Happy New Year!

Rewind 6 years ago.

Husband and I were living in Chapel Hill, married for 2 years, still DINKs (dual income no kids) and enjoying ourselves. We had the outrageous luck to be taken to Rome for Christmas and returned back to North Carolina in time for New Years. You can imagine that after having 10 course dinners overlooking the city, New Year's Eve on Franklin Street might have seemed a bit pedestrian to say the least.

So the two of us declared that we were SO over New Years. We didn't need to go out, the hype was too much, it was always a disappointment...yadda yadda yadda...you get the point. We stayed in. And watch a Cirque Du Soleil marathon on Bravo until the boredom had our eyeballs rolling into the back of our heads.

Little did we know at that time that was the last time we would have New Years to ourselves. The next year I was pregnant and had 3 weddings to go to...yes THREE (we only made it to two....one in Miami and one in Mexico) and after that it was all kids all the time.

So needless to say I am excited to have 3 parties to go to today. One for lunch with the high school girlfriends and their kids, one for dinner with friends and a babysitter...yippee! the best kind of party!, and one late night (after 9pm!) with my sister and her boyfriend.

It may not be earth-shattering, but it isn't a Bravo marathon of contortionists either.

Happy New Year! Here's to a good 2009!
XOXO

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve at my parents' house

Little girl LOVED her nana's duck cassoulet. And Nana didn't even cringe when she spilled it on the couch.

Both kids got a kitchen from Santa.

Daddy was just a wee bit tired from putting together the kitchen the night before.

That didn't dampen the kids' enthusiasm.



It was a tie for favorite present between the hiking outfit and backpack outfitted with a compass, rations, water bottle, and emergency kit...

And the marine outfit...aka bad guy/army man. Way to go Duk Duk!

A Feeble Attempt at Best

I need to preface this post. I love my husband. But....

Our kids have been sick for nearly two weeks. First the little girl got a nasty cold that has made an otherwise happy-go-lucky kid cranky, snotty, and just a regular pain in the ass. After the 3rd day I was really scraping the bottom of the sympathy barrel. I know she didn't feel well, but really did she need to latch herself onto my leg, scream, cry, and jump to get up all at the same time? Then...this weekend the boy got the stomach bug. Luckily this thing lasted only 24 hours, so I didn't run out of sympathy, but I may have run out of Clorox wipes. Nasty.

So today my husband comes into the kitchen and with all sincerity says,

Honey, if you want to get a little time to yourself today, you can take my car to the DMV and renew the registration...while the kids nap.

Wait, I think I misheard you. Did you say that I should go get a mani/pedi, go read gossip magazines in Starbucks, or just go drive around in the peace and quiet? No...I think what I heard was that in my "time to myself" while the kids are asleep or at the very least quiet in the room, you are going to let me go to the DMV for you?

You are so sweet. But things around here aren't that bad...yet.

NO!

A few weeks ago I said to my husband, "I know it isn't right, but it is so cute when she says no."

You see, she would say it in a wispy little voice, she would shake her little head, and the three curls in the back of her head would shake as well. It was so cute.

Not so much anymore.

Now when I try to put her in her booster seat she screams, "NO" and pushes me away. When I try to put her shoes on she hides her feet and screams "NO." When I serve her food, she shoves the plate right back at me and screams, "NO". When I say it is time to go to bed she runs away (and that little bugger is fast!) and screams, "NO".

Let's add to this that she has been sick for five days, so nothing other than sitting on my lap, sneezing in my face, and rubbing her germy hands all over my face makes her happy.

So let's imagine who is shaking her head, with a raspy voice, and screaming "NO!"

Gingerbread houses

I have tried to do a variety of crafts with my kids this holiday season. A couple of months ago, with visions of sugar plums and gingerbread villages dancing in my head, I bought a gingerbread house kit. I have anticipated this activity with my son since we threw the pumpkins away and have been waiting for the right time to bring it out and enjoy the decorating. Last Friday seemed to be the perfect time. You judge for yourself if it was the perfect holiday craft for our family. Personally, it wasn't so much a craft as an internal struggle of my OCD and letting my boy do it his way. Harder that you can imagine!

Little boy started out strong. He's really into crafts right now so fully embraced the concept of decorating the house. Unfortunately, planning and foresight are not his strong points, so he fell into a fit when he realized that after shingling half of the roof, he was out of gumdrops.

