The start of school, is for me, much like the New Year. In fact since I was born in September, in all actuality, it is my personal New Year, and as such, for as long as I can remember I have spent many a September afternoon making resolutions about how the upcoming year will be better.
For example:
1) I buy calendars and highlighters and pens, and I make an attempt to write down important dates
2) I try to prepare the night before for the next morning
3) In my head, I make an imaginary schedule that includes a regular wake time, breakfast time, lunch time;etc.
4) I assign different days of the week different chores; Monday, I'll do the laundry; Tuesday; I'll run errands; Wednesday; I'll prepare all the meals for the following week ( yes, in the hypothetical realm I have very lofty goals).
Of course, a week or two into my new "schedule", I always drop the ball. The phone rings and I talk too long. The baby wants to go outside to play and we scrap the laundry for an hour wagon ride, or an hour of digging the dirt. The rain makes me want to stay inside and read or write or both and so we skip a trip to the grocery store and get take out for dinner....
A few years ago, I read the book, The Seven habits of highly effective people, and I had one of those Oprah aha!moments. Now I understood. Now that I saw all of those dynamic pyramids and charts. I'd put all into play and conquer the world...and then the phone rang, and I was pregnant, again, or the roof was leaking ,or somebody had cellulitis...
Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was really motivated and trying to unpack the rest of the boxes from our move LAST YEAR. Yes, I know. Mostly what is left in these boxes are old clothes, potential hand me downs, that I will likely hold on to and find, just after whoever the article would have been handed down to, has outgrown it; and books. So, I'm looking through the books and I come across the book about being highly effective.
I bring it up to my nightstand and I think, I should probably reread this. Obviously, I missed something. And then, in another Aha moment, I thought to myself, maybe in fact I did not miss anything. Maybe I should just embrace my ineffectiveness, after all, it isn't sooo bad, and it does have its pluses. So without further ado, I give you my list... The Seven Habits of highly ineffective, but predominantly happy people...
(1) In the morning when you first wake up and hear everyone else clamoring, close your eyes really tight, curl up in a bawl, and firmly pull the covers of your head. Just for a moment, be thankful that you are still in bed, even though every one else is up. After that moment, inevitably, you will be torn out of bed, but the feeling of relishing that last moment of sleep while every else faces the harsh reality of the am is really priceless
(2) Lose your keys, or purse, or something really important, at least once a week. This way you can stay home while someone else picks up your kids, a gallon of milk;etc. You'd do it for them, if you had your keys....
(3) Walk barefoot. Sure your feet will be nasty and dirty at the end of the day, but walking shoeless on the ground feels damn good. Plus, you won't have to justify to your husband why you need to spend thirty dollars and a hour on a spa pedicure while he watches the five kids. He'll be begging you to get the dogs cleaned up.
(4) Talk to people when they call. Or when you meet them in the store, or anywhere else. Not complete strangers. I mean don't end up on a milk carton, but when by coincidence you run into someone, stop and say a few words. Don't be in such a damn rush to get off the phone either. People are important; things can wait.
(5) Do things on an as needed basis. We are society of very prepared people. We go to Costco and buy enough goat cheese and laundry detergent and toilet paper so that we won't run out, because God forbid there'd be a snowstorm and we couldn't wash clothes for the five hours it takes to salt the roads.
When school starts, we amass wardrobes for our kids for the entire school year, as if that one weekend in August will be our last trip to the store before June.
So what if you wash the kids clothes the night before? Is there some law that says outfits for everyday of the week must be lined up in the closet and ready to go? Trust me, they look the same whether they come straight out of the closet or straight out of the dryer in the am. No one will know the difference.
(6) Co sleep. I mean what is all this bullshit that people can't get rest when their kids sleep in their bed. Yeah, I know they kick, and they roll over, and they wake you unexpectedly; but seriously so do partners and boyfriends and girlfriends and husbands and wives, and no one is telling you to put them in another room and let them scream it out until they fall asleep. Besides, kids outgrow this. Trust me, they won't want to sleep in your bed on prom night; and if you think about that, it'll make the kicking and the rolling much more tolerable.
(7) Don't have too many habits, or things you "have" to do. In a flash, life can change drastically. The more flexible you are, the better you'll be at rolling with the inevitable ups and downs. Or, at least that's what I tell myself.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Hello High School.Goodbye Sanity (or what I have left of it)
As if I weren't crazy enough navigating the ups and downs of life with five children, now the oldest one insists on going to high school. And a real at that. She rudely declined my generous offer to home school her with an eye roll, a sigh, and an "oh, mom, would please be serious." It is a well confirmed fact that she is more mature than I am. Did you ever see the show family ties? Well, let's just say she is Alex P. Keaton, and I a mixture of Elise (Meredith Baxter Birney's character) and Mallory (the dim witted sister, played by Justine Bateman).
"It'll be fun. I"ll teach you all the really important things in life- like how to do laundry, wash dishes, change diapers, and clean a house."
"I already know how to do those things."
"Yes, you know how to do them, but at home school, you would actually do them."
Another eye roll, sigh, and exasperated MOOOOOOOOOOM.
