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.

My big boy

Four years. I can’t believe it. How did he go from this:

To this:


I really find it all amazing. He’s articulate, he knows all his letters, can sight read some words, likes to play math, and is ALL MINE. I love him so much…he should never know just how much I love him.

But do you know what? I’m starting to think that this birthday thing is bogus. Why are we celebrating him? What has he done that is so remarkable? Why aren’t we celebrating us, the parents? I mean for the first 3 years we kept him alive…that deserves some sort of presidential commendation of some sort…or at least our own wing at the ER. And for the past year…well, we haven’t killed him…again deserving some sort of award I am sure.

So tonight, as we opened up his presents, it wasn’t him that we were really toasting. It was us. Here’s to us…4 years in and we are stronger, sometimes meaner and sometimes nicer, more lenient and yet also stricter, more forgiving, equipped with a better sense of humor, and better parents than we thought we would be. We toasted with our “survival martinis” and hope to be drinking them every June 5 for the rest of our lives.

Happy birthday big boy. We love you.

Hypocrisy

OK...rewind about 10 weeks when my mother innocently enough said, "little girl, these thighs are going to give you some problems when you get older."

I can't even begin to explain how I over-reacted. Steam poured out my ears, face turned bright red and I almost cried right there thinking about my little girl and all the body image delusions she is going to have to deal with. It just isn't fair.

A week or so later I still had not recovered and I told my mom that I really didn't like the comments about her thighs or any other body part because I just worried so much about all that girls have to struggle with regarding their appearance and then I asked her not to comment on her weight or anything else.

You know what my mom said? "I didn't with you did I?" Uhhh...touche. She didn't. She never once said a word about my too tight pants, my desire to wear things that only "skinny girls" should wear, or my ability to polish off a dozen cookies in one sitting. In 7th grade she even took me to my weekly weight watcher meetings and cooked special food for me the entire time. She didn't comment, she supported.

So how ironic that I accuse her of judging...when I think it is deep down me that is commenting, judging, obsessing. I can't get these thighs out of my mind.

Now before you comment that she'll grow out of them, it's just baby fat, etc. I know that. But I also know what she is genetically stacked up against and I just want to enjoy the time when I can squeeze those thighs, love every roll in them, and post them on my blog for everyone to see.

In the future, I vow not to comment, but for now, I just can't resist.

So predictable

I have been waiting for this weekend since 2004. When last year they announced that the movie was going to come out this summer, I immediately called my sister and made her promise to go with me (no way in H-E-double hockey sticks that my husband would be seeing this one!) Turns out I didn't have to beg her to come with me because half the female population of DC was at the theater staging a sit in for their seats so far in advance I couldn't even get a drink before the show. Damn.

After the 45 minutes of trailers where my sister can accurately tell you who everyone is and what movie/show/broadway play they are from (it is an AMAZING talent of hers, one that surely is untapped!) the movie started. And so did the tears.

I'm a loser, I admit it. But I cried quietly in my seat thinking about how I was reuniting with some of my longest, dearest, and most predictable friends (every Sunday...I could count on them!). I was not, however, hooting screaming, whistling, and swirling my pink feathered boa in the air like some other patrons of the theater. (they must have gotten there in time for the pre-theater drinks...damn again)

The movie, well, it was pure magic. I mean if pure magic is fantastic clothes, great one liners, more fantastic clothes, and a brief glimpse of full frontal MALE you know what. (I missed it...how could I?...must have been wiping my eyes with my feather boa!)

Yes, for what it is worth, the movie was predictable...but you know what? So am I.

We're back!

I feel like we have been gone from our house for a full month. Maybe that is what 18 hours in the car with your two young children does to you.

We've gone 280 miles South to the wonderful Outer Banks, where I think I used the phrase, "when we used to live in North Carolina" once every 15 minutes. (I didn't know that I missed it that much until I went back!)

Then we drove 280 miles North to the Jersey Shore. We got to ride a ferry that served beer...but it didn't make the trip less than 8 hours.

And then we came home.

But seriously...all that driving was worth every minute of it. Good weather, good friends. MANY good drinks, and great memories. I've attached a slideshow that only touches on what we did this week.

I'd do it all over again...but you're not getting me in the car for a long time any time soon!

I've been duped

Today my budding genius of a 3...going on 4...year old boy told me that after nap he wanted to go to the Space Museum. That would be the Air and Space Museum right near our house. Just like Renee Zellweger in Jerry McGuire, he had me at museum.

