
I often wonder if this is how Cybil's many personalities first revealed themselves...by day, I'm "Working Melissa In Professional Clothes, Hair and Make-Up Ready and Willing to Act on Important Business Transactions"...by night (or perhaps more accurately, one minute after work), I'm "Sloppy Melissa Who's Hoping Her Face Doesn't Break Out From the Day's Worth of Make-Up and Just Wants to Eat PB&Js and Uncooked Tortellini With Her Kids (don't ask...I just love it)."
If you were to talk to Sloppy Melissa, say at 7pm-ish, I'm willing to go out on a limb and say that I would not carry the same credibility that I might, say at noon, when I've combed my hair and don't have a bleach-stained t-shirt on.
Sometimes I see those working parents with their cute "after work" outfits on and I have to laugh...not because they don't look cute, they do, dammit, and it's really irritating!! ;), but because I seriously can't imagine wanting to put on anything even remotely like it. In fact, I take serious offense to having to wear "real" clothes after work.
My favorite recollection is when I flew out of town for a client conference...my coworker and I got in around 8pm and immediately upon entering my hotel room, I started dropping clothes and shoes everywhere, not thinking that I hadn't talked to the client yet and she was in the hotel...not thinking that she might want to have a drink, etc. I just didn't care! So, naturally, the phone rings about 8:15pm and there I am, fully PJed, hair on top of my head, no make-up and the client wants to "grab a quick drink and catch up" in 15 minutes downstairs.
Not surprisingly, this is when Working Melissa and Sloppy Melissa met up for a MTV Grudge Match-like "event." Sloppy Melissa was downright pissed that she had no choice but to get redressed and go downstairs and was trying to find every excuse why not to go, but Working Melissa kept thinking what an idiot she was for turning into Sloppy Melissa so quickly. It was hilarious...hence: Cybil revealed!
So, I'm now thinking that with workplaces getting so flexible that they're allowing job-sharing, dogs in offices, tele-commuting, etc., that I'm going to vy for a PJ-friendly workplace. In fact, I think I'm going to stand up for all of the PJ-oppressed workplaces out there. I guarantee I'd be more productive in my jams--wouldn't you?? Granted, that whole credibility factor may slightly diminish...but, it'd be really fun to see Sloppy Melissa kick the stuff out of Working Melissa with a Birkenstock just once!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
5 days and counting...
I love vacation. I'm not sure, though, if I like the actual vacation or the anticipation more.
Turns out my kids are the same way. I came home the other day and they were mid-packing their backpacks (this was 3 weeks ago) with everything one would need for a vacation--Matchbox cars, a pink My Little Pony (every boy's favorite toy, right?), coloring books, a random Tinker Toy or two, a clump of stickers and capes from their superhero PJs (they wouldn't exactly be "super" if they forgot their capes on vacation, would they). It cracked me up, but I completely understood the desire to just GO!
We leave this Friday for our annual St. Simons Island vacay and while I know I need to be focused on this week's worth of work and millions of other tasks, I'm like a little kid inside screaming "ARE WE THERE YET???" and waiting to play the license plate game.
This is probably because I know that for 7 days straight, I get to lay on the porch of our cottage and pretend to read my books while I actually just read the same 3 pages over and over and sleep in the warmth of outside. I get to eat junk and sit on my bum. I get to go to the beach every day without any time limits or "gotta get home to go grocery shopping" tasks on my mind.
And my hair will get frizzy from the humidity...and I don't care. And I'll live in my bathing suit and crappy shorts...and I don't care. And I won't even take out my makeup, which means my Opie-like sun freckles will pop out everywhere...and I don't care...in fact, I like it.
And for those people who wonder if I can really "turn it off"...my comment: JUST WATCH ME. It's the one time of the year that I love shoving my Blackberry into a drawer and get ticked off if it rings. Don't people know I'm a sleepy slob of a human that doesn't want to be friendly or "on"?
It's great, too, because I know that I won't run into a soul that I know, so if I want to be grumpy and sloppy I can be! (FYI, all, if you by some odd chance happen to be in St. Simons next week and you see me, you may want to ignore me... ;)
Here's to vacation!!
Turns out my kids are the same way. I came home the other day and they were mid-packing their backpacks (this was 3 weeks ago) with everything one would need for a vacation--Matchbox cars, a pink My Little Pony (every boy's favorite toy, right?), coloring books, a random Tinker Toy or two, a clump of stickers and capes from their superhero PJs (they wouldn't exactly be "super" if they forgot their capes on vacation, would they). It cracked me up, but I completely understood the desire to just GO!
We leave this Friday for our annual St. Simons Island vacay and while I know I need to be focused on this week's worth of work and millions of other tasks, I'm like a little kid inside screaming "ARE WE THERE YET???" and waiting to play the license plate game.
This is probably because I know that for 7 days straight, I get to lay on the porch of our cottage and pretend to read my books while I actually just read the same 3 pages over and over and sleep in the warmth of outside. I get to eat junk and sit on my bum. I get to go to the beach every day without any time limits or "gotta get home to go grocery shopping" tasks on my mind.
And my hair will get frizzy from the humidity...and I don't care. And I'll live in my bathing suit and crappy shorts...and I don't care. And I won't even take out my makeup, which means my Opie-like sun freckles will pop out everywhere...and I don't care...in fact, I like it.
And for those people who wonder if I can really "turn it off"...my comment: JUST WATCH ME. It's the one time of the year that I love shoving my Blackberry into a drawer and get ticked off if it rings. Don't people know I'm a sleepy slob of a human that doesn't want to be friendly or "on"?
