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. ;)
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