My secret fear

You know how you are always supposed to wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident or something...that's not really a fear I have. I hope I have underwear on at all, but other than that...not really worried about it.

You know what worries me...what if someone who I want to impress got ahold of my tivo list, my itunes, or my pandora stations? It would be like looking into my soul. And people, let me tell you, it would not be a pretty sight.

I fear the day when someone innocently enough scans the list of my recorded shows and sees the new 90210, Gossip Girl, ALL Bravo shows, and much much more that is slowly draining all of my brain cells.

And since I just confessed the TV part of my soul...I'm going to keep my bad music taste to myself.

Bribery or positive reinforcement...your choice

I have a friend of a friend, or maybe this mother is just an urban legend, but the story goes that she doesn't bribe her children...EVER. Not for nothing.

After I roll my eyes, laugh, close my wide open/fly catching mouth, and make sure the other mothers are reacting the same way, I shout, "no freakin' way, it's not possible."

But is it? Is it possible?

After hearing this story for the first time, I really tuned in to the amount of bribery that occurred in my house on a regular basis.

"boy eat your dinner"
"NO!"
"if you eat is I'll give you gummies"
"OK"

"Boy get dressed for school"
"NO!"
"if you get dressed we can go to the park after school"
"OK"

"Boy make your bed, clean your room, and pick up your toys"
"NO!"
"if you make your bed, clean your room, and pick up your toys, I'll buy you a firetruck"
"NO!" (Alright, for somethings even bribery doesn't work)

At the end of my highly extensive and reliable survey, I concluded that we bribe A LOT. In fact, I don't think that we could get anything done without a little mob boss bribery.

But last night I figured out that the urban legend mother does exist and it is possible to live a life with children without bribery. You just have to use positive reinforcement.

Today the scenes went like this
"boy eat your dinner"
"NO!"
"if you eat is I'll give you gummies"
"OK"

"Boy get dressed for school"
"NO!"
"if you get dressed we can go to the park after school"
"OK"

"Boy make your bed, clean your room, and pick up your toys"
"NO!""if you make your bed, clean your room, and pick up your toys, I'll buy you a firetruck"
"NO!" (Alright, for somethings even positive reinforcement doesn't work)

Ahhh the beauty of semantics.

Cover yourself up...or not

So I went to the doctor. No worries people...the dermatologist...there will be no stirrups in this story. And, after 30 some odd years in the sun, many of them equipped with baby oil, a chaise lounge, an extension cord and a tv... I thought it was time I got a full body check. You know, make sure all these freckles really are just that, freckles.

As the nurse brings me into the room, she instructs me to leave my underwear on and then put on the robe. Sounds simple enough.

I picked up the robe, but in actuality is should be called a paper towel. Only that a paper towel is softer, more absorbent, and probably bigger. What the F? This robe had neither a front or a back, it was about 6 inches long, It scratched the bejesus out of my skin and I tried it on 10 different times. Were the holes for my arms, my head, my legs? Did it open in the front or the back? Was it a top or a bottom? Did they forget to leave the robe and I was actually struggling with toilet paper?

When I finally decided on the proper position/alignment of it, I settled down onto the table, looked down, and realized that my "robe" didn't even cover all of my bra, my stomach was completely exposed, and forget it about covering my underwear. (none of this was really an issue because after childbirth, modesty doesn't really exist around here).

At that point the Doctor walked in, smiled, and said, "Sorry about the robes, we're trying to cut back on costs."

Save your $.12 a patient lady. I would have been easier to stay in just my underwear.

I'm not THAT mom!

Pre-kids I was a teacher. So let me tell you, I have more than my share of opinions of THAT mom. You know...the mom who wants you to change her child's grade, the mom who calls you at home to ask about her child's homework assignment, the mom who hangs around school ALL day watching what you do, the mom who believes her child's version of a story over yours...OMG the list could go on.

I swear to you, I am not nor will I ever be THAT mom. I won't let it happen.

BUT...pre-school started this week. And while my darling 4 year old loves it (in fact he gave me a high-five at dinner last night and when I asked him what it was for he said, "for letting me go to school") I can't help but worry. When I ask him in the car each day what he did he tells me "we played, we painted, we had so much fun." And as he is saying this I feel all the little hairs on my arm stand up straight.

