Which One?

So Jen at Absolutely Bananas wants to know about our most embarrassing moment.

Hmmmmm.

God, I have so many of them. It's like asking a wine connoisseur to name her favorite wine. I mean, can it really be narrowed down to just one? Although, I have to say that since my Hubby arranged it so that I was put under lock down, I mean put into hiding, no, no, that is to say I've become a stay at home Mom, there haven't been that many embarrassing moments. Perhaps I've just become accustomed to them, or Motherhood has given me a new found sense of confidence and therefore life's little imperfect moments just don't phase me. Or maybe I just don't get out that much. Or I just don't get out that much, and after spending many months going out and bringing my boobs out for all to see, I just don't care about the little guffaws. ( No dumb ass, I don't bring 'em out for fun, I was referring to breastfeeding.)

There was most definitely a short period of time in my life when it seemed like I was just living one big embarrassing moment. It was the first year after college. The year I moved in with my husband (then boyfriend) ,adjusted to life in Staten Island and started my first real job. Well lets re-word that, because can anyone ever really adjust to life in Staten Island? If you weren't born and raised there, that is? I don't think so. I still shudder at the thought. Ughhhh.

There was the time I twisted my ankle crossing 5th ave. Fell right to the ground. Had people practically trampling me, without one offer of help.

There was that time I won a free turkey at a drawing from work. Had to lug that 20 pound frozen turkey down 5 blocks, through two subway trains, onto the SI ferry then onto a friggin bus. You haven't lived till you've been a NYC straphanger with a frozen dead bird wedged between your legs, sitting on the nasty subway floor(the bird, not me!).

Then there was that time the SI bus ate me. The back doors closed shut, with my feet on the outside, standing on the ground, while the rest of me was inside the bus. Just a little awkward.

Or the time I made it all the way home, through that long ass commute, only to have my husband point out to me that I had a big ol' rip in the back of my black skirt, showing off my white granny panties.

I could never forget the time I was running late for work. As I entered the large waiting area in the ferry terminal, I could see the doors begin to close. I ran for it. And in very sloooooowwwww mooootiiiiooonnn I could feel myself falling, yet I couldn't stop running. I ended up flying through the air super man style, then slid a couple more feet along the ground. Missed that damn ferry. But got to spend the next 30 minutes waiting with a man who helped me up. Told me I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, the one that was a pro-wrestler.

And a favorite with my family - the late night ferry ride after a really bad day of work. Thought I'd treat myself to a beer. Ended up spilling the beer all over myself. As I was cleaning it off of my skirt, realized I was spraying it all over the Wall St guy across from me. So I asked him if he wanted some. He just stared. What was I to do? I bought another one, and then sat there laughing my ass off. Laughing my ass of to no one else. The Wall St guy moved to another seat. Guess he didn't want to be near the crazy chick talking to her self.


Yes, 1997 was a very good vintage.

SOS

Help me.

It's been seven days since my captors have held me here in this place. At first they showed mercy upon me and allowed me to quietly work as their servant. But several days ago the melee really began, after I angered them by encouraging them to get some sleep, they have become quite insane. Their actions are completely irrational - I never know what to expect or how they will react to me.

I'm frightened.

The germ warfare is relentless. Just as I feel myself gaining strength, they reinfect me with their horrible colds and flu. I have been continuously ill this long, long week.

The larger one - the one they use to communicate with me - is using my lack of patience as a sort of torture. She is creating horrible messes that she then requires me to clean up. Seeing my fatigue, she has increased the frequency of these disasters, in order to break me, is my thought.

The smaller one is following the larger ones orders, I believe. She has also added to the torture by emitting these strange, high frequency sounds, screeches really, over and over.

They will not leave me alone for even one moment. Not even to pee or shower. I believe they fear I will escape. And the sleep deprivation, oh the horrors of this. I am beginning to hallucinate from the lack of sleep.

They have left crumbs of food all over the family room. In an effort to invite ants in from the deck. It has worked. Between my captors and the ants I will soon break.

My husband has managed to escape, he promised to send back up, but I fear he has abandoned me.