You parents of cute little babies, toddlers, even my friends with middle schoolers, you don't know what you are in for... remember the scene in Jaws...the opening scene where the drunk girl goes out for a fun night time swim, only to tire and lay on a buoy for a short rest. Her head, spinning from her obvious buzz, she is comforted by the large buoyant object-the only thing that she can lean on in the vast, open ocean. Unfortunately, she can only take a brief breath before an angry, great white shark attacks her, drags her under the ocean, and eats her.
This is the best comparison of what it felt like to take my daughter to high school.
I remember her first day of school. She was about 14 months old. No, she is not that much of a genius, when I say school, I actually mean day care, but for my purposes, the two are equivalent. This was the first institution to which I surrender her. That first day, I dressed her in this little yellow duck outfit. It was one of those long, wide tops that criss cross in the back and fasten with one large button. Not quite a shirt, and not quite a dress, it came as a set with little bloomers, which covered her diaper. I can still remember how it was trimmed in white ric rac, and how moved my fingers back on forth over that trim as I held her in those final seconds before I handed her over to the teacher. I ran down the hall as I heard her start to scream. I headed towards my car crying. It would not be the last time that I left her there and left in tears, but of course, things did get better. She really connected with her teacher, which is a nice, non obnoxious way of saying that she was the teacher's favorite. In most cases I shun nepotism, but when I left my fourteen month old baby in the care of complete strangers, some how justice for all became a lot less important to me than my own child's happiness.
She made it through day care and by age three, she moved on to nursery school. She was a "farm friend", and she loved it and flourished in this program. She still drank from a bottle, which I covertly snuck her every afternoon when I picked her up from school. She would be so tired that I'd have to carry her into the house, where she would watch the video, BARNEY GOES TO SCHOOL every afternoon before she took a nap. I would sing along because I developed a sort of barney related schizophrenia wherein I heard his voice in my head singing these songs ALL DAY LONG.
When we moved back to my home town from the south, my daughter started first grade at the same elementary school that I went to as a child. The school starts at age three, so as a first grader, she was the "New Kid", which is not always easy to be. I still remember the sleepover a girl in her class had. In a very small school, a mother who clearly wasn't thinking, or was thinking something she should have been, decided to allow her daughter to invite half of the girls to her birthday sleepover. It was on a Friday night. At the end of the school day, the mom picked up all the invited guests from school. My daughter watched most of her friends tote their sleeping bags and their overnight kits down the hallway before they merrily boarded this mom's minivan. Naturally, she was upset.
That night, I realized that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to make it better, and that while compared to the possible disappointments she could have been suffering at that very moment, that disappointment was extremely minor, her little self could not understand that; or if she could, she did care. It was the biggest thing in her life. For the moment. Which, of course was fleeting, but seemed eternal for at least twenty four hours.
In June, my daughter "graduated" from this school with more good memories than bad. Ready to move on and yet sad to leave. I was thankful for the summer, high school was still three months away.
Three months, however, passed quickly. Trips here and there and everywhere coupled with the day to day maintenance of the house, the children, and our Olympic hopeful cat made the time fly faster than ever. I wonder if each year will get progressively shorter as I get progressively older. Actually, I don't wonder, I know; but I like to pretend that I wonder, and that maybe I am wrong, and time will eventually slow down.
Yesterday was orientation. We took her to the high school that she chose. This was a departure from how I was raised. My parents told me in no uncertain terms that I would go to an all girls catholic academy, and I did go, kicking and screaming all the way. I made friends and had fun along the way, but I didn't think then and I still don't think now that it was the right fit for me. Who knows though? I don't look back and judge.
Anyway, off she went this morning, in a skirt not much longer than the bloomer combination she wore to her first day of daycare. There were no tears today. I dropped her off close enough so that she wouldn't have to walk too far, but far enough away so that I couldn't be seen. Imagine the embarrassment. Cell phone in one hand, my lip gloss (which I confiscated) in the other, she leaned into the door. "I'll call you when I need a ride",
And all that was left to say was, "I'll be there..."
"It'll be fun. I"ll teach you all the really important things in life- like how to do laundry, wash dishes, change diapers, and clean a house."
"I already know how to do those things."
"Yes, you know how to do them, but at home school, you would actually do them."
Another eye roll, sigh, and exasperated MOOOOOOOOOOM.
You parents of cute little babies, toddlers, even my friends with middle schoolers, you don't know what you are in for... remember the scene in Jaws...the opening scene where the drunk girl goes out for a fun night time swim, only to tire and lay on a buoy for a short rest. Her head, spinning from her obvious buzz, she is comforted by the large buoyant object-the only thing that she can lean on in the vast, open ocean. Unfortunately, she can only take a brief breath before an angry, great white shark attacks her, drags her under the ocean, and eats her.
This is the best comparison of what it felt like to take my daughter to high school.
I remember her first day of school. She was about 14 months old. No, she is not that much of a genius, when I say school, I actually mean day care, but for my purposes, the two are equivalent. This was the first institution to which I surrender her. That first day, I dressed her in this little yellow duck outfit. It was one of those long, wide tops that criss cross in the back and fasten with one large button. Not quite a shirt, and not quite a dress, it came as a set with little bloomers, which covered her diaper. I can still remember how it was trimmed in white ric rac, and how moved my fingers back on forth over that trim as I held her in those final seconds before I handed her over to the teacher. I ran down the hall as I heard her start to scream. I headed towards my car crying. It would not be the last time that I left her there and left in tears, but of course, things did get better. She really connected with her teacher, which is a nice, non obnoxious way of saying that she was the teacher's favorite. In most cases I shun nepotism, but when I left my fourteen month old baby in the care of complete strangers, some how justice for all became a lot less important to me than my own child's happiness.