No math, no writing, no reading???? What are they doing over there? Is he going to fall behind?

I follow up with thinking

He's 4, he's bright, he's doing great.

And then I repeat to myself.

Don't be THAT mom. Don't be THAT mom. Don't believe everything he tells you.

I know, I know but I can't help but worry about his academics...did I mention that he is only 4?

Maybe I should also mention that I apparently am totally crazy.

Weight Loss

I'm back on Weight Watchers.

Big freakin' surprise as I seem to ALWAYS be "on" something. On Adtkins, on Jenny Craig, on WW, on the wagon...whatever drastic measures I have to take to lose some weight.

And tonight, I think I deserve some seriously good weight loss karma.

We ordered pizza. Delicious, regular crust, pepperoni and sausage pizza. Hubby and big boy and little girl all devoured more than their share (actually I'm currently listening to hubby compain about his indulgence). And you know what I ate? No...not grilled fish, I'm not that good. But a Lean Cuisine pizza and a salad. I KNOW...I deserve a weight watching medal of some sort.

At the very least I think that calories should be calculated by not how much you ate, but by how much you resisted.

Today would go something like this:
Bagel and cream cheese with kids: -525
hot dog at lunch: -350
milkshake with son after teacher meeting: -425
lots and lots of pizza: -800
vodka with tonic: -1000 (it is Friday people!)

Total weight loss= -3100 calories...which should equal about one WHOLE pound for today.

Damn I'm good.

Back handed victory

Rewind about 4 years ago. I head off to London to visit my parents with my then 8 month old. I leave my husband in our home alone for what I figure will be 7 days of beer, pizza, and freedom to sleep in an unmade bed. I expect to come home to a house with the toilet seats up, recycling not taken out and lots of dirty laundry. How wrong I was.

This is what I came home to:

Yes, doesn't every family with a new baby need a 1973 Bronco? One that "is such a good deal honey. We're going to make money on this, I swear."

Fast forward to present time. That great deal has sat in the garage for 4 years and has racked up only 400 miles (one trip from old house to new house)

So imagine my delight when last week my husband ON HIS OWN decided to sell the great deal in exchange for this:

why the little girl is wearing a helmet still remains a mystery!

I really thought that after 7 years I had made an impact. Our third car was going to be one that we both would enjoy, could take to the beach, to yoga, to the store...wherever. He was considering my desires, recognizing the immaturity of the purchase of a 1973 Ford Bronco that doesn't even work and just drips oil in the garage, and putting the safety of the kids before his juvenile joy ride. (again, the helmet is a mystery!)

Can I just say it again...How wrong I was!

Because...within one week, this is what I came home to:

Oh...did I mention that in order to pay for this lovely vessel, he has to sell the Bronco AND his car...so now there is no 3rd vehicle...just his car (see picture above) and mine.

So after seven years, the only thing that has happened is that his impulse purchases have gotten more expensive and he has gotten A LOT better at working things to his advantage. Damn.

What are you watching?

I don't usually proclaim my political beliefs here on my blog...but I have to say:

But regardless of who you will vote for in November...you'll agree with me on this. At least, I think you will.


Tonight, at my in-laws, at the Jersey Shore, sequestered in the basement to watch the Democratic National Convention, I was horrified by what I saw/found. At 9:15, I turned on the TV (all by myself as the conservative members of the family watched the Phillies game) only to find that the 4 major networks on TV were more concerned with Super Nanny, America's Got Talent, Bones, and Whacked Out Videos than with Bill Clinton speaking. You know him right? Former president of the United States, husband to the runner-up, and headline maker for the past 100 days for his contentious relationship with the Obama's. Why can't I find him on TV?

Thank goodness for public television...otherwise I might have voted for Sharon Osbourne or David Hasselhoff for president. And thank goodness for them more for cutting to commercial during John Kerry!

I love me some TV...but this is ridiculous!

Farmer's Market

There is something so peaceful about going to the farmer's market on the weekends. I ususally get to go alone, I usually wander around for about 15 minutes drinking a coffee, and then I usually shell out obscene amounts of money for fresh grown produce, baked goods, and flowers. It is pure heaven.

