Tag Archives: motherhood

Unexplained Mysteries of My Universe

15 May
  • The closer I get to menopause → the angrier I get → the more I pluck my eyebrows → the angrier I look → the angrier I feel → the more I pluck my eyebrows → the more I resemble Uncle Leo from Seinfeld.
Good god, these hot flashes are a bitch!

Good god, these hot flashes are a bitch!

  • The older I get → the more chin hairs I get → the worse my vision gets → the less chance I have of spotting stray chin hairs → the better chance I have at landing the coveted Bearded Lady position at the local circus → the circus never comes to my town.
  • The later I am for an appointment → the tinier the toy my daughter wants me to find → the bigger the pile of crap it’s buried in.

    But Mom! I need Polly's purple shoe right now or I'll JUST DIE! WAAAAHH!

    But Mom! I really REALLY need Polly’s purple shoe RIGHT NOW or I’ll JUST DIE! WAAAAHH!

  • My husband loses 20 pounds after going on a ‘diet’.
    Old breakfast : two donuts + two Yoo-hoos + a bagel with extra cream cheese
    New breakfast: two donuts + two Yoo-hoos + a bagel with a moderate amount of cream cheese
  • I inhale my kid’s chocolate glazed donut fumes too deeply = 20 pound gain.
    All of it in my ass.
    Never in my boobs.
  • Empty bathroom = infinity # of hours
    Empty bathroom + me = suddenly everyone has to go pee simultaneously
  • The older my son gets → the cooler he seems → the more I want to hang out with him → the less he wants to have anything to do with me.
  • The increase in the amount of my son’s armpit hair = the increase in his ability to roll his eyes at everything I say

    Right back 'atcha, kid.

    Right back ‘atcha, kid.

  • # of tasks I have to do in the shortest amount of time = # of  times my kids need me to get them something every 2 seconds.
  • The more I try to get my kid’s attention → the louder my voice gets > likelihood they’ll ever respond.
  • The more secret the conversation + the more you whisper + the more curse words you use → my kids’ hearing is suddenly better than a German Shepherd’s.
  • 10 minutes = average time it takes to have sex
    1.5 seconds =average time it takes for kids to realize you’re having sex and decide to start banging on your bedroom door.

Care to add any other mysteries of your universe?

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This Mom’s Wish

9 May

Dear Kids,

This is all I want for Mother’s Day (and beyond):

  • That you realize half-eaten tuna sandwiches don’t belong in the far corner of your closet buried under three tons of toys.
  • You learn to fight less and love more.
  • Hands are not for hurting but for helping — also for helping Mom by picking up all your stuff off the floor. Here’s a tip: open your hand, pick something up, put it away.
  • R – E – S – P – E – C – T Find out what it means to me. And to anyone else you’ll meet for the rest of your life. I’ll give you a big hint: it’s probably the single most important thing, other than love, you can feel for another human being.  It will carry you throughout life and help you learn from others, shaping you into a positive force that can move mountains.  If you give it, others will return it to you.
  • Silence. Just ten minutes will do.
    OK, five is fine too.
    One minute?
  • A hug. A real one. Not the kind where you wiggle away in horror like I’m trying to pull the teeth out of your head.
  • That you help one another. Always.
  • If you ever see someone down, try to help them. If someone needs a hand, help them. If someone is struggling, help them.
  • Did I mention you should always help one another? Yeah, do that. Always.
  • That you realize what you put out there in the universe, positive or negative, will come back to you times ten. It’s the hardest lesson of all, but one worth remembering.
  • That you know love is all you need.
    And chocolate.
    I need some right now.
    Did you buy me any?

By the way, you both have already given me the above gifts.  All I ask is that you keep it up. I’m proud to be your mom.

39110_460976272872_2787705_n

Happy Mother’s Day

Words of Wisdom from the Wee Ones

22 Mar

While grocery shopping with my six-year-old daughter, little Miss J:

Miss J: Mommy, y’know what?198481_10150183247247873_525857_n

Me: What?

J (yelling): When you drink milk, it makes your boobs big!

Me: Excuse me?

J: The more milk you drink, the bigger your boobs!

Me: What?!

J: It’s true. Gabriel told me. (Gabriel is a five year old boy in her class)

Me: Um….no. Just no.

J: Can I have some milk?

Me: No.

J: (tries to lift my shirt)

Me: What are you doing?

J: C’mon! Lemme see yours!

Me: No, stop that! (she tries to stick her head underneath my shirt, old lady buying produce glares at me)

J: Hmm…

Me: Get outta there!