No worries that this was the first sunny day in 10. No worries that I had barely showered (it was interrupted by the preschool calling saying that I forgot to pick up my son...nooo...I simply didn't know there wasn't lunch bunch!) No worries that the little girl was cranky, hungry, and in no mood to go look at rockets, airplanes, and space shuttles...he had me at museum.

But what I thought was an intellectual journey to learn about the history of flight (in preparation for our trip to the Outer Banks next week) really turned out to be a journey to learn about the manipulation of Mommy. And Mommy was the one to learn, a lot.

As soon as we got into the car, talk from the back seat was all about a space grabber. I didn't exactly remember which exhibit he was talking about, but I was happy to encourage him. But soon enough, I realized that this exhibit was nothing more than a display in the gift shop. And the "space grabber" was nothing more than a very long, and rather expensive set of plastic tongs.

Still feeling the guilt from leaving him at school...I indulged him. Yes, you parenting critics out there. I bought him the darn thing. For one, I felt guilty, but also because I appreciated his forethought, his strategy, his outright manipulation. The score today: Little Boy: 1, Mommy: 0

And, I have to say, it was SO worth it. There must have been 100 thank yous, 100 I love yous, and 100 "if you do (fill in the blank) I'm going to take the space grabbers away" Never have we had a better trip to the museum.

Good thing the little girl can't talk because I am sure she would disagree.

This is why we have Mother's Day

Seriously...we celebrate Mother's Day because only a father would let his daughter put nearly half her body through the banister (and left her there while he got the camera to document the incident). Has he not read ANYTHING on the internet late at night when he couldn't sleep? Oh, that's right....he's never up late at night sleepless...that is why we celebrate the mother.

I'm not even going to mention the outfit he put her in!

Amen.

A series of events that made me cranky

Step One: Plant spring flowers in urns outside

Step Two: Awake the next morning to find all plants eaten...blame deer.

Step 3: find fury looking creature with petunia hanging out of his mouth. Guilty before proven innocent.

Step Four: Pay man in beat-up pick-up to "take care of the problem" a la Tony Soprano

Step Five: rejoice, no longer cranky.

It's not easy being green...part 2

Seriously...I blogged before about my AWESOME reuseable bags from Harris Teeter. I still LOVE them. But you know what I don't love? An idiot checker/bagger.

Now, remember, I used to be a bagger/checker. I even almost worked at the courtesy counter...so I can critique. OHHHH...I can critique.

So the other day we went to the store. I mean, really, do I not win an award for going grocery shopping with both kids, and empty stomach, and my 5 reuseable bags? I think I do. Digressing...I know.

As we are checking out, the nice bagger man is talking to the kids, making them laugh, and wrapping each item I bought in plastic bags and then putting them into my lovely green reuseable bags. Seriously...do you not get the message I am trying to send with the bags? I hate the plastic bags, I semi-want to save the earth, and I HATE THE PLASTIC BAGS. I just sort of stared at him wondering...why are you wrapping up my yogurts in plastic? What's wrong with the bag the lemons are already in? what the f%&k are you doing?

Unfortunately, I just stared and said nothing. Next time I will save the Earth AND be assertive. And for that, with 2 kids in tow, I certainly will deserve an award!

Is it Friday yet?

I haven't worked a real job in almost 4 years. Yikes...that is a long time when you actually write it out. And I haven't wanted it to be Friday more than today.

You see...for the past 4 years there has been no difference in my day to day life whether it is Monday, Wednesday, or Saturday. Yes, you'll say, my husband is home on the weekends. But he is also home some days during the week, so the extreme difference between a Tuesday morning and a Sunday morning does not exist. Take a vacation...not me...everywhere we go, I'm on a business trip. My job goes with me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Ask me what day it is and I won't know, but I'll respond like a preschooler. "I hope it's a school day!"

And even though I haven't had a job in over 1200 days, I still remember very clearly what it is like to need a weekend. Get through Wednesday...you are more than halfway there...by Thursday afternoon you can already taste that Friday afternoon margarita...and get any work done at 3pm on Friday...you've got to be kidding me.

So in the past four years, I have never needed a weekend, a break in routine, a happy hour, an escape like I need this week. And you are going to be SO glad I'm telling you why.

It all started on Saturday night when I thought maybe, just maybe, I ate too much peanut butter cookie dough...but no, it wasn't my guiltY conscience making me sick it was that nasty old thing called the 24 hour flu. Puke and pass out, that is all I did on Sunday while my loving husband held down the fort. On Sunday night I went to bed thinking phew, the worst is over. HA!