It's great, too, because I know that I won't run into a soul that I know, so if I want to be grumpy and sloppy I can be! (FYI, all, if you by some odd chance happen to be in St. Simons next week and you see me, you may want to ignore me... ;)
Here's to vacation!!
Monday, April 27, 2009
What exactly DO I do for a living?
Last week probably ranks as one of my toughest in a long time. I'll just leave it at "the economy stinks" and you'll all know what I'm talking about.
Anyway, on Wednesday, I'd had a day of meetings--we're talking one of those days where I was in the bathroom at work and I could sense (yes, like Spidey) someone hovering outside of the bathroom waiting to talk to me. I even contemplated sitting inside for a long while just to get a little breather, but then realized that long stays in the bathroom inevitably lead to rumors, etc.
Regardless, I was spent...keeping all of the balls in the air was a ridiculous endeavor and it seriously felt like at every turn I was either a) needing to schedule yet another meeting to make progress on something, b) needing to deal with yet another "personnel issue", or c) realizing I was not quite on my A-game. But, I smiled through it...positive-d my way through the tough stuff...took deep breaths and pressed on. You know the feeling (I hope...). The highlight of the day was my Amy's Organic Burrito for lunch--it made me uber-happy, which says a damn lot about the day!
Fast forward to the end of the day. I run--yes, literally, run--out the door because I have 20 minutes to get to the preschool to pick up my kids before they become those two sad-looking children sitting alone on a bench out in front of a closed school without any parents. Thankfully, traffic was kind to me and I made it with 5 minutes to spare. And seeing their two precious faces as they ran to me was like a gift from above...nothing's better on a rough day.
So, we get into the car, and they begin to pummel me with questions--this happens some times--about pretty much everything. "Mommy, why is your visor down?" "Mommy, why do you only have cheese crackers in your car and not peanut butter ones?" "Mommy, why don't you have lipstick on?"
Then Rhys hits me with one that stops me cold: "Mommy, how was work today?" I did one of those sort of stunned, yet proud-of-my-precocious-son faces and said "Thanks for asking, Rhysie, my day was pretty rough, but I'm better now that I'm with you."
"What did you do today that was so tough, Mommy?"
"Nothing big, Rhys, just worked."
"But what do you DO at work?"
"Daddy just says I talk to people, Rhys." (Me trying to avoid the real stuff...)
"Oh, so you meet and talk to people?"
"Yes, honey, exactly." (Hmm...sounds like I'm a tour guide.)
"I think I know what you do, Mommy...(drum roll, please...) you staple a lot of stuff. That's what you do all day." (insert proud Rhys smile here, as he's clearly figured me and my job out).
"Yep, you've got it Rhys, I definitely staple a lot of stuff...makes for a tough day."
I laughed and laughed in my own head...had to, because those many times that I thought to myself: Am I just making widgets? I now know the answer is definitely "no," I'm just STAPLING widgets. ;)
Anyway, on Wednesday, I'd had a day of meetings--we're talking one of those days where I was in the bathroom at work and I could sense (yes, like Spidey) someone hovering outside of the bathroom waiting to talk to me. I even contemplated sitting inside for a long while just to get a little breather, but then realized that long stays in the bathroom inevitably lead to rumors, etc.
Regardless, I was spent...keeping all of the balls in the air was a ridiculous endeavor and it seriously felt like at every turn I was either a) needing to schedule yet another meeting to make progress on something, b) needing to deal with yet another "personnel issue", or c) realizing I was not quite on my A-game. But, I smiled through it...positive-d my way through the tough stuff...took deep breaths and pressed on. You know the feeling (I hope...). The highlight of the day was my Amy's Organic Burrito for lunch--it made me uber-happy, which says a damn lot about the day!
Fast forward to the end of the day. I run--yes, literally, run--out the door because I have 20 minutes to get to the preschool to pick up my kids before they become those two sad-looking children sitting alone on a bench out in front of a closed school without any parents. Thankfully, traffic was kind to me and I made it with 5 minutes to spare. And seeing their two precious faces as they ran to me was like a gift from above...nothing's better on a rough day.
So, we get into the car, and they begin to pummel me with questions--this happens some times--about pretty much everything. "Mommy, why is your visor down?" "Mommy, why do you only have cheese crackers in your car and not peanut butter ones?" "Mommy, why don't you have lipstick on?"
Then Rhys hits me with one that stops me cold: "Mommy, how was work today?" I did one of those sort of stunned, yet proud-of-my-precocious-son faces and said "Thanks for asking, Rhysie, my day was pretty rough, but I'm better now that I'm with you."
"What did you do today that was so tough, Mommy?"
"Nothing big, Rhys, just worked."
"But what do you DO at work?"
"Daddy just says I talk to people, Rhys." (Me trying to avoid the real stuff...)
"Oh, so you meet and talk to people?"
"Yes, honey, exactly." (Hmm...sounds like I'm a tour guide.)
"I think I know what you do, Mommy...(drum roll, please...) you staple a lot of stuff. That's what you do all day." (insert proud Rhys smile here, as he's clearly figured me and my job out).
"Yep, you've got it Rhys, I definitely staple a lot of stuff...makes for a tough day."
I laughed and laughed in my own head...had to, because those many times that I thought to myself: Am I just making widgets? I now know the answer is definitely "no," I'm just STAPLING widgets. ;)
Monday, April 6, 2009
"Mommy, I'm going to marry a beeeeauuuutiful woman"
This past weekend, Mark was at a bachelor party in New Orleans (don't know too much about the actual goings-on, which is very, very good), which means it was 24/7 mommy-boy time. And we had a blast--partly because I spent a lot of time priming myself to just "go with the flow," and partly because I think my kiddos took pity on me...they almost wore the look of "mommy, we recognize this weekend is going to require a lot of patience and work for you, so we're going to try to not kill each other and be really sweet." And they were! Hallelujah!