J: (walks slowly away, tapping her finger to her lips) Hmm…
How much milk do you drink, Mommy?

Me: What? Why?

J: Nothing.

Me: What are you trying to say?

J: It’s just that…well…I’ve seen worse.

(still not sure if I should take that as a compliment)______________________________________

Miss J wanders into the kitchen, tears streaming down her face.

Me: What’s wrong, sweetie?483644_10151380954547873_1466432138_n

Miss J: I want a baby sister.

Me: Oh ha ha! Well, now! No…sorry, you can’t have one.

Miss J: Why? I want one!

Me: I’m afraid that’s impossible, mommy can’t have more babies.

Miss J: (looking horrified) You mean, I can only have the ONE BROTHER?

Me: Yup. Just the one brother.

Miss J: You mean to tell me….that I (pointing finger in the air with each word) am STUCK…with THIS KID
in THIS HOUSE….for the REST OF MY LIFE?

Me: Yup. Well, until you move out, go to college or get married one day, so it won’t be for the rest of your life–

Miss J: I’m marrying Daddy.
__________________________________________________________________

My husband and I had a rare day off together and my daughter asked us what we were planning to do all day. We informed her we would be spending it having some “alone time”, like grown-ups sometimes like to do. So we dropped the kids off at school in the morning. As she was walking away into a huge crowd of kids, parents and teachers she stopped, turned around and yelled, “Have fun kissing and getting married today, guys!”

From my ten-year-old son:

CJ: I really, really, really want to go to the chorus concert tonight at school!IMG_2331

Me: You don’t sing.

CJ: So?

Me: You’re not in chorus.

CJ: I just wanna go.

Me: You hate music.

CJ: I just really wanna go, that’s all.

Me: Who is she?

CJ: Huh?

Me: What’s the girl’s name?

CJ: I don’t know.

Me: Is it Jessica?

CJ: Whatever.

Me: Matilda?

CJ: It’s Courtney! Not Matilda!

Me: Ohhhhhh. So your girlfriend’s name is Courtney!

(His sister starts dancing around him while singing, “He loves Courtney! He wants to kiss her!”)

CJ: She is NOT my girlfriend. Just a friend. But she is girl.
(pause) That’s a friend. And stop singing that mom, it’s not funny.

Me: What do you think having a girlfriend means?

CJ: Well, first you ask her to date you. Then you date for like…three weeks. But only after three weeks, can you kiss her. Then, if she doesn’t dump you, you keep dating and kissing until you’re, like, in college. Then you get your degree in engineering, buy her a house so you can give her a ring and ask her to marry you.

Me: Yup. That’s pretty much it.

CJ: So Courtney is NOT my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, like ever. Never ever.

Me: My work here is done.

What enlightening or embarrassing things have your kids said to you lately? Please, tell me, I need to feel I’m not alone.

The Curse of Being a Mom

22 Feb

My sweet and loving ten year old son has made me many cute little drawings over the years.

But lately, I’ve noticed a very disturbing trend.

Age 5:

Kudos to him for getting my teeth and eyes just right...

(Kudos to him for getting my teeth and eyes just right…)

Age 7:

241381_10150253863747873_1317940_o

Age 10.5 (today): This is what he left taped to his bedroom door:

zip

I get this feeling he’s trying to tell me something….

Coming Back to Life

11 Feb bbw

bbwToday, I’m excited to be a guest blogger over at Eric’s
(aka Le Clown from  A Clown on Fire) blog Black Box Warnings. It’s a safe haven where people are invited to share their personal experiences with mental and physical health.

I’ve written about a deeply personal and painful subject–my struggle with postpartum depression after the birth of my son.
When a Cold Day Dawns, the most difficult post I’ve ever written.

Thank you, Eric, for giving me this opportunity.  Bringing these buried thoughts out into the light has helped me heal even more.

Please, come on over and check it out, along with the other fantastic bloggers and posts. Thanks for reading!

Quick, what rhymes with Franco?

4 Feb James_Franco_discussing_Harvey_Milk_2

The following vlog was inspired by James Franco’s poetry reading he recently did for Obama’s inauguration. (Franco was very good in Freaks and Geeks, love him.)

It’s a poem about being a mom.

A mom desperate to get through yet another hectic morning without having a nervous breakdown.

Watch my video to see if I can make it through another day.