She made it through day care and by age three, she moved on to nursery school. She was a "farm friend", and she loved it and flourished in this program. She still drank from a bottle, which I covertly snuck her every afternoon when I picked her up from school. She would be so tired that I'd have to carry her into the house, where she would watch the video, BARNEY GOES TO SCHOOL every afternoon before she took a nap. I would sing along because I developed a sort of barney related schizophrenia wherein I heard his voice in my head singing these songs ALL DAY LONG.
When we moved back to my home town from the south, my daughter started first grade at the same elementary school that I went to as a child. The school starts at age three, so as a first grader, she was the "New Kid", which is not always easy to be. I still remember the sleepover a girl in her class had. In a very small school, a mother who clearly wasn't thinking, or was thinking something she should have been, decided to allow her daughter to invite half of the girls to her birthday sleepover. It was on a Friday night. At the end of the school day, the mom picked up all the invited guests from school. My daughter watched most of her friends tote their sleeping bags and their overnight kits down the hallway before they merrily boarded this mom's minivan. Naturally, she was upset.
That night, I realized that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to make it better, and that while compared to the possible disappointments she could have been suffering at that very moment, that disappointment was extremely minor, her little self could not understand that; or if she could, she did care. It was the biggest thing in her life. For the moment. Which, of course was fleeting, but seemed eternal for at least twenty four hours.
In June, my daughter "graduated" from this school with more good memories than bad. Ready to move on and yet sad to leave. I was thankful for the summer, high school was still three months away.
Three months, however, passed quickly. Trips here and there and everywhere coupled with the day to day maintenance of the house, the children, and our Olympic hopeful cat made the time fly faster than ever. I wonder if each year will get progressively shorter as I get progressively older. Actually, I don't wonder, I know; but I like to pretend that I wonder, and that maybe I am wrong, and time will eventually slow down.
Yesterday was orientation. We took her to the high school that she chose. This was a departure from how I was raised. My parents told me in no uncertain terms that I would go to an all girls catholic academy, and I did go, kicking and screaming all the way. I made friends and had fun along the way, but I didn't think then and I still don't think now that it was the right fit for me. Who knows though? I don't look back and judge.
Anyway, off she went this morning, in a skirt not much longer than the bloomer combination she wore to her first day of daycare. There were no tears today. I dropped her off close enough so that she wouldn't have to walk too far, but far enough away so that I couldn't be seen. Imagine the embarrassment. Cell phone in one hand, my lip gloss (which I confiscated) in the other, she leaned into the door. "I'll call you when I need a ride",
And all that was left to say was, "I'll be there..."
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Um apparently being born to a teenage mom does not ruin your life (cough, Barack Obama,cough)
A lot has been happening in the political arena these days. Between the conventions, the VP picks, the historic candidates;etc.etc. I'm not about to go on some diatribe about my own political opinions, so you can breathe a huge sigh of relief. What I do want to address is what I think may be one of the single best things that the American people can learn from this election, and that is that teenage pregnancy is NOT the end of the world.
Now I am not advocating that anyone call up their daughter's boyfriend and invite them for a sleepover. Whoa Betty. I was that kind of teenager whose parents looked the other way, sometimes, or just enough times for me to get into too much trouble. My daughter will not date until she is financially independent or forty, which ever comes first. Given her penchant for designer labels and the finer things, I'm thinking she will probably be forty.
I have learned in my life as a young mother, who had her first child at age nineteen, that "mistakes" happen, and they happen a lot more often than people would like to believe. The narrow stereotype of the teenage mother does not permit mainstream Americans to believe that good girls, smart girls, capable and competent girls can also be teenage mothers. As a result, a huge prejudice exists against teenage mothers that often extends to their offspring.
Just a couple of weeks ago, my daughter who recently completed middle school and is now headed to a different school entirely for high school confided in me that during her days at her small, private, elementary school, she was often teased about having the youngest parents by both students and teachers alike.
Just last year, she told me "Mrs. so and so said, she could be your mother, and my grandmother and she is only in her fifties." Well, whoop dee doo, I thought in my head. Amazing, the woman didn't even teach math, and yet clearly she was a mathematical genius to be able to calculate that!
I tried to pretend to be exasperated by that remark and by some of the other snippy remarks my daughter told me about. The truth was, I was surprised by none of them, I have heard them a hundred thousand times before.
People have asked me questions, such as "What did you start when you were like 15?" If I had a nickel for every time some one said to me, "You don't look old enough to have a child that age", or "you must have been a baby when you had her." As yes, babies giving birth to babies is a very common occurrence. I remember taking my daughter to school for the first time and the headmaster said to me, in a very condescending tone, "you look like you could be in eighth grade."