I've repeatedly asked what their demands are - what do they want in order to let me go. So far their only request has been cookies - but every time I give them some, they go back on their promise and do not release me.

Please send help..........

I'm your Mother, not your....

Barf Bag. Ok, so that's probably not what Jen at Absolutely Bananas was thinking of when she provided today's prompt, but that's all I've got right now.

I have had the most disgusting five days of my life. Hubby was away this week - from Tuesday till late Friday he was roughing it at a Hilton down south. Eating steaks and drinking scotch, while I was just trying to stay busy so as not to go crazy.

Half way through my stint as a single mom, I awoke Thursday at 4 am to the sounds of D2 crying. As I went to her room, I remember thinking I don't feel so good. What greeted me in her room was a whole lot of vomit. The next five days proved to be a whole lot of stomach flu for D2,me,D1, my inlaws and finally hubby. Yes, in that order. Oh, except D1 and D2 keep re-infecting each other and continue to be sick. I have seen enough vomit to last the rest of my life. Unfortunately, with the girls only at 18 months and 3 years, something tells me I have a lot more in store. Hopefully soon they will understand the wonderful toilet as receptacle. Not Mom as receptacle.

I'm your Mom, not your toilet.

Now, if you are thinking, way too much information there, let me tell you, you should have seen the details I typed up and erased!

I'm their Mom, but that doesn't mean I'm unselfish. While they were so sick and feverish, it gave me some time with them that I would be denied if they had been well. Miss Wiggles herself, D2, allowed me to rock her to sleep. I got to hold her, and stare down at her sleeping face - with it's cherubic chubby cheeks and streaky blond hair. I held her long past the point she fell asleep, just staring and cherishing. D1, too, fell asleep on my lap while watching tv. I was able to stroke her hair and stare down at her perfect little nose, feel her soft hair.

So D1 and D2, when you turn 13 and decide you hate me, remember, I'm your Mom, the one who will always take care of you when you are sick. Always. So at 13, remember, I'm your Mother not your enemy.

Coach

It's that time of year again. The fall and spring make me think of a lot of things. But since having spent time working as an accessories buyer, this time of year means time to change your handbag! It was a definite perk of the job - I had an endless supply of handbags I could wear test or buy uber-cheap. I didn't have to be practical and buy a boring black one that would go with everything. I could experiment, pick a fun color, and if I didn't like it, oh well, I'd find something new. God, I miss that. Have you seen what a good handbag costs these days? I have a horrible, horrible confession to make. And all my former co-workers, if they were to read this would probably be appalled.

The last handbag I bought myself was from Kmart. Yep, Kmart. Not even Target. Kmart. A black suede one that went with everything I wore. The horror.

Now back in my handbag buying days, I was still frugal. But it was ok, I could get buy with samples and clearance bags from Aigner. We studied, and sometimes,uh, "interpreted" other brands, including Coach. I had a healthy appreciation for Coach bags, thought they did a great job. But I never really wanted one for myself. Especially not their logo bags. I kind of found it desperate to be displaying to all the world exactly what handbag you were carrying.

Yeah, 4 years and 2 babies can make a world of difference.

Last Christmas, my husband for perhaps the first time ever, truly surprised me with a gift. It wasn't on my list, but I was absolutely positively in love with it. It was a Coach handbag. Tobacco leather trim with their jaquard logo fabric and big chunky equestrian style hardware. I LOOOOOVED it. I promised him I would take care of it, and only use it for special occasions. Then I promptly emptied out my cheap ass Kmart bag and threw it out. And didn't stop using the Coach bag till June, when it was time to change to a summer bag.

It surprised me how thrilled I was over that bag. I can't even explain it. I guess it made me feel like my old self. Not just practical Mom. Who cares if I have peanut butter smeared all over my shirt? At least my handbag is stylin'.

And now it's Fall again. I'm so excited. Time to bring out the Coach bag again.

I wonder if I'll get another one this Christmas????

And back up again

It's just been a roller coaster of emotions lately.......

just when I thought I was going to just sink into an enormous bowl of ice cream a pit of despair and never get myself out, I found another place to take belly dancing. Yay for me!