Mourning My Morning

In the earliest unborn hours of the morning, my heart beats, frantic with a
rushing of blood, pounding incessantly…

Rush…rush….rush…

Overshadowed only by the digusting guttural groans emanating
from my husband’s gaping maw
as he snores and slumbers beside me…

I want to reach out, slam his windpipe with my pillow–
–but I resist–
always resisting….

resist

Morning breaks, my mind cracks like an egg
dripping over the edge of a moldy crust,
undercooked and runny

Needs more salt.

But sandwiches are to be peanut buttered!
juice boxes to be tossed around!
hair  to be untangled!

Untangle the mess….

a frantic dance of

rush…rush…rush….

Have you seen my socks?

Where are the keys?

Will you help me construct a diorama of a rainforest using only toothpicks and glitter?
….Mrs. Hardison says it’s due today

Rush…rush…rush…..

Disaster strikes.

“Someone spilled my Cheerios!” I cry.
“Look! All over the floor!”

“Did you spill them?” I ask my son.

His attention elsewhere…always elsewhere….

“Someone spilled my CHEERIOS!”
I wail, my plantive cry falling on deaf tween ears, ears that only respond to digital beeps.

My son–hazel eyes forever glued to the tiny magic box, glowing ghastly white.

“Someone spilled my cheerios….”…I sputter to no one, hopeless,
the taste of sweet oats and honey forever lost to my lips.

He finally turns his head, raises his brow,

and the insidious words roll off his tongue
like water off a paritally submerged iPhone in a dirty toilet:

“Whatevs, Mom” he says.

“Whatevs.”

Whatevs.

Indeed.

Beautiful Child

26 Jan 385673-bigthumbnail

385673-bigthumbnail

Gasping your first breath on a cold fall day,
your hazel eyes greeted my blue.
A strand of my hair locked tight in your grasp,
I let my heart bleed into yours.

We ran together through the scarlet leaves,
our dance tinged with memories of gold.

You showed me the starry night,
the seashell warmed by the sun,
the bumpy edge of a lizard’s back.

I showed you the edge of time.

Still we giggled and breathed in the wide open sky,
as it dripped into our lungs
we drowned,
wrapped in sparkling silver threads,
laden with love’s pure promise.

I dream to be rescued
but only as a brown speck
floating in the soft moss-green of your eyes,
so I may see what I’ve always known to be,
I am you and you are me.

A beautiful child.

The Dude with the ‘Tude

23 Dec

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If you’re a parent, you’ve heard of the Elf on the Shelf. Or as I like to refer to him–
The Brilliant Yet Creepy Spawn of Marketing Execs Gone Mad.

Until this Christmas, for years I had managed to live in complete denial this thing even existed, effectively putting blinders on every time I saw his clever little escapades plastered all over my friends’ Facebook feeds. Ooh, look! He’s in Barbie’s swimming pool hanging out with the peeps! Oh, wow! Now he’s zipping across the living room curtains wearing cute little candy canes as skis! Adorable!

The Elf’s supposed purpose? To mesmerize and enchant kids far and wide with the endless possibilities of Santa’s magic.

The Elf’s real more sinister goal? To drive every mom and dad up the fracking wall every night until Christmas.
And boy howdy! Does the jolly lil’ buggah succeed at that one!

As the story goes, (I’m not really clear on details as I rolled my eyes the entire time my son read the Elf on a Shelf book to me) the Elf runs off to see Santa every night.  If your child has been ‘good’, the Elf will return.

But here’s the kicker, he only magically comes back during the night (i.e. when moms and dads should be in a deep sleep) and inevitably ends up getting into some kind of amusing shenanigans. Usually involving things like swimming in a bathtub overflowing with flour and glitter or building a huge replica of the Eiffel Tower in the center of your kitchen floor using peanut butter and pretzels, or messing up your almost completed 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of brown mice eating chocolate chip cookies in a sandstorm.

Oh, that Elf is a pure delight!

So I’ve decided to jump on this freaky-deaky Elf bandwagon. Because, as we all know, you can’t put a price on a child’s dreams. Or a mom’s nightmares. Just a few of my ideas:
(some may be hallucination-based due to my inability to get a good night’s rest knowing I might wake up to find him very much alive, sitting on my pillow and watching me sleep)

Steve on your sleeve

sleeve

AH! Dear lord! Get if off! GET IT OFF!

Max in the Flax

Tasty! And keeps hot flashes at bay!

Tasty! And keeps hot flashes at bay!

Phil on the Sill

Sweet dreams!MWA HA HAAA! (constant cackling ensues)

Sweet dreams!
MWA HA HAAA! (nonstop cackling ensues)

John on the John

Just try an' flush me! I double dog dare ya!