We snuggled in bed, I took them for Krispy Kreme's in their PJs (with no shoes, I might add...and no, they didn't go inside, we just went through the drive-thru), we went to the park and played until we all were dead tired, we went on a bird hunt with their toilet paper-tube binoculars...I even found myself laughing instead of cursing when I pulled out handfuls of shells and sticks from the bottom of my washing machine while doing laundry.
By far the best moment, though, was a car ride we took...and I'm still not entirely sure where we were going because frankly, it just wasn't important at that moment, I was too busy laughing. The boys were in the back seat having a conversation about when they grew up and it went a little like this...(oh, and a quick backstory: until this very moment, we were pretty darn sure our pink-loving, flower-picking, clothes-obsessed, sweet-as-peaches-pie Rhys was already on his way to being gay at 3):
"Coley, when I grow up, I'm going to get married like mommy and daddy."
"Yeah, me, too."
"I'm going to marry a beeeuuuuuteeeful woman, Coley." (Insert mom's shocked "reallly??" face here.)
"Ewwww!! I don't want to get married anymore."
"I'm going to, Cole, she's going to wear a princess dress." (Uh, oh, we've come full circle.)
"Rhysie, I don't want to get married!!"
And it went on and on like this...two hilarious, almost parallel conversations that just cracked me up. THE best part, though, was what happened later. As I'm multi-tasking in the house, I hear Rhys and Cole talking about this AGAIN on the couch...
"Coley, I really do want to get married... Do you want to get married?"
"Rhys, I'm sick of you talking to me about this--this is the 30th time you've told me that. I don't want to hear about it any more!! I just can't take it!"
He just can't take it?? Yes, folks, at 3 1/2, Cole's had enough...he's at his limit. Honestly, their comedic drama is more entertaining than General Hospital (and I should know, I watched it--then taped it while I worked--for 15 years. I know, a bit obsessed).
I actually had to break up their debate and explain to Rhys that Cole just wasn't ready to talk that seriously about getting married yet and to give him time. (Even writing that cracks me up.)
So...whatever the reason, the God of Appreciation and Patience shone down on me this weekend and made me realize a few things:
1) My son isn't gay, he's probably bi. (Just kidding...)
2) It's never too early to start talking--and arguing--about marriage, it just happens naturally.
3) If you ever wonder if your kids pick up on what you say, wonder no more...in fact, I think that's the 100th time I've said that and I just can't take it any more! ;)
We snuggled in bed, I took them for Krispy Kreme's in their PJs (with no shoes, I might add...and no, they didn't go inside, we just went through the drive-thru), we went to the park and played until we all were dead tired, we went on a bird hunt with their toilet paper-tube binoculars...I even found myself laughing instead of cursing when I pulled out handfuls of shells and sticks from the bottom of my washing machine while doing laundry.
By far the best moment, though, was a car ride we took...and I'm still not entirely sure where we were going because frankly, it just wasn't important at that moment, I was too busy laughing. The boys were in the back seat having a conversation about when they grew up and it went a little like this...(oh, and a quick backstory: until this very moment, we were pretty darn sure our pink-loving, flower-picking, clothes-obsessed, sweet-as-peaches-pie Rhys was already on his way to being gay at 3):
"Coley, when I grow up, I'm going to get married like mommy and daddy."
"Yeah, me, too."
"I'm going to marry a beeeuuuuuteeeful woman, Coley." (Insert mom's shocked "reallly??" face here.)
"Ewwww!! I don't want to get married anymore."
"I'm going to, Cole, she's going to wear a princess dress." (Uh, oh, we've come full circle.)
"Rhysie, I don't want to get married!!"
And it went on and on like this...two hilarious, almost parallel conversations that just cracked me up. THE best part, though, was what happened later. As I'm multi-tasking in the house, I hear Rhys and Cole talking about this AGAIN on the couch...
"Coley, I really do want to get married... Do you want to get married?"
"Rhys, I'm sick of you talking to me about this--this is the 30th time you've told me that. I don't want to hear about it any more!! I just can't take it!"
He just can't take it?? Yes, folks, at 3 1/2, Cole's had enough...he's at his limit. Honestly, their comedic drama is more entertaining than General Hospital (and I should know, I watched it--then taped it while I worked--for 15 years. I know, a bit obsessed).
I actually had to break up their debate and explain to Rhys that Cole just wasn't ready to talk that seriously about getting married yet and to give him time. (Even writing that cracks me up.)
So...whatever the reason, the God of Appreciation and Patience shone down on me this weekend and made me realize a few things:
1) My son isn't gay, he's probably bi. (Just kidding...)
2) It's never too early to start talking--and arguing--about marriage, it just happens naturally.
3) If you ever wonder if your kids pick up on what you say, wonder no more...in fact, I think that's the 100th time I've said that and I just can't take it any more! ;)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Serenity now!!!
I've been sounding like Seinfeld all weekend, spewing too many "Serenity now(s)!!" to count. This is because I've just determined that parents need vacations. Yes, news flash folks. And here are the 10 reasons why I know I need one very, very soon:
1) I'm dangerously close to cussing at my children and not caring one iota whether the public hears me or whether they repeat the words verbatim (yikes!);
2) Cute sayings and phrases repeated over and over aren't so cute, they're just irritating (insert mom guilt here);
3) I raised my voice at the boys at the store today and actually got a "look" from another parent--and was my reaction embarrassment? Oh no, I shot a look right back, like "watchu lookin' at."