I have to admit that I never anticipated that the little girl would be interested in decorating the gingerbread house. This was clearly a lack of foresight and planning on my part (must be genetic). She was practically hyperventilating with distress when left out of this activity.

Enter her father, the truly crafty one in the family. Who, like MacGyver, swooped in and made a gingerbread house out of some stale graham crackers and leftover cream cheese frosting. Martha would be so proud!

We call it her Gingerbread Adobe.

I ended up letting the little boy do the whole house by himself. Not only was I proud of him, but I was really proud of myself. What I wouldn't have done to make that whole house symmetric and color coordinated!

Holiday Dilemna

Here's my problem.

I love to cook, I love to eat, and I hate to diet. It is really a bad combination.

And it is a REALLY bad combo during the holidays. For as soon as I get a good whiff of the holiday spirit I am baking and making and tasting and basting. I watch the food network all day long. I read all the cooking magazines. I scour the Internet. I try new cookie recipes. I strategize what I am going to serve for Christmas (anyone who knows me knows I have already been talking about this for a few months). I make lists. I go to the store. I bake. I freeze. I head back to the store. And then I bake some more.

It is a great place to be if you are one of those people who just smiles and says, "I'm so lucky, I can eat anything." But that's not me.

But I'm not going to let that stop me.

All that glitters is not gold

I know, I know.

In my last post I professed my love for my blog and then I proceeded to abandon it and leave it without a new post for over a week.

Where have I been? You ask.

Well see, I have been cleaning up all the fu&^%ng glitter in my house. Tis the season for preschool teachers to exact their revenge on the parents. Glitter glitter everywhere, and not a piece of artwork to be found. It's on the floor, on clothes, in diapers, and even in the dog bowl. You can't get away from it here.

You'd think that I'd get the holiday spirit and be more forgiving about the scabs on my knees from crawling around the house trying to peel the individual pieces of glitter out of the grout. But I'm not feeling forgiving right now.

But just you wait, preschool teacher, I'll get you back. I'm going to buy you a mug for the holidays.

My Jamming Blog

So at Thanksgiving my cousin (his b-day today...Happy Birthday Bay Leaves!) took a poll amongst the dinner guests. He wanted to know...who had a blog. I proudly raised my hand (all by myself, no one else had a blog or was willing to admit it!) and stated, "I HAVE TWO!" Hip-hip-hooray for me!

Then he proceeded to tell everyone in the room that having a blog was like having Jams. An interesting analogy. My blog is like the over sized, over-printed shorts of the 80's. Hmmm.


But you know what. I wasn't cool enough to have Jams in the 80s. All I had were homemade knockoffs made by my aunt. And this time around I have not one but TWO authentic blogs. I wear them, share them and care for them with pride.

Hopefully they will have a longer life and be looked back on with greater appreciation than Jams. Because really, if my blogs are like Jams, I'm in trouble.

The basement...a love story

I never grew up with an appreciation for a basement. Well, that isn't entirely true. I appreciated that I could always sneak down to the damp, dark dungeon and steal a bottle of Chardonnay when I was 16...but it was a quick and undetectable maneuver. I never spent a lot of time in our basement.

So when my husband insisted that we have a basement in our house I was indifferent. Sounds good, I said, and never thought much more about it. And honestly, for the first year that we lived here I remained indifferent. Sure it was a great space, but the little boy didn't ever want to be there by himself...so what was the point? That was, until this week.

Indifference has morphed into infatuation. I love the basement these days. You see, for the past week I have sent both kids to the basement and turned right back around, walked upstairs, and listened to...silence. Having his sister downstairs provides the right amount of company to make it the fun place my husband always knew it would be. Every day before school I hear, "Come on little girl let's go play army men." And she goes. And every night they run down there to play after dinner.

And quickly and undetectably, I sneak back upstairs to enjoy a bottle of Chardonnay. Old basement habits die hard.

Dear Santa,

Yes, it is that time of year. Halloween decorations have come down, some (yes...my neighbors are those kind of people) have put up their Christmas decorations, and talk of the nightmare that is Thanksgiving travel is all over the news. (Don't pack too much, try to carry it on, don't bring matches to set you shoes on fire, and don't even think of bringing your nail clippers...yadda, yadda, yadda.)

So what does that mean in my household? It means that the endless list of things Santa is going to bring to our house has begun.

Mommy, I want new cars.

Well, maybe you should ask Santa.

Mommy, I want Spiderman figurines.

Well, put it on your list for Santa.

Mommy, I want a sword, a knife, and a pirate's hook.