Just try an’ flush me! I double dog dare ya!

Todd on the Schrod

schrod

…and finally, after Christmas is over and you can kiss that blasted Elf goodbye until next year:

Flynn on the Gin

It's all right. I see them too.

It’s all right. I see them too.

Merry Christmas to all and to all the elves a goodbye!

You Know You’re a Parent When….

1 Dec What? So I'll be living in your basement eating bologna sandwiches and playing Nintendo until I'm 30. You signed up for this, remember?
  1. The nurse hands you a baby and says with a sneer, “Good luck, suckers!”
  2. You get home with baby and after a few days realize–the baby isn’t going anywhere.
    Probably for the next 30 years.
    If you’re lucky.

    What? So I’ll be living in your basement eating bologna sandwiches and playing Nintendo until I’m 30. You signed up for this, remember?

  3. You never go by your own first name anymore.
    “Hi! I’m Christian’s Mom!” or “Hello! I’m Julia’s full-time domestic slave who lost her name along with her identity about 10 years ago, nice to meet you! Please, help me remember who the hell I am! For the love of God, please!”
  4. You openly discuss puke stories over lunch with friends.
    “Hey….by the way, have you ever seen puke drop from three feet high before? No? well, let me tell you it was epic. I had to hold the bucket up over my head like I was offering up a sacrifice at the fiery altar of vomit volcano hell. I didn’t even flinch. I just turned my head to the side, squeezed my eyes shut to block the spray, and he kept hurling over the side of the top bunk like nobody’s business.
    Now please pass me the guacamole.”
  5. You alternate between serene calmness and explosive fire-breathing rage with ease.
    “Please, you guys really need to start calming down now, okay? Huh? Please?
    I SAID CALM DOWN! RIGHT NOW! OR I WILL DRIVE THIS CAR INTO A TREE SO HELP ME GOD!
    ….thank you.”
  6. You get so beaten down by the constant barrage of questions, “Mom, can I have a cookie? Mom, can I have a piece of candy? Mom, can I have some chocolate milk?” that you finally snap and start screaming, “YES! YES!! FINE! GO AHEAD! YOU CAN HAVE EVERYTHING! ALL OF IT! I DON’T CARE ANYMORE! HAVE AT IT!” only to realize you’ve agreed to letting them drink beer and take the car out for a spin.
  7. You start to schedule meetings with your husband to discuss when to schedule in sex.
  8. This year’s vacation hot-spot?
    Any place you and your spouse don’t have the kids for a few minutes so you can get a tiny shred of sanity back.
    Maybe eat an entire meal uninterrupted for once.
    Listen to your own inner thoughts for a change.
    Could be simply going out for the early-bird special at the local Cracker Barrel, it’s all good.

    Whoa! What sweet bliss is this? Rockers! Everywhere! HOT DAMN!!!

  9. Your go-to emotion is feigned apathy.
    Whenever you have childless friends over for dinner, they’ll have this look of terror on their faces as your kids run around screaming and throwing things like monkeys fresh from a coke binge. And the whole time you’ll  just sit on the couch with a shell-shocked blank look on your face, completely oblivious to the chaos–their loud antics only barely registering as a distant low-buzzing hum. This is a coping mechanism that only comes from years of practice.
  10. You’ve learned society’s acceptable term for your constantly hyped-up, out-of-control kid is ‘spirited’.
    So you use it all the time now as an excuse.
    “Oh, so he dumped an entire bottle of chocolate syrup in your toilet?  He’s spirited!”
    “So you’re telling me he head-butted the gym teacher because he felt like it? Well, now! He sure is spirited!”
  11. You often interrupt important phone calls to yell:
    “Hey! You wipe your OWN butt!”
  12. On any given day you find yourself quoting the best quote ever uttered by a parent:

              “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.” –Bill Cosby

***If any of you weary and worn-down parents out there have any other insights as to when you know you’re a parent, feel free to write them in the comments below so I can laugh at you while offering up my deepest sincerest pity as only a seasoned mom can do.***

Dear Daughter

24 Nov IMG_2024

As your sixth birthday approaches, I see the telltale signs. I know my sweet chubby-faced baby girl is melting away before my eyes.

Sometimes when we hug, I catch a faint glimpse of her still–your warm soft cheek pressed up against mine, silky eyelashes fluttering shut as you gently sigh–innocence refusing to budge. Nestling into my heart.

I breathe it in with the hope I will always remember.

And that you will, too.

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But for now, let’s get down to business.

Dude. Living life is just like….soooo exhausting.