4) I keep imagining myself sitting on a beach reading a trash novel drinking a margarita...for a long, long time;
5) Just the words: "But mommmmmm..." are enough to send my blood pressure through the roof and question whether they'll be the recipients of a 4th birthday party--that is, unless it's in a juvenile detention center;
6) I want so desperately to be patient, but my inner frustration with their fighting just makes me want to strap them to the roof-rack of our car and drive in peace;
7) The more they run, the bigger my grin gets because I picture them hibernating like bears... but in the spring;
8) I miss talking to my husband about things besides serial nose picking, whether swallowing a penny will hurt when it's pooped out, and whose turn it is sit on which side at what time;
9) I find myself daydreaming about sleep--any kind of sleep...in a chair, on a bed, in the middle of a room on a towel, whatever; and
10) Because I'm starting to look forward to Mondays--work sounds like a walk in the park!
Now that I've vented--thank you!--did I mention that my boys are only 3 1/2 and really some of the sweetest kids I know? So who's got the REAL issues here...hmm...it rhymes with "tommy"... ;)
1) I'm dangerously close to cussing at my children and not caring one iota whether the public hears me or whether they repeat the words verbatim (yikes!);
2) Cute sayings and phrases repeated over and over aren't so cute, they're just irritating (insert mom guilt here);
3) I raised my voice at the boys at the store today and actually got a "look" from another parent--and was my reaction embarrassment? Oh no, I shot a look right back, like "watchu lookin' at."
4) I keep imagining myself sitting on a beach reading a trash novel drinking a margarita...for a long, long time;
5) Just the words: "But mommmmmm..." are enough to send my blood pressure through the roof and question whether they'll be the recipients of a 4th birthday party--that is, unless it's in a juvenile detention center;
6) I want so desperately to be patient, but my inner frustration with their fighting just makes me want to strap them to the roof-rack of our car and drive in peace;
7) The more they run, the bigger my grin gets because I picture them hibernating like bears... but in the spring;
8) I miss talking to my husband about things besides serial nose picking, whether swallowing a penny will hurt when it's pooped out, and whose turn it is sit on which side at what time;
9) I find myself daydreaming about sleep--any kind of sleep...in a chair, on a bed, in the middle of a room on a towel, whatever; and
10) Because I'm starting to look forward to Mondays--work sounds like a walk in the park!
Now that I've vented--thank you!--did I mention that my boys are only 3 1/2 and really some of the sweetest kids I know? So who's got the REAL issues here...hmm...it rhymes with "tommy"... ;)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
It takes a village...and some rockin' heels
It's days like today when you realize that without help, working parents like Mark and I would be in some serious doo-doo. Within a span of 3 days, we both found out we had to fly out on business the same day--today--at the crack of dawn and return at dusk. Oh, yes, anyone recall we have these two little things called KIDS? It's not like they're going to walk themselves to preschool--oh, yes, I hear DSS calling now--then pick themselves up, give themselves a bath and read themselves to sleep. Granted, it'd be amazing if they could, but come on...they're 3.
So, in flies Super-Grandparents--and not a moment too soon. As I stand in my bedroom at 4:50am this morning with half of a power suit and two different earrings on--couldn't decide on which one looked better and luckily I remembered to change one of them or I'd have looked like a nut--in walks my dad (affectionately known as Papa to my boys). Gotta love him. He's exhausted, but stands there smiling as his daughter gets her s@#$ together and gives him instructions of what to feed the boys, what to let them wear (and NOT wear), etc. What a trooper. Oh, and did I mention that my hubby had already left for the airport 30 minutes before that?? Who needs to sleep anyway.
When I get to the airport, it turns out that Mark and I are at the opposite gates, so for a moment we text back and forth, laughing a little at the fact that we almost--just almost--saw each other this morning...we were only a gate away. In some ways it felt like one of those cheesy scenes from a sitcom where the two people keep missing each other, but just because one bends down to tie their shoe just as the other walks by. We had to laugh.
So what gave me strength and a sense of humor today--especially with a huge presentation looming? A cool suit and some rockin' heels. 16 hours later, my feet are killing me, but damn if wearing them wasn't worth it. Yes, I might be an uber-working mom with a village of people helping take care of my family as my husband and I jet around like crazy people, but you know what? I looked good (at least for the first 8 hours...not so sure about the second 8).
And yes, I think that's what you call rationalization. ;)
So, in flies Super-Grandparents--and not a moment too soon. As I stand in my bedroom at 4:50am this morning with half of a power suit and two different earrings on--couldn't decide on which one looked better and luckily I remembered to change one of them or I'd have looked like a nut--in walks my dad (affectionately known as Papa to my boys). Gotta love him. He's exhausted, but stands there smiling as his daughter gets her s@#$ together and gives him instructions of what to feed the boys, what to let them wear (and NOT wear), etc. What a trooper. Oh, and did I mention that my hubby had already left for the airport 30 minutes before that?? Who needs to sleep anyway.
When I get to the airport, it turns out that Mark and I are at the opposite gates, so for a moment we text back and forth, laughing a little at the fact that we almost--just almost--saw each other this morning...we were only a gate away. In some ways it felt like one of those cheesy scenes from a sitcom where the two people keep missing each other, but just because one bends down to tie their shoe just as the other walks by. We had to laugh.
So what gave me strength and a sense of humor today--especially with a huge presentation looming? A cool suit and some rockin' heels. 16 hours later, my feet are killing me, but damn if wearing them wasn't worth it. Yes, I might be an uber-working mom with a village of people helping take care of my family as my husband and I jet around like crazy people, but you know what? I looked good (at least for the first 8 hours...not so sure about the second 8).
And yes, I think that's what you call rationalization. ;)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A shower...of cranberry juice?