I could go through all of the gory details, but suffice it to say that my illness was just the calm before the storm. Both little ones got the 24 hour flu that has since turned into the 72 or 96 hour bug. We're still illin' over here. And to put icing on the cake...today my husband came down with it too. This bug is kicking our ass! To summarize:

17 -loads of laundry done this week
7-times I have cried
6-plans that we have cancelled
4- times I have been puked on
3-times I have been pooped on (a student I took to Costa Rica once called it "pissing out your a-hole" He is SO right!)
2- times I have found my baby sleeping in vomit
0- times I have been to the gym

150- times I have screamed "IS IT FRIDAY YET????"

Soccer!

Add to my list of things we swore we wouldn't do...but did anyway. Soccer.

For the past 5 years we have rolled our eyes, commented with disgust and declared with all seriousness that we would not put our darling son into programmed sports until he was at least 5...6...7...13...the age changes with the degree of difficulty of eye roll.

But guess where we were on Saturday morning. Soccer.

Well, that is if you call packs of little 3 and 4 year olds chasing a soccer ball like an amoeba searching for algae. Not fast, not efficient, but eventually the job gets done.

And if I could, I would take all my eye rolls, snickering, and judgement back...it was TOO fun.

I don't think that I have a Pele or a Beckham on my hands...but we sure did have a good time.

The way-back freezer

When I was growing up we had a 2 refrigerators with freezers and a stand alone freezer in the house (yes...VERY environmentally friendly). I think they must have been stuffed with veggie lasagnas, frozen tomato sauce, and cases of grapefruit because I don't remember ever going into one of them for something to eat. In fact, I remember there never being ANYTHING to eat at my house.

Come over to our house and you'd get 2 choices...microwave popcorn or melba toast. Yeah, we weren't exactly top of the list for best after-school snacks.

But if I wrack my brain, I have vague memories of a 2nd stand alone freezer out in the storage shed. That shed was scary...Boo Radley wouldn't have wanted to be in there, but there was a freezer out there...and you know what...turns out that is where all the good food lived. All those boxes of chocolates my parents got as presents, left over cookies, even a chocolate orange...they were put out to pasture in the scary shed freezer.

I always thought that the food was put out there so my sister and I didn't eat it. But now, I think it may have been to keep anyone from eating it. You see, I now have 3 refrigerators. One in the house, and 2 in the garage...and a similar pattern has emerged. Healthy food that I should eat is inside the house, staples are in the first fridge in the garage, and anything worth a damn is in the 2nd fridge/freezer in the garage. If I don't want to eat it (read: I WANT to, just really shouldn't) I freeze it and put it in the 2nd freezer. Cookies don't last 5 minutes without being frozen and put in the frozen netherlands. Maybe that is what my mother was doing too. I mean...Joey on Friends did it with The Shining when things got too scary...and I do it with my downfall foods when they get too scary. (that is if you think that cookies, chocolates, banana bread and 2 cases of beer are scary!)

I heart Spring

Spring has finally arrived here. About freakin' time, I say. I mean, it is mid-April after all. No wonder I have been cranky these past few weeks, it has been freezing around here. My friends from the great state of NC all sent their Easter pictures rubbing it in with their kids running around in shorts, sundresses and the blooming flowers in the background. Adorable Easter picts, I have to admit. Here are our Easter pics...not a sundress or a flower to be seen for miles...just crying that our mittens were wet.

But this week, Spring finally arrived. And all of a sudden, I am in a good mood. I mean, what could make a mommy happier than a picture like this taken before school.

OK...the picture that I got later that day, after school, did make me smile more. You can't make this stuff up!

titled: Shark Eating a Swimming Donught

Embarassing story of the day

I pride myself on being able to contribute around the house. Sure I cook, clean, do laundry...shocker there...but I also can plunge toilets, hang pictures, reset the water heater, set up our internet telephone. I know, you are falling out of your seat you are so impressed by my well-rounded set of skills!

What I don't particpate in, though, are the audio/visual components of the house. Speaker wires, cables, suround sound...blah, blah, blah...I don't speak that language.

Rewind...did I mention that he we got a 62" tv?

In all of its new glory, it was drawn to our attention that the picture was crooked on our beautiful new tv. (we hadn't noticed because we were still staring at the wrinkles on Dick Enberg's face in HDTV) It wasn't so much crooked as it sort of sagged in the middle. I could give a plethora of analogies of how it sagged...but if you only imagine what I would look like running down the beach in a bikini...then you get the point.

So today the repair men arrived to fix our tv. As soon as I escort them into the family room, I turn back to the kitchen to find my little crawler/explorer extraordinaire. When I turn back again, the TV has had a tummy tuck and is back in business.