Happiness

Happiness for me:

A day on the boat followed by a crab feast and kids who sleep more than 12 hours

Happiness for husband: Playing skipper and skipping work

Happiness for son: Going super fast on the first boat to play pirate on the 2nd boat

Not so happiness for daughter: Being dragged around for all the activity and being stuffed like a sausage in her life preserver

I miss you summer camp

For the past four weeks the little boy has been going to summer camp. And while he was there the little girl and I have been enjoying our peace and quiet. Hitting the gym, taking naps, and just walking around the house without getting run over by a super spy or a growling dinosaur.

And while we relaxed, took deep breaths, and enjoyed our time together just mother and daughter, the little boy was having the time of his life.

I mean, what's not to love about hiking, songs, crafts, and learning about all sorts of interesting animals? It was a 4 year old boys dream come true. Covered in dirt with a smile as wide as the grand canyon each day, he never wanted to come home and was determined to go to camp even after I told him his counselors wouldn't be there on Saturdays and Sundays.

And camp, apparently, is the gift that keeps giving. Because not only was he out all morning tromping around in the woods and creeks, but he came home exhausted, quiet for quiet time and ready for bed by 7pm. To say we got our money's worth is an understatement.

So today I am a bit sad. Not because the little boy is home (I actually am looking forward to a few days with no need to rush out the door at 8am) but because it signals the end of summer. And next year at camp he'll be a little bit older, a little more jaded and a little less likely to sing his camp songs at full volume every time I ask him. So from now until then we'll be singing the songs and dancing the steps to keep up the feeling that summer camp left with us this year. Thanks Nature Tots!

I'm back!

I really do wonder what people did before internet. Did they actually call their friends? Write them a little note , print out pictures and hand them out? Go to the grocery store? Or a mall? Call a doctor?

This past month I have a small exercise in what it must be like with out internet OR a home phone. And let me tell you...it wasn't pretty. I had to spend nap time doing things like sweep the floor, fold laundry, make dinner. What the F? I didn't sign up for this antiquated stay-at-home mom crap.

But breathe a huge sigh of relief. Procrastination, late night purchasing, and reading gossip are all back on the agenda.

Oh...and maybe I'll blog a little bit too. We've had a pretty good month since Mommy hasn't been handcuffed to Perez Hilton.

what makes me cranky...and more

You want to know makes me cranky? No internet service.

It isn't that I have had deep, profound things to say to you all. In fact, NOTHING has happened in the five days that I have gone without internet service...but you wouldn't know that would you...becuase I couldn't tell you.

What kills me is that our interent goes out and I think that I am missing the world. Who is emailing me? Who wants to be my facebook friend? What new blog posts are there? What's my bank balance? AND...does Brittany have custody of her kids yet?

But without internet service, I am totally at a loss. I know nothing, yet I think that SO much is happening. And it kills me.

So today, I drive 4 hours to get to my in-laws (not just to get internet, but it did make me drive a bit faster) and I found that I had only 10 e-mails (3 of which mattered AT ALL), there was only 1 new blog post of interest, and NO ONE wanted to be my friend.

So all that anxiety for the past 3 days was for nothing.

But how else am I supposed to pass nap time each day if I don't have service?

Thighs and other parts

I recently was able to visit a very good friend of mine and there are 1 million reasons why I love her, but today the reason is that she has made me 100% embrace my girl's thighs. When I saw her, she and her sister couldn't get enough of the thighs and the overall squishiness of my daughter. They were squealing and drooling over her baby fat like I do when I pass Cinnabon in the mall. And after just a few hours I realized that I, too, am in awe of all her rolls, skin, and generous padding.

And I also love this friend because for my daughter's birthday she sent her a string bikini. No, not with any intention that she would wear it in public, but just with the simple request that I try it on, take pictures and send them to her. And when I did, she asked that I resend them in a higher resolution (what she is going to do with these pictures, I don't know) So below are the pictures just to hammer in that last nail when my girl is 13 and has a list of 100 things why she hates me. Don't forget honey that I posted these pictures of you on my blog. I would hate me too.

Please enjoy the only picture of any of my family in a bikini this year (I hold hope that I will strut Heidi Klum style one day!)

If you read closely this tag says,UPF 50+, excellent UV protection. I ask...on what? Her nipples? Good, I would hate her nipples to get sunburned at so early an age. We'll save that for when she goes topless on her summer trip to France a la Duk Duk.