I pause. I don't know what to respond to this one. Do I look like freakin' Angelina Jolie? Well...even if I do...that's not the point...do you really think Santa is going to bring you a knife?

So on the fly I say...

Hmm...I don't think Santa is allowed to fly with sharp objects. Or with liquids in quantities greater than 4oz for that matter. Sorry kiddo.

And do you know what his response is?

We better make sure his suitcase isn't too heavy either Mommy, or they'll charge him lots of money.

I think it is time to turn off the TV.

Date Night

Friday night I went out on a date with the 4 year old. Dinner and a movie. Sounded like a great idea...in theory. But not so much in practice.

You see, this was a group date, kind of like in high school. 4 year olds and their mommies (and one brave daddy!). My nice quiet dinner chatting about school, our favorite friends, and our plans for the weekend while sipping on a Shiraz and an apple juice never really materialized. Because...I wasn't really the date of choice for my 4 year old, his friends were. So the dinner turned out to be a small wrestling match, game of chase, and a race to see if I could shove some food in my mouth in between telling my boy to not jump on the table, knock over the chairs and tickle the people he didn't know. We survived. It wasn't relaxing, but at one point the boy looked at me and said, "Mommy, I LOVE date night."

This oh so relaxing dinner was followed by walking to the movie theater where there were two fire engines parked outside. Have you ever seen what a fire engine does to a four year old? Imagine what it is like giving the Tasmanian Devil speed. That is about what it was like when we saw the flashing lights and men in uniform.

Turns out that these nice men and women in uniform weren't there to add fuel to our date night fire...they were there to put out one. The Pizzeria Uno's next to the theater had a smoke alarm that was going off causing the fire alarms in the restaurant and the theater to go off. and go off. and go off. and go off.

Needless to say, we never made it to the end of the movie. With about 20 minutes left and our third fire alarm we all threw in the towel. Free passes to another movie in hand, I think the mommies and daddy all agreed that next time we'll be taking dates that can pay the bill, read the menu, and go potty by themselves. It's not too much to ask is it? And I promise at the end of that night I'll be saying, "I LOVE date night" too.

His Response

So my father responded to my blog via my e-mail. This is the father who, when I got my first article published in a newsletter after college sent it back to me with all my grammatical errors circled in red AFTER it was in the mail to the subscribers. I think it went something like, "You need to watch your split infinitives. Love, Daddy."

But his response this time was a much bigger correction. It read:

I'm not as good as you claim...and however close I come to your Mommystar image is a credit to your mother...else I'd still be smoking Lucky's and telling racial jokes! Thanks. Love...DADDY

And as I retype the note, I realize that not only is he correcting my ability to tell a story for dramatic effect, but there is also a grammatical correction embedded in his note. Yes...I like the ellipsis (...) Daddy...and I'm going to keep it that way...Love, me!

Who's the winner here?

In case you are a blind person reading this blog. I am a white woman. I am a white woman who comes from a upper-middle class family and I have never really wanted for anything in my life. Yes I want some new shoes, and I want to lose 10 pounds...but through my lame attempt of humor, you know what I mean. I have lived and continue to live a privileged life. I am extremely lucky.

So you might think that I wouldn't be that overwhelmed by Obama's victory on Tuesday. But I am. I am brought to tears, I feel like dancing in the streets, and I can't watch enough news these days to satiate my thirst for more celebration of this historic event.

Stick with me people, even if you didn't vote for Obama. This is not about him, really, it is about parenting and its everlasting effects.

You see for my entire life I have been listening to stories. You know how it is in families. I have heard these stories so many times, I almost feel like I was there for most of them. But repetition has its effects and these stories have stuck with me.

We have Rose Medallion china throughout my parents' house. We have lamps, we have flower vases, we have a complete set of dinnerware, we have huge serving pieces...we have a lot. And as the story goes, my grandfather, a renowned lawyer in Baltimore in the 30's and 40's represented a Chinese man who wanted to buy a house in a nice neighborhood in Baltimore. This particular neighborhood was, let's say, less than thrilled that a Chinese man would want to move in, so they went to court. My grandfather and the Chinese man won the case and on the doorstep the next day was this entire load of Rose Medallion china...a rather grateful thank you to say the least.

Any time someone comments on the china, it is my father that repeats this story. The youngest son of my grandfather. The son that was only 9 years old when his father died, but also the son that carries the torch of this community organizer/civil rights advocate.