Of course, the stupid comments aren't so bad in and of themselves. What frustrates, and agitates, and angers me when people say these things, is the fact that they clearly lack any respect for me. Any person with a normal level of sensitivity would understand that such a subject might be difficult to talk about, and therefore would not, for example, ask me at the shoe counter how old I was when I started having children? The notion in our society is that young mothers are not worthy of and do not deserve respect.
Young mothers place a drain on society. They are not competent or capable of being good parents. Nowadays, the bar is raised higher and higher everyday as to at what age a person can be a really good parent. The acceptable age seems to be at a minimum 25; with people over thirty being concerned more perfect for the job.
It's kind of like the whole presidential debate. Do you need experience to be a great president, or is good judgement more important? Do youth or old age significantly impact what kind of job a person will do? Does doing something for a longer time necessarily make people better at it? Or does it depend on the person. The totality of who they are, what they believe, how hard they are willing to work, what their intellectual ability is, what their educational background is;etc;etc.
I believe it does depend on the person and that everyone deserves a shot. You can't simply judge people by numbers and facts on a paper; and you shouldn't look at people differently or believe they are less capable simply because they have made a "mistake", or they have made a lifestyle choice that is out of the norm. And yet I see this happen everyday. When people ask me how old my oldest child is, their faces drop. Their minds quickly attempt to calculate, to add up what, to them, just isn't right.
I hope during this campaign season, Americans will begin to reevaluate their prejudices against teenage mothers and their children. I hope that they will see Barack Obama as a historic candidate, not only because he is African American, but also because he is the son of a teenage a mom. A mom who loved him; who struggled against adversity; who stuck through the hard times to raise a son so special that he became an historical candidate for the presidency. Apparently, she was old enough, smart enough, competent enough to do a good job.
The story of Sarah Palin's pregnant daughter should also give the country a chance to see firsthand that all teenage mother's are not selfish, stupid, and lazy. The scrutiny that this poor, young girl will have to face as the daughter of a vice presidential candidate will most certainly be ten times the scrutiny she would face as an unknown teen mother; but I hope that her additional suffering will not be for naught. In a more modest setting that celeb teenage moms, this young woman will have the chance to show the nation that choosing to become a teen mom is, in most cases, a brave choice; a great sacrifice; and the type of job that only a person of true substance and character would be willing to undertake.
So many see this race as a win for women; a win for African Americans; and of course it is. But no matter what party wins, I see this as a win for young mothers everywhere. We mustn't hide in the shadows; we mustn't believe those who tell us we have ruined our lives forever. We mustn't allow society to define us. Rather, we must hold our heads high knowing we are capable of making the best of things; of turning our lives around; of putting our noses up in the face of adversity; and of raising children who one day might be president.
After all, everyone in this life makes mistakes, faces challenges, and comes to a crossroad. What defines a person is not what happens to them but how they handle it. Hopefully this campaign season will help to illuminate this truth especially as it pertains to teenage mothers. If it does, then no matter what else happens, this election will truly be about change.
Now I am not advocating that anyone call up their daughter's boyfriend and invite them for a sleepover. Whoa Betty. I was that kind of teenager whose parents looked the other way, sometimes, or just enough times for me to get into too much trouble. My daughter will not date until she is financially independent or forty, which ever comes first. Given her penchant for designer labels and the finer things, I'm thinking she will probably be forty.
I have learned in my life as a young mother, who had her first child at age nineteen, that "mistakes" happen, and they happen a lot more often than people would like to believe. The narrow stereotype of the teenage mother does not permit mainstream Americans to believe that good girls, smart girls, capable and competent girls can also be teenage mothers. As a result, a huge prejudice exists against teenage mothers that often extends to their offspring.
Just a couple of weeks ago, my daughter who recently completed middle school and is now headed to a different school entirely for high school confided in me that during her days at her small, private, elementary school, she was often teased about having the youngest parents by both students and teachers alike.
Just last year, she told me "Mrs. so and so said, she could be your mother, and my grandmother and she is only in her fifties." Well, whoop dee doo, I thought in my head. Amazing, the woman didn't even teach math, and yet clearly she was a mathematical genius to be able to calculate that!
I tried to pretend to be exasperated by that remark and by some of the other snippy remarks my daughter told me about. The truth was, I was surprised by none of them, I have heard them a hundred thousand times before.
People have asked me questions, such as "What did you start when you were like 15?" If I had a nickel for every time some one said to me, "You don't look old enough to have a child that age", or "you must have been a baby when you had her." As yes, babies giving birth to babies is a very common occurrence. I remember taking my daughter to school for the first time and the headmaster said to me, in a very condescending tone, "you look like you could be in eighth grade."
Of course, the stupid comments aren't so bad in and of themselves. What frustrates, and agitates, and angers me when people say these things, is the fact that they clearly lack any respect for me. Any person with a normal level of sensitivity would understand that such a subject might be difficult to talk about, and therefore would not, for example, ask me at the shoe counter how old I was when I started having children? The notion in our society is that young mothers are not worthy of and do not deserve respect.
Young mothers place a drain on society. They are not competent or capable of being good parents. Nowadays, the bar is raised higher and higher everyday as to at what age a person can be a really good parent. The acceptable age seems to be at a minimum 25; with people over thirty being concerned more perfect for the job.