If you're like me, you're always looking for ways to save time and cut corners. I never leave a room without grabbing a full trashcan or picking up a random sock or grabbing that nasty furball my ever-shedding dogs have left behind because it just means there's more for me to do later! I'm like a giant multi-tasking vacuum cleaner.
I've even noticed at times that my kids follow me around--right on my heels--as I go flying through the house collecting, cleaning and fixing because they know that they better keep moving when I'm getting things done. I know this because often times I'll turn and we'll smack right into each other, or because they'll get sick of my whirling around and hold onto the back of my shirt to slow me down. (It's the newest weightloss plan, don't you know? Dragging around an extra 30 pounds behind you? ;)
And yet every once in a while, I just hope to have a moment to myself, where I slow down and have a smidge of privacy--no emptying woodchips out of shoes, picking up old grapes from under couches, cleaning the stovetop for the 15th time after something s'more-like gooey glued itself to it...
So last weekend, after we went for a run in our now flat-tired jogging stroller (go figure, we push 60 pounds of hunkin' little men in it), we plopped the kids down in front of The Incredibles (also known as The Credibles--they're obviously very believable cartoon characters to my boys...) so Mark and I could jump into the shower for 5 minutes without total chaos ensuing.
We jump in together--again, to save time...who needs elbow room anyway while shaving, right?--and are standing there talking (trust me, nothing exciting going on, this was purely clean up and "catch up" time) as we shower. And for a moment, there's quiet.
Ahhh...
Until the shower curtain flies open and a sippy juice cup is flung into the middle of us--yes, MID-WATER STREAM--by our child with a loud demand/request: "The thing fell out of the sippy cup and now I can't drink my cranberry juice!! Will you fix it?!!"
So there we are, commando, suds and all, water pouring down and Cole completely unaffected by his surroundings and totally fixated on the need for an emergency sippy-ectomy. A non-parent might freak, shriek at the kid and grab for the curtain. Not us parents, though...what do we do? We look at each other for a second, laugh, I fix the sippy, Mark keeps showering (to save time, of course), Cole saunters away back to his Credibles, and I non-chalantly slide the curtain back.
Granted, we had a good laugh after we realized what had just happened, but hey, it got us 5 extra minutes of "peace," right?
I've even noticed at times that my kids follow me around--right on my heels--as I go flying through the house collecting, cleaning and fixing because they know that they better keep moving when I'm getting things done. I know this because often times I'll turn and we'll smack right into each other, or because they'll get sick of my whirling around and hold onto the back of my shirt to slow me down. (It's the newest weightloss plan, don't you know? Dragging around an extra 30 pounds behind you? ;)
And yet every once in a while, I just hope to have a moment to myself, where I slow down and have a smidge of privacy--no emptying woodchips out of shoes, picking up old grapes from under couches, cleaning the stovetop for the 15th time after something s'more-like gooey glued itself to it...
So last weekend, after we went for a run in our now flat-tired jogging stroller (go figure, we push 60 pounds of hunkin' little men in it), we plopped the kids down in front of The Incredibles (also known as The Credibles--they're obviously very believable cartoon characters to my boys...) so Mark and I could jump into the shower for 5 minutes without total chaos ensuing.
We jump in together--again, to save time...who needs elbow room anyway while shaving, right?--and are standing there talking (trust me, nothing exciting going on, this was purely clean up and "catch up" time) as we shower. And for a moment, there's quiet.
Ahhh...
Until the shower curtain flies open and a sippy juice cup is flung into the middle of us--yes, MID-WATER STREAM--by our child with a loud demand/request: "The thing fell out of the sippy cup and now I can't drink my cranberry juice!! Will you fix it?!!"
So there we are, commando, suds and all, water pouring down and Cole completely unaffected by his surroundings and totally fixated on the need for an emergency sippy-ectomy. A non-parent might freak, shriek at the kid and grab for the curtain. Not us parents, though...what do we do? We look at each other for a second, laugh, I fix the sippy, Mark keeps showering (to save time, of course), Cole saunters away back to his Credibles, and I non-chalantly slide the curtain back.
Granted, we had a good laugh after we realized what had just happened, but hey, it got us 5 extra minutes of "peace," right?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Taking singing in public to a whole new level
I've sung my whole life. My mom and I always had the record player going while we made dinner or cookies or whatever--just the two of us belting it out. I still love Frankie Valley's "Big Girls Don't Cry-y-y-y!" because of those mom-daughter singfests. Who knows how we sounded, but we definitely don't lack lung power!
I sang in the U of M choir, I sang in an a capella group with my mom a few years ago, and of course, I sing in the car like one of those nuts you see with their hands drumming on the steering wheel and waving their hands wildly like a preacher. Yep, that's me.
So, not surprisingly, I've sung to my kids since they were in utero. Mark played them the soundtrack from The Muppets and a bunch of Led Zeppelin, and I tried to counter that with The Eagles and The Mamas and The Papas. I sang everything from hip-hop (Bootylicious isn't such a good role model start, but hey, it was fun...) to Josh Groban. I was pretty darn sure my kids would come out of my bod entirely confused about their mother and her music taste, but at least they'd be tappin' their tiny toes.
Fast forward to birth. Mark and I've always loved "You are my sunshine," so as our lullaby to the boys, we sang it regularly to calm them down, to make them smile, etc. In fact, it became an almost immediate tradition: every night before the boys went to bed, we sang "You are my sunshine" together--and we saw that they really grew to like it.
As they've gotten older, it's taken on a life of its own because now the boys sing the entire song with us as they sit on our laps at night. They love it--and honestly, I think it just calms them down, which is ALWAYS a good thing--and we love it, too. I'm already picturing the day when Rhys and Cole are 16 and I'm asking them to sit on my lap for sing-time and they look at me like I'm one of those needy, crazy moms...actually, no, they'll probably be sitting there with their iPod headphones on and won't even hear me when I ask!
