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!!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
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... ;)
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