It's kind of like the whole presidential debate. Do you need experience to be a great president, or is good judgement more important? Do youth or old age significantly impact what kind of job a person will do? Does doing something for a longer time necessarily make people better at it? Or does it depend on the person. The totality of who they are, what they believe, how hard they are willing to work, what their intellectual ability is, what their educational background is;etc;etc.
I believe it does depend on the person and that everyone deserves a shot. You can't simply judge people by numbers and facts on a paper; and you shouldn't look at people differently or believe they are less capable simply because they have made a "mistake", or they have made a lifestyle choice that is out of the norm. And yet I see this happen everyday. When people ask me how old my oldest child is, their faces drop. Their minds quickly attempt to calculate, to add up what, to them, just isn't right.
I hope during this campaign season, Americans will begin to reevaluate their prejudices against teenage mothers and their children. I hope that they will see Barack Obama as a historic candidate, not only because he is African American, but also because he is the son of a teenage a mom. A mom who loved him; who struggled against adversity; who stuck through the hard times to raise a son so special that he became an historical candidate for the presidency. Apparently, she was old enough, smart enough, competent enough to do a good job.
The story of Sarah Palin's pregnant daughter should also give the country a chance to see firsthand that all teenage mother's are not selfish, stupid, and lazy. The scrutiny that this poor, young girl will have to face as the daughter of a vice presidential candidate will most certainly be ten times the scrutiny she would face as an unknown teen mother; but I hope that her additional suffering will not be for naught. In a more modest setting that celeb teenage moms, this young woman will have the chance to show the nation that choosing to become a teen mom is, in most cases, a brave choice; a great sacrifice; and the type of job that only a person of true substance and character would be willing to undertake.
So many see this race as a win for women; a win for African Americans; and of course it is. But no matter what party wins, I see this as a win for young mothers everywhere. We mustn't hide in the shadows; we mustn't believe those who tell us we have ruined our lives forever. We mustn't allow society to define us. Rather, we must hold our heads high knowing we are capable of making the best of things; of turning our lives around; of putting our noses up in the face of adversity; and of raising children who one day might be president.
After all, everyone in this life makes mistakes, faces challenges, and comes to a crossroad. What defines a person is not what happens to them but how they handle it. Hopefully this campaign season will help to illuminate this truth especially as it pertains to teenage mothers. If it does, then no matter what else happens, this election will truly be about change.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Baby, you are the best
So my most recent non-sensical real life ranting and ravings have been about my cat, Stuart. I made up, I mean, I intuited,(would someone please teach me how to strike) this whole crazy thing about Stuart becoming very, very jealous of Micheal Phelps while he watched the olympics.
I am guest poster over at http://mommyneedstherapy.blogspot.com/ today, and you can read all about Stuart and his olympic dreams on this blog, which belongs to my new blog buddy and northeast neighbor, Kristine.
While most of my friends and family have laughed at me/ with me when I tell them this story, my one friend, Meredith, has actually fully indulged me in this flight of fancy. Meredith is an artist, and has even agreed to draw the illustrations for my children's book, Introducing Stuart the Cat. I have been writing this in my head for a very long time as Stuart is almost nine years old. I am sure after this post, many, many publishers will be contacting me.
Last night, while hanging out with Meredith, my brother and some other friends, Meredith presented me with a gift. This, in itself, entitles her to the compliment that is the title of this post. I was so appreciative of her thoughtfulness. When I opened it, I nearly fell to the floor in hysterics.
It was purchased at Cafe press. The bowl was in stock, and not a custom order. The journal, she hand created. She also showed me t-shirts that she has had made on the sight. My only concern is that she is going to develop the type of unhealthy relationship with cafe press that some people have with the home shopping network. Don't worry, Mer, I will reign you in if you get out of control. For now, these are definitely some of the best gifts I have ever received. And next time, we'll go to karoke and I'll actually sing you my go to song by Carly Simon, Baby, you're the best. Now head over and read guest post and leave many, many comments/compliments
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Being Laurie of the seven stories
To my readers who have never seen this movie, Being John Malkovich(sp?) I apologize, this post is not for you. Those of you who have seen the movie, this is what it is like being Laurie of the seven stories. Yes, I am working on a half floor and subsquently,constantly bumping my head on shit.
8:45 A.m. Baby Tasha wakes me up by screaming MA MA MA- my usual reply on a Saturday- Daddy will get you breakfast is met with vehement opposition. I must climb the steps to the first floor, and pretend I know how to cook. Luckily pouring milk on a bowl of separated frosted mini wheats is like a gourmet breakfast for my 1 yr old.
10 AM my oldest daughter informs me that only I can take her to her hair appointment. I am simulataneously scared to death and flattered. I know nothing good can come of this, and yet WTF she is wanting me. Isn't this like Armstong on the moon?
10:45 A hairstylist says to me, "is that what she wants?" I laugh diabolically. Thank Fing God this is not my job. "Oh no, I say,whatever she wants, I will not be to blame.
12:00am I am the target_ I call my husband- I am going to run errands until she is done at the hair dressers. OK, I guess I am housebound he says. Yes I say,that's what my whole week is like. Yes , he says, but I have a job. Oh right and I am home with five kids doing nothing, how silly of me (I say gasping for air)
12:25 I try to text msg my friend who has now sent me three texts out of guilt for not attending my party last week. The last one is ome peace, and I have no idea what the f this means? I want to text her back to her let her know I am not really really mad, but secret, I have no idea how to text. I am practicing and accidentally send her a message telling her - not ready for school 2 much work bthweieas256343. I do not know how to erase.