How did you do that so fast? I ask

We just took the speaker off the top of the TV. It was too heavy and it was causing the screen to bow yadah yadah yadah yadah... (I told you, I don't speak the language so if the problem is fixed, that is all I have to know)

hmmm. Thanks for coming?

How freaking embarassing. But I have to admit. Removing a heavy speaker is not as embarassing as when the electrician came out just to press the reset button in the bathroom.

It's not easy being green...or is it?

Back in the day, I was a grocery checker. And I was damn good at it too. I almost was promoted to work at the courtesy counter to sell cigarettes and condoms, but the offer came just as I had to go back to college (DAMN, I would have been extra-good at that job). I even belonged to the Grocery Workers Union of America (ok, not sure that is what it was really called, but regardless of their name, they took $5 from each paycheck!)

While not high paying, not particularly thought provoking, and honestly, not terribly good on my resume, the job still has many effects on me to this day. Every time I go to the store (a mere 3 or 4 times a week) I cringe having to watch the checkers try to figure out just what is the vegetable code for fava beans, or are they lima beans, or wait...are they soy beans? Crap! (I still remember that cucumbers are 4032) I refuse to leave my cart and "just run back for one more thing" UGHHH! And most cringe inducing for me is watching the checker try to organize your groceries in those awful plastic bags.

Paper or plastic? I would ask.

Can you do paper inside of plastic? followed by that punch in the smacker smirk

Suuure. I would respond....though screaming in my head...NOT ONE OF THE OPTIONS F*%K FACE.

So when I saw them offered at my good old Harris Teeter, I just knew I HAD to buy their reusable bags. For a mere $.99 a bag, you solve all packing issues for both you and your checker. The bag is sturdy, it has a flat bottom, and it holds a ton. I was so excited when I saw them, I bought 8, but I have never had to use more than 4 on any given trip. And, let's not forget the fact that I no longer have 55 million plastic bags shoved in the bottom of my pantry.

These bags are pure heaven.

So now, when I go to the store I become that condescending woman. You know, the one that smiles and says...you have it so easy...because seriously all you checkers out there...you do. And if you piss me off...I'm going to ask for paper in plastic. smile.

Please come home

So my husband has been out of town FOREVER. I mean seriously, when he left we joked that we would see each other again in April of '08...and you know what today is??? April 3, 2008. He needs to come home NOW...before I start drinking at 8am (it was acceptable in college, so why not now?), only serve my children Chic Fil A, put locks on their doors, and dance around the house naked with my noise canceling headphones on.

I mean, I am so desperate for some "me" time while he has been"working" (skiing in Whistler hardly constitutes a hard job) that I will do just about anything to get out of the house. On Friday, I got a bikini wax. Yup...your husband goes away for 6 days and all of a sudden waxing is considered a "spa treatment." Sometimes I am so desperate for a little me time that I think I would get a full body wax, toenail removal and nose hair plucking. I don't care what you do to me, just give me 5 minutes to lie on the warm, soft bed with the crazy muzac on...I'd pay $100 for that alone, just as long as you don't talk to me. While not nearly as painful, on Saturday, I went stag to an 80's prom. I didn't even have to go stag in the 80's, but solo I went this weekend in my fishnet leggings, flashdance shirt, and blue eyeshadow.

Amazingly, I have also managed to entertain the kids while he has been gone. We've played outside, gone to the gym, ridden our bikes, gone to the gym, taken the dog for a walk, gone to the gym (did I mention the free child care????), and I pray to God that he will be home tonight.

Time to Change the Channel

I have never really been a fan of kids music. The songs are too sweet, sing songy and like freakin' duct tape to my head. John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt...shoot me now. Head Shoulders Knees and Toes...poke my eye out.
B-I-N-G-O...go ahead and commit me to the asylum.

That being said, we don't ever listen to kids music in the car (for fear of me driving head on into oncoming traffic) and we just listen to the radio. That is...until today when the lyrics got in our way.

We're driving home from the grocery store, jamming out in my pimped out volvo wagon, sun roof open, windows down, be-bopping our way home. It was great. Then the little questioner from the back seat says, "Mommy, why do they want her to get down? They say she is on top, and then she should get down"

silence from the front seat

"Mooommmmy, why, why do they want her to get down? She's on top right?"

unrestrained giggling from the front seat

"it's a silly song isn't it Mommy. I thought it was silly too."

So that's how I had to throw a bone to kids music and change the station.

I'll be the one with the noise cancelling earphones driving my kids around. Now that's silly!