And, I recruited a new friend to join me! I wonder how she feels about creating a story line. Maybe we can be two biker chix. Our biker men signed us up for this class so they could do biker men things alone once a week. We could come in wearing leather jackets with fringe, and fake tattoo's on our arms. Drop lots of F bombs and pretend we smoke.

I guess the minivan with the soccer magnet badly parked in the lot will give that one away......

Deflated

I'm so friggin disappointed. I just received a call. My belly dancing class is cancelled - not enough people signed up for it.

Now what? Hubby said good, now we could put the money towards the sump pump we just found out we needed. Yeah, wa-freakin-hoo.

I'll probably end up taking the yoga class instead, but been there, done that. I wanted something new.

That just sucks.

Back To Mom

Today I decided to follow a writing prompt from Jen at Absolutely Bananas. Her prompt asked What are you doing just for you? When I read the prompt, I chuckled, thinking of how I had made a promise to myself on THIS post to do the very same thing.

So actually, I'm finally doing something for me. I signed up for a class that starts in about two weeks. A class that at first I was very excited about, but now I'm getting REALLY nervous about. Yes, this gal, who is continually teased by her husband's family for having no rhythm, who can barely walk without tripping, is taking a BELLY DANCING class! Last month, when the community college course catalog came in, I perused it. Decided it was a good idea to sign up for a class. I thought about yoga, about painting, even a computer graphics course. But I kept paging back to the belly dancing class. So I figured, what the hell, I'm gonna do it. I'm really getting nervous, though. It dawned on me today that during the first class I might actually be expected to bare my belly. I guess I hadn't thought about that. In reality, this neglected, two pregnancy body needs at least 40 4 classes to be ready for the world to see. Then I thought, oh no! What if it's a bunch of late teen/early twentysomethings taking the class? I mean, who else wants to learn to belly dance? I guess I'll find out.

Then I started getting excited. Time for me! All alone! I won't even be spending it doing kid related activities. I mean with the MOM's club's night outs, I spend it with other Mom's talking about our kids. That's really the only time I get out. This is time to be the real me. Not the Mom me.

Maybe I'll indulge my fetish for lying to strangers (hmmm... haven't I told you about that yet? That's a whole other post) Maybe I'll tell them I'm single. An artist living in a loft in Bethlehem. I spend my time sculpting and throwing wild parties. Yes, I'm a struggling artist that pays her rent by working as a barista in some coffee shop. I'm way too intelligent for that job, but I just can't tolerate the idea of a real job. I mean how uninspiring. And I spend my summers traveling Europe, staying in the homes of other artists, drinking wine and eating nothing but olives and cheese.

Oh, crap, my entire wardrobe has been purchased from Target and Kohls. Somehow I think that will give away the truth. Hmmmm......

I said it was time to be the real me. I guess that's who I'll have to be. Jen, the klutzy, wacky, over caffeinated, Mom of two. That will just have to do.

Happy Birthday to Me

Today is my 34th birthday, or the 7th anniversary of my 27th. You know, the year that one of the worst acts of terrorism occurred in the U.S..

This year was a good one. A quiet day. My husband and D1 woke me with flowers, waffles and coffee in bed. Who doesn't love coffee in bed? Then we took D1 to school and had the parent orientation while D1 was in class. My parents came up, watched D2 for us.

The rest of the day was a quiet one spent with the girls and my parents. Dinner was with the girls, hubby and my Mom. We wore party hats at D1's request and ate pizza. My birthday cake was the best chocolate cake EVER. Have you tried the chocolate cake from Wegman's? If you haven't, do it. It's simple yet PERFECT. Did I mention how much I love this cake?

Then the girls danced around in the family room for us and I read The Birthday Monster book to D1. The girls went off to bed, and then some really nice hanging out time with hubby and my Mom.

Perfect, really.

Some days I want to pull my hair out and run far, far away from this homemakers life. But other days, like today, it just seems way to perfect.

Cute Kid Moment

So, in theory, I don't believe in using food as a reward. I think it sends the the wrong message. In theory.