12:45 Run into my cousin at TaRget, whom I haven't seen in awhile. Last time I saw her she was at my front door demanding I write her a check for something like a walk athon. I see her in the target- she has tears in her eyes. Her husband is pushing the cart smiling and laughing like a hyena. I say Hi and my friendliness is met with animosity. Bye then , she says, pushing me and my empty cart aside. leaving her husband to smile at me bewildered. WTF, again.
1:00 Msg from my daughter. I hate my hair and told the stylist. She is redoing it. I wonder if I can call the hospital and find my real child. The one who looks in the mirror while in the chair, screaming inside, and says, it looks great, I love it, until she gets home and tells her mother how her visit to the hairdresser has destroyed her life.
1:15 Call my cousin Jennifer who reassures me our other cousin is crazy. She tells me she is making Team Laurie shirts for the family wedding next week. I tell her that if I have inadvertently offended her in any way, that I am sorry, but ya know...
1:45 After having her hair redone, daughter proves she is mine by acting just as I once did. ANother one bites the dust.
2:45 Get kids ready to go over to Moira and Chaz's house for dinner and swim. Will these people stop at nothing for publicity?
12:15am arrive home- tired, distraught, banging my head on the low ceiling and lookin forward to my anniversary- not of my marriage, but of the night that Moira and I drank on her patio until 5 am without realizing it was past say 2 am. Chaz reminded us tonight it will be a yr this week. He is offering again to take the kids to the baseball game. I am expecting a candle light dinner....
And this folks is what it is like to be me. Talk about your major motion pictures
8:45 A.m. Baby Tasha wakes me up by screaming MA MA MA- my usual reply on a Saturday- Daddy will get you breakfast is met with vehement opposition. I must climb the steps to the first floor, and pretend I know how to cook. Luckily pouring milk on a bowl of separated frosted mini wheats is like a gourmet breakfast for my 1 yr old.
10 AM my oldest daughter informs me that only I can take her to her hair appointment. I am simulataneously scared to death and flattered. I know nothing good can come of this, and yet WTF she is wanting me. Isn't this like Armstong on the moon?
10:45 A hairstylist says to me, "is that what she wants?" I laugh diabolically. Thank Fing God this is not my job. "Oh no, I say,whatever she wants, I will not be to blame.
12:00am I am the target_ I call my husband- I am going to run errands until she is done at the hair dressers. OK, I guess I am housebound he says. Yes I say,that's what my whole week is like. Yes , he says, but I have a job. Oh right and I am home with five kids doing nothing, how silly of me (I say gasping for air)
12:25 I try to text msg my friend who has now sent me three texts out of guilt for not attending my party last week. The last one is ome peace, and I have no idea what the f this means? I want to text her back to her let her know I am not really really mad, but secret, I have no idea how to text. I am practicing and accidentally send her a message telling her - not ready for school 2 much work bthweieas256343. I do not know how to erase.
12:45 Run into my cousin at TaRget, whom I haven't seen in awhile. Last time I saw her she was at my front door demanding I write her a check for something like a walk athon. I see her in the target- she has tears in her eyes. Her husband is pushing the cart smiling and laughing like a hyena. I say Hi and my friendliness is met with animosity. Bye then , she says, pushing me and my empty cart aside. leaving her husband to smile at me bewildered. WTF, again.
1:00 Msg from my daughter. I hate my hair and told the stylist. She is redoing it. I wonder if I can call the hospital and find my real child. The one who looks in the mirror while in the chair, screaming inside, and says, it looks great, I love it, until she gets home and tells her mother how her visit to the hairdresser has destroyed her life.
1:15 Call my cousin Jennifer who reassures me our other cousin is crazy. She tells me she is making Team Laurie shirts for the family wedding next week. I tell her that if I have inadvertently offended her in any way, that I am sorry, but ya know...
1:45 After having her hair redone, daughter proves she is mine by acting just as I once did. ANother one bites the dust.
2:45 Get kids ready to go over to Moira and Chaz's house for dinner and swim. Will these people stop at nothing for publicity?
12:15am arrive home- tired, distraught, banging my head on the low ceiling and lookin forward to my anniversary- not of my marriage, but of the night that Moira and I drank on her patio until 5 am without realizing it was past say 2 am. Chaz reminded us tonight it will be a yr this week. He is offering again to take the kids to the baseball game. I am expecting a candle light dinner....
And this folks is what it is like to be me. Talk about your major motion pictures
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Spohrs may be multiplying, but we're producing on the playground as well...
Isabelle, the Diva
No, I wasn't in pageants(shocking) Aidan, Ethan and Sierra 
The little girls
Tasha
Tasha take twoOkay, so here's the deal. I want to be a successful blogger, writer; etc.; etc. I have joined many groups- all mediocre, local philly mommy bloggers, blog nut, I am a blissfully domestic diva- and still I am not quite where I want to be or where I think I should be.