Finally, here she is perfecting her red carpet, over the shoulder, maybe they can't see my belly shot.

I do know that she'll have a point when she brings this up in 10 years...but for now, I am so grateful for my friend and her sense of humor!

Who's looking at my Facebook?

OK..I may be 33, with 2 kids, a bathing suit from Lands End, and a volvo wagon...but does that stop me from social networking? I think not.

I joined Facebook. Really I joined it because my hip, NYC based, cutting edge, MBA student, best friend told me that I should. And let's be honest...when she told me I should wax, I did...so why wouldn't I listen to her this time?

I enjoy facebook. I like reading the little blurbs of what people are up to. Some of these people I haven't laid eyes on in nearly 20 years, but I still like knowing what they doing. I am a voyeur...not doubt about that, so facebook is perfect in that sense. I check out people's photos, read their updates and then move on to people.com

But facebook also kind of wierds me out. On one side of the page, it continually suggests more friends for you. Yes, yes, facebook, I know these people. Enough already. As many times as you float his/her picture out there I am not going to be friends with them (exposing your profile page to them and vice versa). Honestly, we weren't friends when you programmed with Lotus in computer class, so why would be friends now? And after thinking about all the people who are seeing my picture on a daily basis saying the same thing, I updated my profile picture to uber-hot, sexy, skinny photo rather than ski hat and baby bjorn picture.

Old profile picture:

New profile picture

But do you want to know what really gets me? The targeted ads from facebook sponsors. Most recently it keeps flashing, "28-35 and overweight?" Uh....f-you facebook, I'm working on it ok? Two kids, busy life...not as fit as I would like to be...but I'm wokring on it already! And after multiple days of calling me fat today it said, "married and need more sex life?" Damnit facebook...leave me alone. You are maing me cranky and by the way...have you not seen my new profile picture? I'm not fat...and by the looks of it, I'm not hard up either. Keep your opinions to yourself as I voyeur on all my friends.

Happy 1st Birthday

Modesty

I used to be modest. I was covered up, never over-exposed and running to the nearest closet, bathroom, port-a-potty, whatever to change my clothes, brush my hair, or even just readjust. SO much has changed.

I suppose it may be the two times that I have sat nearly half naked with at least 15 people coming in and out of my room for hours upon hours upon hours. Childbirth really does shoot a hole in your modesty. OK...more like a meteor in my modesty.

But I didn't realize that I had lost all modesty until this week. See this week we went to the in-laws to go to the beach and withing 24 hours I was peeing with the door open, changing my bathing suit top at the beach (I got dressed in the dark and it was inside out when I got there), and worst of all I was running around the beach, I mean full sprint/ball chasing/4 year old catching/not good for my jiggling thighs/ running in just a bathing suit.

You certainly never would have caught me doing that 5 years ago. And I am sorry if you caught me doing that this year.

Sight Reading

So I wonder, is it really bad when your son't first sight reading word (you know the one where he doesn't actually sound it out, but just recognizes it) is from a convenience store?

Sure, W is his favorite letter, and sure there is only one other letter involved in this word. But a convenience store? Seriously?

So we're driving to the Jersey Shore and from the back seat I hear, "Look Mommy a Wawa." Granted, it could have been a lucky guess because if you've ever driven to the Jersey Shore, you know there is one every 2 exits. In fact, our directions to other people often include, turn left at the Wawa by the cemetery, go throught the Wawa in the roundabout, etc. But then when he said it again, and again, and again...then I knew it wasn't a coincidence.

And I knew, that however I try to spin it, the fact is the first word he read was the name of a convenience store. A superior one that makes the best hoagies, but a convenience store nonetheless.

(Dis) Organized Sports

Taking your 4 year old to what they call "organized sports" is definitely an exercise in patience for the parents. We have resisted all sports up until now because we recognize how easy it will be to overbook our kids and perhaps push them too much in a direction they don't want to go. I had been assured by other moms that soccer at the Y would not be too intense, the parents would be relaxed, and a good time would be had by the 4 year old. I have to say they were right, but they never mentioned that the program was not intended for a Type A parent...AT ALL.