Anyways, about a week ago, D1 pooped on the potty - yay! This made up 3 stickers, which equals a prize. I was all out of prizes. But I was craving ice cream. So I gave her a scoop of ice cream as her reward. I also gave myself a scoop, you know, as my reward.

Of course after she earned 3 more stickers, she wanted ice cream again, but I went back to my theories, and didn't give it to her.

Last night, after I put D1 to bed, I helped myself to a bowl of ice cream. A few minutes later, D1 comes back downstairs.

She sees my ice cream, claps and says "yay Mommy! Did you poop? Good for you! You got a prize!"

Of course Hubby replies, "no sweetie, for Mommy actually pooping is it's own reward"

A Rant Of Sorts

I've mentioned it before, but I really hate cleaning. I always have - the rewards are so temporary. By picking up, making a bed, cleaning the floor, you've changed nothing, really. It's such a fleeting sense of satisfaction, a short burst of ain't this nice. Before kids, before I was home all day, my messiness was a source of annoyance. But I was able to explain it away. Oh, I'm too busy at work to keep my desk clean, I have better things to do. Fun things await me. Now I feel as if it defines me. This messiness is me. It deflates me, pulls me down. It's just always there, IN MY FACE. The list of things to do that I don't want to do. And then, when I do it, like I said above. It's SO temporary. And no, I'm not that person that coincides happily with her mess. No, I can't find where everything is, yes, it does bother me. I'm just not that good at it. Keeping up after the mess, that is. And I wish I could tell you that this blog is the blog of a before and after. You know, "I was a slob, then I saw the light and look how fabulous my life is now. I changed my life, you can to, just read my blog and click on the ads, and you too will be a converted ex-slob." Nope, that's not going to happen. Stop by again in another year, and I'll still be bitching about the mess in my house.

So my impromptu visit to my neighbor's house was especially maddening to me. We have a new neighbor that moved in next door. We have two things in common: 1) we are both new to the neighborhood 2) We are both stay at home Mom's with kids similar in ages. Her kids are 4,2 and 7 months. Her older kids are girls. Since they've moved in, we've met up in the yards several times for spur of the moment playdates. Her kids have knocked on our back door a few times, and D1 has shown up in their yard even more.

So on Friday D1 wants to knock on their front door. I say yes, figuring if they aren't busy they will say meet us in the backyard. I mean to this point we haven't actually been in each others homes, why would we start now? So D1 rings the bell and Mommy neighbor answers and says they are just getting ready to go out, but they have a few minutes so why don't we come upstairs. UPSTAIRS? Who invites near strangers UPSTAIRS?? So I suck in my breath, thinking, "Wow, She must be really secure or really laid back to let us UPSTAIRS" As we climb the steps I start to panic "what is this, no toys, no shoes, no CRAP on the way up?" Then we are up, in the bedroom the two older girls share. And it is CLEAN. Toys are not strewn on the floor, clothes are not hanging out of the dressers. It's clean. THE UPSTAIRS.

Did I mention this was an unplanned visit? So then Mommy neighbor invites me on a tour, to see the rest of the newly painted house. The master bedroom - the bed is made. Even into the master bath. It's clean, too. No little handprints on the mirror. Hubby hasn't left the newspaper by the shitter. Nothing. It's clean.

Did I mention this was an unplanned visit? Then back to the downstairs. The family room has a few toys neatly put away. The kitchen doesn't have any dirty dishes. No nasty food dried to the floor. It's clean, and did I mention this was an unplanned visit?

I went home, shuddering as I entered the family room, with a floor so littered with toys and kids clothes that the stained carpet was barely visible. My insides shook as I walked into the kitchen, with a sink full of dirty dishes, and bread crusts still under the table. "I'm a failure" I thought. " can't do this. I would absolutely flourish under the tutelidge of a live in maid. Life isn't fair."

And so for the rest of the evening, and into the next very rainy day I sulked. Barely cleaned a thing. Then in the evening I went to Targhay and found what I was pretty sure would change my life. Itso cubes are these 15x15 white cubes that EASILY hook together in a number of ways. You can also buy all sorts of accessories: extra shelves, bins, doors, casters, etc. So I bought twelve of them, plus a number of accessories. I brought them home and overhauled the playroom. Donated a bunch of toys, threw out a bunch of trash, even scrubbed the floor. Then I placed the Itso cubes neatly in the open door closet. Organized all the toys but function. IT WAS BEAUTIFUL. And so neat, organized, clean.