There are a lot of blogs that seem to get quite a bit of attention. I think these blogs are great and deserving, but I think my blog is equally great and deserving, so hey give a girl a chance.
Recently, when visiting the blog of another all mediocre member, I wondered if, for a moment, what is missing from my blog are more pictures of my baby beauties.
One blog in particular, The Spohrs are Multiplying seems to get a lot of attention because it includes some very cute pictures of baby Maddie. But here is the thing- while the Spohrs may have multiplied and made one heck of a cute kid- over here at the playground, we are freaking mass producing. I mean, not only do we have one adorable baby, we also have four other reasonably cute kids.
So all you Spohr lovers, mommy bloggers, baby lovers and kid connoisseurs, won't you consider spending some time on the playground? It's really fun, I promise- I'll be your best friend, I'll share, and I'll always give you a push when you need one.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Dealing Drugs at the Park
Hello again, loyal readers. I'm glad to see that all four, oh and you in the back make five, of you have returned. I have a moment, of which I am excessively proud, to share with you for today's tale.
Allow me to mention first, however, that when I returned home tonight, I checked my email only to find that I have been asked to join a blogger community called blognut. I have added a button link on my sidebar. The Universe must be in proper alignment, as clearly my peers are now easily able to find me, and to invite me to join them.
Loyal readers, you will remember me telling you about my fabulous beyond fabulous friend Moira. Remember, the one married to the handsome, and excessively charming Chaz. They attended the eighties party with me, and yet Moira was quick to point out in my comments that though she had a good time, most of the music was from the nineties. It was at that party also, if you recall me mentioning, that both Moira and Chaz, loyal readers and real world friends told me that my blog would improve ten fold, if I made more mention of how fabulous the two of them are, and if I talked about all of our awesome times together.
This evening I have the perfect opportunity to mention Moira again, and to test her theory.
This morning was a crazy morning. While lounging in bed at ten of nine with the little girls, since the boys were still sleeping, I decided to check my voice mail. There was a message from our Dentist, who happens to be my Uncle, who happens to hate lateness and missed appointments, which was a reminder call for the boys' dental appointments. They were today! At 9:45 a.m.!
All hell broke loose. Showers were turned on. Clothes were gathered. Hair was brushed in the car. As we pulled away, the girls sat in their car seats, still in their pajamas, drinking from sippy cups and eating granola bars for breakfast.
After I took the boys to the dentist, dropped them off, ran home, bathed and changed the girls, dressed myself, and returned to pick the boys up, we went out for a late breakfast/ early lunch, before returning home. I was sitting at the computer, trying to balance my checkbook, pay bills, assemble school papers, and deciding what uniforms I still needed to order when Moira called.
We talked on the phone for a few minutes...
Yes, the kids are making me crazy, too. No, I forgot to take the dental forms to be filled out for school with me to the office this morning. Yes, I did find a good place to buy massive quantities of navy Knee socks; my house also looks like a bomb hit it; and pretty much I can not stand the thought of having to go back to school. No matter what, I am not volunteering for anything this year.
Finally, I say to Moira, as I can hear her kids chanting in the background, "Can we go to Petco?", Do you want to take these kids to the park for a bit?
Initially, she says, "No, I can't". She starts to list all of the things that she really has to do. The lizards need live crickets to eat. At 11cents a cricket, she reasons she may spend more feeding the lizards this year than we currently spend to send our children to private school. Sounds impossible to me, but they could be very hungry lizards. Perhaps, it is the thought that all of her money will either be spent educating the children or feeding the lizards that makes her decide to say, "I'll meet you in a half an hour."
We arrive at the park at about the same time. We have three kids, the same age and the same sex, so instantly they all run off and go play. We would like to sit in the shade and just bitch, but I still have Tasha to traipse after. When the rest of the gang decides to include Tasha in their escapades, we begin to discuss everything from what teacher our kids got, to what class got more "bad"kids, to how difficult it is to get all the back to school shit together. We wonder if it's all worth it.
We talk about the flurry of activities about to begin. Monday thru Friday nights will again be booked up by sports, religion classes, homework, dance and music lessons. The lazy days of summer sure are fading fast, and we both agree that we feel like we are drowning in a sea of registration forms, plaid kilts, and navy blue polo shirts. Why neither of us has brought a flask to the park is really puzzling.
At the end of our spur of the moment play date, our kids play the "I'll hide in the other mom's car" game. No one wants to leave- no one wants to go to their right house. Everyone wants one more sleepover, one more game of hide and seek, one more afternoon of unplanned fun. We look at the kids and realize how big they are getting. When we first met, her oldest, and my second oldest were four; her second son and mine were under two, and we were both pregnant with the girls, who have grown up to be best of buddies. Sadly, this is the first year they won't be in the same class year. Time changes absolutely everything.
As we try to remove the kids from each other's cars- we exchange other items with one another. A toy her daughter left at our house, my daughter has brought along to return. She has extra uniforms for me, since someone gave her a lot of girls clothes. We say goodbye, and as she begins to pull away, I jump from my car waving my pill bottle, "wait"...
That was the other thing we were going to exchange. I was going to give her some xanax; she was going to share her atavan. She wants to feel normal, not sleepy; and I can't sleep lately, worrying about pretty much everything. I stand at her car window, in the park parking lot, pill bottle in hand. She pulls hers from her purse.