So, back to sing-time. The catch right now is that Mark and I travel a bunch, which makes a family sing-time hard...or so you'd think! I've taken it upon myself--and Mark does, too--to sing wherever I am. I hate to miss it, and frankly, why should I? I figure I can always step outside of a client dinner or a meeting for 2 minutes to sing to my kids, right? Weeelllll, it gets a little tricky.
I've sang in restaurant bathrooms, in random hallways, in the valet parking circle in front of hotels--you catch my drift. Last week, however, takes the cake. There I am getting off a plane at around 7:28pm (bedtime's 7:30) and my phone rings...I'm walking down the jet stairs outside into the rain, holding my carry-on bag, dragging my suitcase, coat draped over my shoulder and digging deep into my purse to find my phone. I squeeze it to my ear using my cheek and shoulder as I trip my way up the stairs into the airport and I hear Mark say "You ready?"
At that moment, I guess I could have tried to stop...dropped everything and pulled off to the side, but it just didn't seem worth it. What the hell--who do I have to impress, right? (Hmm...probably should have thought about that a little more...) So, I answer "Sure!" and there I go, singing in full volume (but I'm sure muddled voice since my cheek was smushed to the phone) "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." as I walk through the airport. I glance around only to see giggles and smiles, and I start feeling really stupid, but I was midway, so why stop? :)
Keep in mind, too, that I look a little bit like crazy, disheveled mom meets Linus from The Peanuts comic strip...dragging my coat behind me b/c by this time it had fallen off my shoulder, my purse strap had loosened and I was holding it with my elbow, and my suitcase was actually backwards (I wasn't able to turn it around when the singing began). Class act.
I finish singing and hang up, and just had to crack up. I pulled my messy self off to the side and wondered "why did I go through all of that??" My only answer: because I HAD to--my kids were counting on mommy to sing! The funny part is that even 5 years ago, I probably would have had to have been playing TRUTH or DARE to pull that kind of stunt off--to loudly sing a goofy song while walking through the airport dragging my belongings behind me. I think it's safe to say I'm no longer too concerned about image... ;)
I sang in the U of M choir, I sang in an a capella group with my mom a few years ago, and of course, I sing in the car like one of those nuts you see with their hands drumming on the steering wheel and waving their hands wildly like a preacher. Yep, that's me.
So, not surprisingly, I've sung to my kids since they were in utero. Mark played them the soundtrack from The Muppets and a bunch of Led Zeppelin, and I tried to counter that with The Eagles and The Mamas and The Papas. I sang everything from hip-hop (Bootylicious isn't such a good role model start, but hey, it was fun...) to Josh Groban. I was pretty darn sure my kids would come out of my bod entirely confused about their mother and her music taste, but at least they'd be tappin' their tiny toes.
Fast forward to birth. Mark and I've always loved "You are my sunshine," so as our lullaby to the boys, we sang it regularly to calm them down, to make them smile, etc. In fact, it became an almost immediate tradition: every night before the boys went to bed, we sang "You are my sunshine" together--and we saw that they really grew to like it.
As they've gotten older, it's taken on a life of its own because now the boys sing the entire song with us as they sit on our laps at night. They love it--and honestly, I think it just calms them down, which is ALWAYS a good thing--and we love it, too. I'm already picturing the day when Rhys and Cole are 16 and I'm asking them to sit on my lap for sing-time and they look at me like I'm one of those needy, crazy moms...actually, no, they'll probably be sitting there with their iPod headphones on and won't even hear me when I ask!
So, back to sing-time. The catch right now is that Mark and I travel a bunch, which makes a family sing-time hard...or so you'd think! I've taken it upon myself--and Mark does, too--to sing wherever I am. I hate to miss it, and frankly, why should I? I figure I can always step outside of a client dinner or a meeting for 2 minutes to sing to my kids, right? Weeelllll, it gets a little tricky.
I've sang in restaurant bathrooms, in random hallways, in the valet parking circle in front of hotels--you catch my drift. Last week, however, takes the cake. There I am getting off a plane at around 7:28pm (bedtime's 7:30) and my phone rings...I'm walking down the jet stairs outside into the rain, holding my carry-on bag, dragging my suitcase, coat draped over my shoulder and digging deep into my purse to find my phone. I squeeze it to my ear using my cheek and shoulder as I trip my way up the stairs into the airport and I hear Mark say "You ready?"
At that moment, I guess I could have tried to stop...dropped everything and pulled off to the side, but it just didn't seem worth it. What the hell--who do I have to impress, right? (Hmm...probably should have thought about that a little more...) So, I answer "Sure!" and there I go, singing in full volume (but I'm sure muddled voice since my cheek was smushed to the phone) "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." as I walk through the airport. I glance around only to see giggles and smiles, and I start feeling really stupid, but I was midway, so why stop? :)
Keep in mind, too, that I look a little bit like crazy, disheveled mom meets Linus from The Peanuts comic strip...dragging my coat behind me b/c by this time it had fallen off my shoulder, my purse strap had loosened and I was holding it with my elbow, and my suitcase was actually backwards (I wasn't able to turn it around when the singing began). Class act.
I finish singing and hang up, and just had to crack up. I pulled my messy self off to the side and wondered "why did I go through all of that??" My only answer: because I HAD to--my kids were counting on mommy to sing! The funny part is that even 5 years ago, I probably would have had to have been playing TRUTH or DARE to pull that kind of stunt off--to loudly sing a goofy song while walking through the airport dragging my belongings behind me. I think it's safe to say I'm no longer too concerned about image... ;)
Monday, January 26, 2009
Networking or Cereal Boxes?