This is Your Life

Listen up. I need to let you know a few things about the rest of your life.
Things my own mother never told me. Things I hope you understand one day.
Hopefully, sooner than I did.

  • Laugh. All the time. Giggle like a maniac. Chortle. Snort. Guffaw. Don’t be shy. Let the giddy tears flow. Make a fool of yourself. There is nothing else like it.
    I’m surprisingly very good at it.
  • Cry if you want to cry. Never let anyone tell you it’s ‘weak’.
    It can be very lucrative. I can cry at a drop of a hat. It’s gotten me pretty far in life.
  • When a bully pushes you down on the playground, stand right back up and get up in his/her grill. Don’t be afraid.  If the tears flow, it’s all right. Get mad. Get sad. But stand back up to them. Understand that maybe they don’t know what they’re doing.  You need to let them know it’s not right. Then tell a teacher.
    Maybe hire your older brother to be your bodyguard, pay him in Twinkies.
    Worked for me.
  • No one will ever remember the day in second grade when you puked all over the lunch table because Jimmy Libby shoved mac-n-cheese up his nose.
    Except maybe Jimmy Libby.
  • When your older brother tells you it’s a good idea to jump off the garage roof into the swimming pool,
    it isn’t.
  • When your older brother wants to play ‘target practice’ using  a slingshot, some marbles and your head,
    run away.
  • Thanks to your dad and your older brother, you will never go on a single date until you’re 21. They mean well, they just know it will take a special person to earn your heart.
    And a strong man who can disarm a dad with a 20 gauge shotgun.
  • You will hurt others one day. Tell them you’re sorry while you still have the chance.
    We all make mistakes, all the time.
    Like the time I held my curling iron in my best friend’s hair until I smelled burnt flesh. Note: hairspray only helps fuel the flames.
  • We are always learning. No one has all the answers.
    Except your mother.
  • If you feel anger, feel it. It’s okay to be mad sometimes. Don’t wish it away or bury it deep down. Face it. Never feel guilty about how you’re feeling. Accept it, transform it. It’s there to teach you.
    Then after you’ve had enough– make sure you release it and move on.
    I also find screaming into a pillow, and consuming a gallon of chocolate ice cream while watching a Nora Ephron movie marathon helps calm me as well.
  • Make new friends, but keep the old.
    One is silver and more likely to lend you money.
  • The only thing anyone ever wants is for someone to understand them, to accept them for exactly who they are deep down inside.
    The stuff we see on the outside? Doesn’t matter even the tiniest bit.
    Remember this when your mother is wearing her bra on the outside of her clothes.
  • Genius is 1% inspiration, 98% perspiration,
    and 1% Extra Strength jasmine-scented deodorant.
  • Dance like no one is watching.
    Fart like no one is around.
    No, really. Make sure no one is around when you fart. Men don’t think women fart, it’s a huge top secret conspiracy and I’d like to keep it that way.
  • Learn how to deal with spiders on your own. Be brave. Scoop them up carefully with a newspaper and shoo them out the door because they have families too.
    Or squash them into bug juice while hyperventilating and screaming–your choice.
  • Unclog your own sinks/toilets, hook-up your own stereo/DVR, change your car’s oil–by yourself.  Don’t rely on a man to do it for you.
    Rely on a man to be there when you need to bitch about doing everything around the house.
  • Stay away from any boy who starts his sentences with, “Duuuuude….”
  • Learn how to cook.
    Hot Pockets don’t count.
    Lean Pockets do.
  • Don’t bother separating whites from colors, just wash everything in cold, make sure you fold right away or things will get all wrinkly, and never, ever under any circumstances,
    bring home your laundry on the weekends.
  • Get a job.
    I’m kidding. You’re only six.
    No, seriously, get a job. Sell some Girl Scout Cookies, something.
  • Nature is free and it’s better than HDTV.
    Now get out of the house.
  • All things must pass.
    Don’t worry, all this lame advice I’m giving you right now is almost over. But I’m gonna leave you with a little more, so pay close attention to the next three, okay?
    (Try very hard not to roll your eyes.)
  • Trust that your sorrow–all those tears, the heavy ache you might feel in your heart–will dissolve someday. The darkness isn’t forever. The sheer light of hope and love will crush it to dust. It will. Grab onto that little ray of light and never let go of it no matter how much you want to. If you can’t find it, come to me and I’ll shine it on you.
  • Smile. It feels pretty dang good, doesn’t it?
  • I love you.

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Happy birthday, my sweet pea,  Little Miss J

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