The first week the coach never showed up...the second week the coach was there but spent 3/4 of the time chasing his son around trying to get him to blow his nose...the third week another parent actually stepped in and helped coach the kids but seemed interested in only passing the ball to his son (go figure)...and the fourth week I brought my cellphone all charged up, headset in place, and chatted up my friends while trying not to pay attention to the whole debacle.

You see, the real problem was not the disorganization of the program, but my intense desire to jump in and straighten the whole program out. I spent the entire hour (I know it doesn't seem like a long time, but it is when it is 3/4 year old soccer) plotting how I would have a plan, split the kids up, run shuttles, teach offense and defense, and next thng you know we wold be passing back and forth to one another with only a few breaks to pick buttercups off the field. It was all I could do not to "participate"

So now soccer is over and we are doing another sports program through the running association in our town. In reality, it is 300+ kids on 2 football fields doing relay races, running games, and occasionally taking laps around the track. I can't even begin to describe the chaos. But last night in the 4 year olds group there were about 15 kids and ONE coach. Are you kidding me? You try getting 15 kids to play follow the leader, do dizzy izzies, or freeze dance all by yourself. As I watched in pain as this shy, whispering, slight (you know a "running body") 20 something girl tried to coral the kids...I just couldn't resist anymore. I jumped in, I organized, I coordinated, and I facilitated. And I got stuck. Next thing you know I'm carrying the props back after the hour, I'm talking to the leader, and I am thinking that we'll never come back because I don't want to be in charge.

Or do I?

Take the good, take the bad

Our life works in extremes.

One day it is 105 degrees outside, the next 75.
One day we have a million things to do, the next we have nothing on our calendar.
One day I'm skinny, the next I'm fat (no...now I'm exaggerating...it takes much more than a day!)
And one day kids are perfect and the next day...well...not so much.

For example:

Two days ago there was no napping in the house. None to speak of, not even a quick 10 minute close your eyes and stop the screaming/yelling/whining for a minute. So, for those of you who don't know, no napping leads to cranky kids and EXTREMELY cranky mommies. I can't even quantify the level of crankiness. But let me try:

(cranky kids+cranky mommy)x daddy gone for the night=very serious situation

By the time bedtime finally came around baby girl was thrown into bed with a wipe stuck to the back of her head and little boy nearly had his head smacked in with a large bedtime book (in my defense he had me read the whole long, rhyming, hard to pronounce book and when we got to the second to the last page declared, "I don't like this one, I want another." You'll be happy to know that no abuse occurred, I just got up and left the room)

But thank goodness the extreme occurred yesterday. After a morning of playing with a friend, napping, and iced coffees we were off to a good start. Followed by a quiet afternoon and some exercising...I didn't think things could get much better. But then it happened. Playing with the new "talkie talkies" the little boy was in the basement and kept saying to me (in the kitchen by myself with a glass of wine) "Mommy, I love you. Over and Out" "Mommy, I love you, 10-4" Seriously...I can't even remember what went wrong earlier this week.

(good naps + quiet time +coffee+exercising)x spontaneous I love you's=perfection

I'll take the bad, if that's the good I get. And as long as none of this has to do with talking about the Facts of Life.

Birthday Hangover

OK...remember how I said that this birthday thing is bogus. I was totally on to something. Because...well...as I already mentioned it does not celebrate the true hero in birth (ME!)...and it is not just one day...this thing dragged on for 4 whole days. My lord...it was the longest birthday celebration second to maybe Jesus. And yes, I suppose I created most of this hysteria. I planned his "family party" which was just presents and cake for the 4 of us.



Then we had the "friend party" with 8 of his friends at the bouncy house place.



And finally, we wrapped up the mardi gras with the "family party part 2" which included grandparents and aunts and uncles.



I love birthdays, I love to make my kid feel special, but even I had to roll my eyes at the pure over-indulgence of this whole thing.

So needless to say, today has been a bit of a disappointment. No more cake, no more presents, and no more free passes because today is a "special day." In fact, tonight when he was trying to negotiate an extra TV show before bed he said, "but Mommy today is special because yesterday was my birthday."

"Well, no, honey your birthday was last week. Today is not a special day."
"So how many days until my next birthday?"

And this is where the hangover comes in to play because in order to answer that question, I have to finish the sangria and maybe a few bottles of wine to even contemplate the thought.