I was on time--in fact, I was early this morning. Until I checked my voicemail. Turns out, today is the day we were supposed to take in empty cereal boxes for the kids' class because they were making a book using the box fronts, and my boys were the only ones without their boxes. Yep, there goes mommy/daddy of the year award yet again! Mark's message: "I told the boys that I'd call you and see about the cereal boxes...thought maybe you could bring some on your way to work."
Damn, in a split second, I'd gone from happy and early to crazed and late. Oh, well, my boys had to have their boxes--I couldn't have them think they were the only kids whose parents didn't care enough to send them in with their "homework" done!
So, here's where it gets funny, and where the mix between working professional and parent come together so nicely--you become an Action Jackson... I call Mark and we have a 2-second conversation about this oh-so-serious situation and immediately the two of us brainstorm about where to get the boxes..."we don't have any empties..." "I don't have time to go to the store...." Then, light bulb from Dad: "Just take the bags out of two boxes and bring 'em..." Problem solved.
So, rather than mosey my way to a networking coffee, I now bee-line it to the kids' school with an empty box of Cheerios and an empty box of some Date & Pecan cereal that makes us look like hippies. The best part? I run in the door to their classroom and they run to me with open arms--not for me, mind you--but for their cereal boxes. Their teachers crack up and have a moment... and I'm thrilled because I've now hopefully avoided one year of therapy for my kids when they get older and remember how their parents never remembered to bring the cereal boxes that meant so much to them, etc. etc. Woo-hoo! Big hugs and kisses and I run back out the door.
And for the next 6-8 quality minutes as I drive the speed of light to get to work, I had a good laugh thinking about how hilarious my life now is. And how I hope I have pants on and the same color shoes. And yet how I wouldn't have it any other way. What a day.
Damn, in a split second, I'd gone from happy and early to crazed and late. Oh, well, my boys had to have their boxes--I couldn't have them think they were the only kids whose parents didn't care enough to send them in with their "homework" done!
So, here's where it gets funny, and where the mix between working professional and parent come together so nicely--you become an Action Jackson... I call Mark and we have a 2-second conversation about this oh-so-serious situation and immediately the two of us brainstorm about where to get the boxes..."we don't have any empties..." "I don't have time to go to the store...." Then, light bulb from Dad: "Just take the bags out of two boxes and bring 'em..." Problem solved.
So, rather than mosey my way to a networking coffee, I now bee-line it to the kids' school with an empty box of Cheerios and an empty box of some Date & Pecan cereal that makes us look like hippies. The best part? I run in the door to their classroom and they run to me with open arms--not for me, mind you--but for their cereal boxes. Their teachers crack up and have a moment... and I'm thrilled because I've now hopefully avoided one year of therapy for my kids when they get older and remember how their parents never remembered to bring the cereal boxes that meant so much to them, etc. etc. Woo-hoo! Big hugs and kisses and I run back out the door.
And for the next 6-8 quality minutes as I drive the speed of light to get to work, I had a good laugh thinking about how hilarious my life now is. And how I hope I have pants on and the same color shoes. And yet how I wouldn't have it any other way. What a day.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
"My pee-pee hurts, mommy..."
So I have to admit, this whole "boy part" thing is new for me. Don't get me wrong, I get how it works...I just don't "get" how it works, if you know what I mean. Today, Rhys turns to me with his hand fully down his pants, clearly grabbing himself and says "Mommy, my pee-pee hurts." And what's my clever response? "That must mean you're growing, kiddo..." Nice dodge, eh? Especially since we all know that an erect pee-pee is the first sign of growth. Geez, are we sure I even grew up??
So much for me tackling the tough stuff head on... I totally wussed out, and I have no idea why. Maybe it's because I didn't want to have a sit down conversation with a 3 1/2 year-old about the fact that a lot of times guys have, as my male coworker says, BWARs...or something that rhymes with "Donors" Without A Reason. The first time he said that to me I just lost it laughing, but now I know what he's talking about!
For some odd reason I'm just avoiding the whole "Well, honey, see boys often times have little erections..." (Rhys: "What's that mommy?") Well, see it's when your pee-pee feels like it wants to stand up and cheer like as if it's at a football game...." You see where I'm going. It's not that I can't deal with it, it's that it just seems like something my husband should have to tackle instead of me, so I'm punting. In fact, I'm thinking we should just get it all overwith at once and give Rhys and Cole a box of condoms and the birds and bees talk now. Our kids are precocious, why not just get it all out in the open and avoid the awkward stuff later on???
Ok, maybe not, but I swore I wouldn't be one of those parents who found a million reasons to avoid the tough talks--one that tries to rationally explain why their door was mysteriously locked the night before and the TV was blaring CSpan or a Western all night. "Obviously, kids, it was because your dad and I were having an all-night dance party in our room and we fell asleep without turning the TV off." Right, obviously.
So much for me tackling the tough stuff head on... I totally wussed out, and I have no idea why. Maybe it's because I didn't want to have a sit down conversation with a 3 1/2 year-old about the fact that a lot of times guys have, as my male coworker says, BWARs...or something that rhymes with "Donors" Without A Reason. The first time he said that to me I just lost it laughing, but now I know what he's talking about!
For some odd reason I'm just avoiding the whole "Well, honey, see boys often times have little erections..." (Rhys: "What's that mommy?") Well, see it's when your pee-pee feels like it wants to stand up and cheer like as if it's at a football game...." You see where I'm going. It's not that I can't deal with it, it's that it just seems like something my husband should have to tackle instead of me, so I'm punting. In fact, I'm thinking we should just get it all overwith at once and give Rhys and Cole a box of condoms and the birds and bees talk now. Our kids are precocious, why not just get it all out in the open and avoid the awkward stuff later on???