Then came today, I was going to tackle the messes and the dirt head on. I was optimistic once again. And I tried, lord did I try. But D1 & D2 just loved their new playroom. Loved it so much, they couldn't get enough of it. Or out of it. I don't know how many times I picked up toys and put them back into their designated ITSO cube. Countless times I took toys out of the family room and back to their cozy home. And I did, I tried to pick up all the food from under the table after lunch, and I even cleaned up D1's bedroom. I really, honestly put in a good fight.

So guess what? It's 9:00 pm and their are toys strewn all over the house, dinner debris is all over the kitchen floor and the dishes are piled up in the sink. And I just hate the thought of going back down there and cleaning it ONE MORE TIME. Only to start over again tomorrow.

Playground Politics

D1 had a rough time socializing - from about 18 months to 30 months she just didn't know how to interact with kids. She would get so excited to see them, desperately want to interact with them, but not quite know how to do it. She would end up hitting, scratching, pushing, etc. She still has it in her, on her bad days. And as all 3 year olds, it especially comes out during the trials of sharing. I thought with a little sister constantly by her side this wouldn't be an issue, but it is.

I had a really hard time with this stage. I felt like I was doing something wrong, or not doing something enough. I felt like other Mom's were judging me, thinking I was a bad Mom. I'd find myself over-reacting to her aggression when we were in public, just trying to prove to other Moms that I was on top of it, and was trying to control the problem. It wasn't fair to D1 and caused a huge amount of anxiety for me. After a few months of this, I found myself avoiding other Mom's and their kids. I would take D1 to playgrounds during times that I knew others were less likely to be there. I stopped going to activities with my MOM's group.

I was broken hearted over the thought that other Mom's in her playgroup (which we became playgroup drop outs over!) were unable to see my child as she really was. I mean, I knew she was this great, creative, funny lovable kid. But could others see it?

Today was a great day spent at the park with my MOM's club. But I still haven't gotten over the apprehension her prior months of aggression started. Sometimes I feel like I won't be a very good advocate for her, if that is ever needed in school or elsewhere. Each time I would hear a child yell or cry, I would check on D1. Not to see if she was ok, but to see if she was the one causing the tears. If she happened to be standing by the crying child, I would automatically wonder "what did she do". Today was a good day, though. To my knowledge she wasn't the cause of one shed tear.

This subject leads me to a topic that my older brother, lets call him OB (it's the way it should be) is actually kind of obsessed with. He has two kids, ages 10 and 8. While in my opinion, they are both great kids with some awesome characteristics, the 10 year old definitely gives my brother more of a run for his money. He's a handful, while the 8 yr old is more laid back and listens to her parents more readily. OB has seen both signs of the coin, and has come to realize that nature has a TON to do with your child's behavior, it's not all just nurture. His obsession lies in the parents who do not have "challenging" children. Now not all parents of easy going kids think this way, but I'm sure some do - they attribute their children's behaviors to their great parenting, and automatically assume the parents of challenging kids are doing something wrong. OB has seen the knowing glances between these "better" parents and wants to scream "it has nothing to do with you!" But where is the line drawn? Where can you say, "hey, she's like that because I taught her that" and give yourself some credit? Personally, I happen to know that my girls positive traits all come from my fabulous parenting. The bad stuff, on the other hand, totally out of my control. It's just the way they are, right?

Next week D1 starts preschool. I'm so mixed with emotions. Sad, because she is growing up and isn't my little baby anymore. Excited because I'll have a few hours just with D2 each week. Hopeful that she will blossom and just love school and learn so much. But I'm also so scared. Will she make friends? Will the kids like her? Will she get overstressed and become too aggressive? Will she listen to the teacher or just spend all her time in the bathroom smearing the hand soap all over the mirror?

You really , truly can't understand the magnitude of parenthood until your entrenched in it, can you?