This is really bad, she says. You gotta write about this on your blog.
It's a damn good thing we are not celebrities being stalked by tabloids. There would be tons of pictures of this exchange everywhere, I tell her.
We laugh, do our drug deal in the parking lot,and then part ways.
We may be getting older, we may be moms of school aged children, but we are still incorrigible and crazy. At least, some things in our lives have stayed the same. And for the things that are in flux, thank god we have the meds.
Allow me to mention first, however, that when I returned home tonight, I checked my email only to find that I have been asked to join a blogger community called blognut. I have added a button link on my sidebar. The Universe must be in proper alignment, as clearly my peers are now easily able to find me, and to invite me to join them.
Loyal readers, you will remember me telling you about my fabulous beyond fabulous friend Moira. Remember, the one married to the handsome, and excessively charming Chaz. They attended the eighties party with me, and yet Moira was quick to point out in my comments that though she had a good time, most of the music was from the nineties. It was at that party also, if you recall me mentioning, that both Moira and Chaz, loyal readers and real world friends told me that my blog would improve ten fold, if I made more mention of how fabulous the two of them are, and if I talked about all of our awesome times together.
This evening I have the perfect opportunity to mention Moira again, and to test her theory.
This morning was a crazy morning. While lounging in bed at ten of nine with the little girls, since the boys were still sleeping, I decided to check my voice mail. There was a message from our Dentist, who happens to be my Uncle, who happens to hate lateness and missed appointments, which was a reminder call for the boys' dental appointments. They were today! At 9:45 a.m.!
All hell broke loose. Showers were turned on. Clothes were gathered. Hair was brushed in the car. As we pulled away, the girls sat in their car seats, still in their pajamas, drinking from sippy cups and eating granola bars for breakfast.
After I took the boys to the dentist, dropped them off, ran home, bathed and changed the girls, dressed myself, and returned to pick the boys up, we went out for a late breakfast/ early lunch, before returning home. I was sitting at the computer, trying to balance my checkbook, pay bills, assemble school papers, and deciding what uniforms I still needed to order when Moira called.
We talked on the phone for a few minutes...
Yes, the kids are making me crazy, too. No, I forgot to take the dental forms to be filled out for school with me to the office this morning. Yes, I did find a good place to buy massive quantities of navy Knee socks; my house also looks like a bomb hit it; and pretty much I can not stand the thought of having to go back to school. No matter what, I am not volunteering for anything this year.
Finally, I say to Moira, as I can hear her kids chanting in the background, "Can we go to Petco?", Do you want to take these kids to the park for a bit?
Initially, she says, "No, I can't". She starts to list all of the things that she really has to do. The lizards need live crickets to eat. At 11cents a cricket, she reasons she may spend more feeding the lizards this year than we currently spend to send our children to private school. Sounds impossible to me, but they could be very hungry lizards. Perhaps, it is the thought that all of her money will either be spent educating the children or feeding the lizards that makes her decide to say, "I'll meet you in a half an hour."
We arrive at the park at about the same time. We have three kids, the same age and the same sex, so instantly they all run off and go play. We would like to sit in the shade and just bitch, but I still have Tasha to traipse after. When the rest of the gang decides to include Tasha in their escapades, we begin to discuss everything from what teacher our kids got, to what class got more "bad"kids, to how difficult it is to get all the back to school shit together. We wonder if it's all worth it.
We talk about the flurry of activities about to begin. Monday thru Friday nights will again be booked up by sports, religion classes, homework, dance and music lessons. The lazy days of summer sure are fading fast, and we both agree that we feel like we are drowning in a sea of registration forms, plaid kilts, and navy blue polo shirts. Why neither of us has brought a flask to the park is really puzzling.
At the end of our spur of the moment play date, our kids play the "I'll hide in the other mom's car" game. No one wants to leave- no one wants to go to their right house. Everyone wants one more sleepover, one more game of hide and seek, one more afternoon of unplanned fun. We look at the kids and realize how big they are getting. When we first met, her oldest, and my second oldest were four; her second son and mine were under two, and we were both pregnant with the girls, who have grown up to be best of buddies. Sadly, this is the first year they won't be in the same class year. Time changes absolutely everything.
As we try to remove the kids from each other's cars- we exchange other items with one another. A toy her daughter left at our house, my daughter has brought along to return. She has extra uniforms for me, since someone gave her a lot of girls clothes. We say goodbye, and as she begins to pull away, I jump from my car waving my pill bottle, "wait"...
That was the other thing we were going to exchange. I was going to give her some xanax; she was going to share her atavan. She wants to feel normal, not sleepy; and I can't sleep lately, worrying about pretty much everything. I stand at her car window, in the park parking lot, pill bottle in hand. She pulls hers from her purse.
This is really bad, she says. You gotta write about this on your blog.
It's a damn good thing we are not celebrities being stalked by tabloids. There would be tons of pictures of this exchange everywhere, I tell her.
We laugh, do our drug deal in the parking lot,and then part ways.
We may be getting older, we may be moms of school aged children, but we are still incorrigible and crazy. At least, some things in our lives have stayed the same. And for the things that are in flux, thank god we have the meds.
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