Ok, maybe not, but I swore I wouldn't be one of those parents who found a million reasons to avoid the tough talks--one that tries to rationally explain why their door was mysteriously locked the night before and the TV was blaring CSpan or a Western all night. "Obviously, kids, it was because your dad and I were having an all-night dance party in our room and we fell asleep without turning the TV off." Right, obviously.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I just want something other than a burrito
I realized the other day that I eat an Amy's Organics Burrito topped with cottage cheese at least 3 nights (and some lunches) every week. I think it's a fair statement to say I like them. The reality is that I do like them, but it's more about convenience than anything. (And I really don't eat them as much as I inhale them by the way, often times burning the roof of my mouth.)
Why do eat so many burritos instead of the zillions of other options, you might ask?
1) I'm a rut person - if it works, I stick with it more often than not...these "work." Just ask me to tell you how long I ate PB&Js in school for lunch.
2) They're healthy and filling, and I'd rather eat a healthy burrito than walk around with a ziploc of carrots pretending I'm full.
3) I'm putting off the inevitable--that I need to start really cooking for my family...I'm told that
growing boys need fully fortified meals, not bits of cheese, half of a soy chicken patty, apple bites, etc.--go figure.
4) Did I mention I'm a rut person?
I'm sort of wondering if one day I'll wake up and suddenly loathe my good friend, the organic burrito, like I hated coffee during my pregnancy, and then have to find a NEW rut, or better yet, eat normal meals like normal people. Yikes...sounds like a daunting task.
The crazy thing is that I really like cooking--but only when I have time to play and have fun with it. I realized a couple of years ago, though, that I like cookbooks even more than I like cooking, which is probably why I have a mountain of them and still only eat burritos.
Why do eat so many burritos instead of the zillions of other options, you might ask?
1) I'm a rut person - if it works, I stick with it more often than not...these "work." Just ask me to tell you how long I ate PB&Js in school for lunch.
2) They're healthy and filling, and I'd rather eat a healthy burrito than walk around with a ziploc of carrots pretending I'm full.
3) I'm putting off the inevitable--that I need to start really cooking for my family...I'm told that
growing boys need fully fortified meals, not bits of cheese, half of a soy chicken patty, apple bites, etc.--go figure.
4) Did I mention I'm a rut person?
I'm sort of wondering if one day I'll wake up and suddenly loathe my good friend, the organic burrito, like I hated coffee during my pregnancy, and then have to find a NEW rut, or better yet, eat normal meals like normal people. Yikes...sounds like a daunting task.
The crazy thing is that I really like cooking--but only when I have time to play and have fun with it. I realized a couple of years ago, though, that I like cookbooks even more than I like cooking, which is probably why I have a mountain of them and still only eat burritos.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Give us a guitar and we're ALL rockstars--just look
Happy New Year! Talk about slacking on my posts, but I know you can all relate...the holidays took over and it was much more fun to experience the nuttiness than to write about it. All in all, it was a winner of a holiday--the kids really got into the Christmas season counting down days using the good ol' fashioned paper chain links, advent calendars, and the newest fad--sprinkling reindeer "food" (sugar, oats, etc.) all over our lawn (basically, it was a coming out party for ants, but hey, they loved it). I even painted one big toe on each of the boy's feet with candy cane stripes to match my holiday cheer pedicure. Yes, we got into the season.
By far, though, the scene that I'll never forget involves a guitar...in fact, it involves 4 guitars and 1 trumpet. I recall my father telling me as a kid that if I wanted a set of drums, he'd be fine with it...as long as I played them at someone elses house. That's love, eh? Same went for any loud, noisy instrument (must have been why I made the oboe my instrument of choice in middle school...ever heard of a quiet duck?? he he). Ixnay on any instrument above the sound of a flute-type noisemaker.
So, you can imagine my reaction when I heard Cole screeching away on one of those Little Tikes guitars at my brother/sister-in-law's house during the holiday. My first thought (insert robot voice): "Loud instrument noises inside house...BAD...must stop." But then I turn to see him looking like a little Eddie Van Halen--knee bent, plastic guitar resting on it, eyes closed and swinging his body back and forth rockin' out to the computerized Muzak, and I just cracked up. So much for nixing loud noises in the house, I'd totally gone over to the dark side.
Jump ahead a few hours to opening presents time and the fun really begins. Now, the rest of the kids (4 others all under 7 years old) join the guitar party--Cole still hasn't given up his new-found fave toy--under the tree. Well, low and behold, Rhys and Cole get the same guitar and a set of (oh, no!) drums! from their aunt and uncle--"woo-hoo!" they scream!--but wait, it gets better... Mark gets the full-size Guitar Hero guitar for the Wii, too. So, suddenly, our cool little Eddie Van Halen is now joined by 3 of his buds in stereophonic sound and oh-so-out of tune, and I find myself now understanding where my dad was coming from.
The piece de resistance? Meaghen, the oldest of the kids, walks out of her bedroom with a REAL trumpet--and no, she can't play, but man can she wail! It was hilarious...we went from 0 to deafening sound in 5 seconds flat...picture the worst possible school band concert you could ever attend but then picture each "musician" giving it everything they've got. Little Abby, who's not even 3 yet, suddenly turned into this Robert Palmer girl with the pouty lips and slow hip swaying moves. Yes, this is what the holidays are all about, my friends. Especially when you see the biggest kid of all--my hubby--leading the pack. Take a peek for yourself. Here's to a rockin' 2009! (Oh, and Rhys took a breather, by the way--every true musician needs a break--which is why he's not pictured.)
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