My father, the educator for 40+ years, has shown us day in and day out what it truly means to "do the right thing." Stories of his life run the gamut of sticking up for a minority friend at a diner in the South in the 60's when they couldn't get served to losing his job in the 90's in part for giving out too many minority scholarships. I got to see my father at work almost everyday of my youth since he was the head of my school. He showed compassion and belief for all students. He ingrained in all of us that intolerance was unacceptable and that equality was essential. I know all of this from the bottom of my heart, and I know this without reading, studying, or listening to a lecture. I know it because I saw it...I experienced it.

So today, as we embark on a future with Obama as president, I have to stop and ask. What are my children going to learn from me? What am I doing on a day to day basis that is going to have an ever-lasting effect on them? How are my actions effecting their world-view?

As a feeble response to those questions, we are going to celebrate this momentous occasion till the cows come home. Through all the news watching, newspaper reading, and inauguration attending my kids are going to know that it isn't just important an important day for African-Americans. It is a monumental day for all of us.

And I hope in 20 years when they reflect on this time they will laugh at the idea that we thought it was such a big deal, just like I laugh at the idea of trying to keep someone from buying a house in my neighborhood.

A Small Accomplishment

So I may still only be on page 2 of the book I am writing, but Tea has published one of my blogs.

Read it here. And whether you agree with me or my in-laws, vote tomorrow!

Halloween Hangover

Since when did Halloween become such an event?

I guess ever since Target started putting up their decorations in August.

Don't get me wrong, I love Halloween. I love dressing up. I love trick-or-treating. I even love how my neighborhood has embraced decorating their houses in true Griswald fashion. But there are some things about Halloween that I really could do without.

Carving pumpkins. I used to love doing this...create a face, put a candle in it, and call it a day. But these days carving a pumpkin is nothing short of trying to copy a Van Gogh on a misshapen orb that is bumpy and slimy all at the same time. 2 triangles and a bucktooth smile isn't good enough anymore. And you know what else, my father isn't here anymore to clean out that nasty pumpkin mucus. I totally took the easy way out this year and Mr. Pumpkin Headed it. Give me a phillips-head screwdriver and a Mr. Potato Head and there we have it...the slacker's pumpkin.




The candy. Sure, I think a little candy and indulgence for the kids is great. But for me, it is my Achilles heel. About a month ago, I hit Costco and purchased TWO bags of candy. Not two bags from the regular grocery store, but two bags, big enough to feed an army, 300 pieces of chocolate candy...the good kind, none of the cheap stuff. Somehow, in that huge warehouse of bargains, I convinced myself that I needed to a) purchase the candy in September and b) have a lot because Halloween was on a Friday. I spent the whole month sneaking a piece here and a piece there. At the rate I was going through it, I probably did need 2 bags. Eventually I made my husband hide the candy and he did, in a place I NEVER would have looked...with the Nutri-System food.

The hangover. After a celebration that was longer than Ramadan topped off with Daylight Savings Time. We are suffering big time around here. No parties to go to, no excuses to eat candy, and no patience left at all. And after all that candy eating last week, I may actually have to dip in the Nutri-System food...but not for the good stuff.

Selective memory

We all know what selective hearing is.

What? Did you say something?

But I hope I have selective memory. You know, the memory that only remembers what you want to remember. My mom has it. I think it is genetic. Hopefully on the maternal side.

Writing this blog is one way to preserve my memory. But it seems these days that I only am remembering the parts that make me want to pull my hair out, scream, and jump off the balcony. But there is so much more to our life together...and I need to document it today.

So last week was my birthday...this is not the happy part ...but what my son did to celebrate is certainly worth documenting.

He had me call my parents so he could speak with them and then proceed to lock himself in the laundry room and plot with them about buying me a present that only they would know how to get.

You see, last year I lost a bracelet that they gave me, and my son remembered this. He told them that he wanted to go to London (where the bracelet was purchased) and get another bracelet. OK...a bit unrealistic, but the thought and idea was there. They talked and plotted some more, I hit my head as I tried to listen through the door, and then he came out and handed me the phone...at that point I was told that they were all going shopping for my birthday and I was not invited.

The smile, that devious secretive smile, remained on the boy's face for the next four days and then they went. Again, I was not invited.

When I finally saw the little boy again, I was practically knocked right off my feet. He was running full force right at me, taking out anyone who stood in his way, and his smile was as wide as the grand canyon (again...genetic on the maternal side). I think by the time he got to me, he had already unwrapped half the present and was asking, "do you like it Mommy?

What he didn't know was that even without seeing the present, I loved it already. The forethought, love, and enthusiasm that came wrapped in the package still brings tears to my eyes. And to top the whole experience off, this is what I got

So not only is my boy generous and loving, but he also has good taste. Again...genetic and on the maternal side!

Gym-P-S

So we've been going to the gym a lot lately. Mostly because I have to compensate for the 2 Costco size bags of Halloween candy that are rapidly disappearing at our house, but also because I enjoy exercising and my gym has great child care.

If you asked my friends, their reactions to the child care would be mixed. But for me, it is perfect. The women are nice, they know my kid's names, they seem to genuinely care, and when we had an emergency this summer, they were 100% on the ball and trained, qualified, and all that other stuff. (Did I mention the rock climbing wall and moon bounce?) But like most activities that include the 4 year old, having a friend around really makes mommy's workouts much more fun.

Today, there was no such friend. And in the car ride home he made the following suggestion:

Mommy, the really should get a GPS for my friends.

What do you mean honey?

I mean, you could put it in your car, we would turn it on, and we could see if my friends were near the gym. That way you would know who to call to see if they could join us. It would be a Gym-P-S.

Seriously, I swear, he is only 4. Where does he come up with this stuff and what kind of TV is he watching with his father?

Arts and Crafts

I have to give credit where credit is due. My friend Boom runs a tight ship. When we used to live close to each other I would steal her parenting techniques without a thought. No concern of cheating or parental plagiarism. All's fair in pleases and thank yous.

So when I went to see Boom, I came with a clear head and a note pad in my pocket and high hopes of making these f-ing fours go away. And wouldn't you know it, she had tricks, and good tricks too.

Aside from the normal duct tape the kids to the trees outside and the start drinking at nap time trick, Boom had tricks that I hadn't actually implemented before. The one that is proving to be most successful is the arts and crafts area in the kitchen. At Boom's house, I barely noticed the kids were up for the first 2 hours each morning because they were just coloring, cutting, and even sharing with smiles on their faces. I drank coffee, read the paper, talked to my friends and all I heard was. "pass the blue crayon please" and "Can I have another piece of paper. thank you."











It was genius. Sure we've had arts and crafts before. But these were at the kids disposal, at their eye level, and needing little to no parental supervision.
So you know what? If you build it, they will come. I built a cabinet (if following wordless instructions counts as "building"), I went to Michael's and spent a part of the boy's college fund, and lord have mercy, we have the best arts and crafts area this side of the Mason Dixon.

I can't say that we are actually creating an artistic genius here. We're actually just putting stickers in different places and calling it "art work" but we're happy, we're quiet, and we're putting all our eggs in the arts and crafts basket.

an impulse purchase at Michael's, bedazzled at home!

The dreaded phone call

So I got my first ever phone call home from the teacher. Yikes. I was practically crying as I was talking to my boy's pre-school teacher.

You see, the problem is that he isn't so into circle time. While I know this is a necessary part of life, I can't say I blame him. He has perfectly good reasons why he isn't fond of circle time.

I don't get to talk when I want to.
The teacher doesn't always listen to and/or think my answer is right.
I'm not always the one in charge of circle time.

Circle time isn't all about him, so damn it, he doesn't like it. Sounds simple enough.

Now if only I had as many logical reasons for why I cry at any sort of confrontation, we'd be on to something.

The inner voice

Usually listening to the little voice in my head isn't a good idea.

"you need cheese fries" it says.
"wear the heels even if they are uncomfortable" it advises.
"have another glass of wine" it suggests.

You can see how I should be skeptical of the advice my little inner voice gives me.

But when it comes to my children, my inner voice really knows what is going on.
"you should leave now." it hints.
"the kids should go to bed." it recommends.
"you really should avoid all public places" it implores.

How does it know? How does it know that 10 minutes later my child will fall on the floor screaming at the top of his lungs because his chicken finger fell on the ground? (while you are on the ground boy, just pick it up--5 second rule) How does it know that 10 minutes later he will hit his friend in the head with a plastic frying pan because he can't hear his tv show? (his explanation was that he wanted to make his friend be quiet...that's one way, I suppose) How does it know that 10 minutes later he will yell, "you are not my friend Mommy, you are poo poo eyeball forever" in front of a new group of mommy friends. (not terribly effective name calling, but creative to say the least)

I don't know how it knows, but it does.

Maybe I should start listening to it.