Not Exactly Mother of the Year
The good, the bad, the messy, and the hilarious.
NOTEXACTLYMOTHEROFTHEYEAR.COM
Where have the 205 days gone?
Hello, little blog. Thank you for informing me that it has been 205 days since my last post, although I must say that your tone is a little condescending. The daily emails I get from you are a bit much and I feel like you are putting unnecessary pressure on me to write. I had good intentions. My plan was to take a little break, get my house in order and then get back to you. Unfortunately, I am fearful that by the time my house is in order I will be living in a nursing home and my kids will have taken away my access to the internet for fear I will get involved in some kind of investment scheme or because of the annoying emails I send reminding them that it has been 205 days since they visited.
I know I have disappointed you little blog! All I can say is get in line behind the 5,000 other competing priorities I have. I will try and do better. In the meantime, I can at least look forward to tomorrow's email which will say, "it has been 1 day since you posted."
Mom Vs. The Volcano
Mr. 5-year old is on the verge of becoming Mr. 6-year old and is anxiously anticipating his birthday. This year for his Birthday party he informed me that "his cake should be a volcano, obviously erupting, preferably exploding, and if possible with actual molten lava!" To this I said, "are you sure you don't want to look through the cake book at the Grocery Store Bakery, they have some cool stuff in there?" He replied, "I have never seen an exploding cake in that book ... have you?" Okay, he has got me there.
Instead of doing the normal, sane thing ... you know trying to talk him into something more reasonable or at a minimum finding a bakery that could accommodate this request - I'm sure exploding/erupting cakes are kind of standard fare for the average 6-year old boy. No, No, No - I don't do either of those things. You know what is coming right - of course I signed up for Class I of the Wilton Cake Decorating School. The class is 8 hours (2 hours/week for a month). It took me less than 8 hours to give birth to a human being, so I felt pretty confident that I could learn how to make a volcano out of cake in that much time. I know, I know anyone who has ever tried to or actually done any cake decorating is rolling their eyes right now ... thanks a lot where were you a month ago!
My cake decorating teacher was a perfectly lovely young woman who during the first "demonstration" portion of the class made the entire cake decorating process seem so easy that I actually decided that not only could I make a volcano cake for Mr. brand-new 6 year old, but I could make a Batman cake for Mr. brand-new 3 year old as well. As I mentioned before, their birthdays are painfully close together, but really how hard could it be to whip together 2 birthday cakes in the same week. In fact this seemed so easy that I thought maybe I could get my own show on the Food Network called "Cake Mom". Go ahead finish laughing and rolling your eyes - I'll wait ...
As it turns out I should have completed week 2 of cake decorating school before I started making a bunch of promises regarding birthday cakes and planning for my new tv show. The cake decorating turned out to be a little trickier than I initially thought. Ms. Cake Decorating Teacher showed us a few easy decorating techniques and then told us to practice on our own cakes. In an attempt to find the perfect shade of Batman blue to be used at a later date, I mixed up a big batch of blue frosting and went to work making dots, zig zags, lines, shells, and roses. By the time I was finished with my cake it looked like it had fallen out of a third story window and landed on an angry Smurf.
I was kind of embarrassed to take the cake home and have anyone see what I had been doing with the 2 hours I spent at the cake class. Thankfully, when I got home and turned my back for a second, Mr. Small Dog pulled it off the table on to the floor and started eating it. I think my family thought the fall from the table messed up my beautiful cake. I did not have the heart to tell them that the fall and the dog bite marks actually did very little to the overall aesthetic of the cake.
In any case, I continued on with my class and worked on improving my butter cream roses, leaves, vines, etc. However, unfortunately erupting volcanoes, hot lava, and Superheros were a bit beyond the scope of the class. On a couple of occasions I tried to sneak in questions like, if I wanted to make my roses look more like I don't know fire or lava ... how would I go about that, or if I wanted to change that clown body into something a little different like maybe Batman what frosting tip would I use? I received my cake decorating diploma and armed with my minimal knowledge about how to operate a frosting bag I decided I was going to try my best to live up to the over confident Birthday cake promises I had made earlier in the month.
After several days and a couple of attempts that ended up in the trash I managed to churn out both a volcano and a Batman cake. There were some issues with both cakes, for example the volcano looked a lot like a giant brown boob and the black part of the Batman emblem actual looked like a bunch of spiders on top of the cake. I'm pretty sure that the Food Network will not be beating down my door with a contract for a cake decorating show. It would take me an entire season to make one cake, "on this episode of Cake Mom we will be frosting with blue icing and don't forget to tune in next week when we will attempt to frost the other half of the cake with more blue icing, and later in the season we will have a 10 hour mini-series featuring 5,000 attempts at making hot lava out of cake frosting - not to spoil the surprise, but 4,999.5 of them will not work."
In the end, the kids were happy with their cakes and because they are kids they did not notice all of the imperfections or problems. Maybe someday when I am old and in a nursing home one of the kids will bring me in a scratchy picture of a Birthday cake and ask me why in the world they had a giant boob cake for their 6th Birthday. With any luck at all I will not be able to remember.
I Don't Have Time To Write Because I Can't Do Math!
Several people have asked why I have stopped posting entries. Have I miraculously gotten my life in order and run out of things to write about? Am I trapped under something heavy? Did Mr. Small Dog finally eat the entire computer? Rest assured it is none of these things. The real reason that my blog entries are down to almost nothing is that I can't do math. This is particularly unbelievable because I actually have a degree in Accounting. That's right, a University which shall remain nameless, actually gave me a diploma despite the fact that basic addition is apparently beyond my comprehension.You see, both of my kids were born in month of September which means that during this very festive month we generally have three major parties (1 family party, and a friend party for each kid) in addition there are cupcakes for school times 2 and of course at least 2 minor celebrations on the actual day of the Birthday because it never works out that any of the afore mentioned parties can happen on the actual day. Whooo, take a breath! This is a nightmare of my own design ... and could have easily been avoided if during the actual planning for the kids I had simply added nine to the proposed month of conception. I know things don't always work out like you plan and you should just be grateful ... blah, blah, blah. The problem is this did work out like I planned and now I am forced to morph into a party planner, cake decorator, caterer, personal shopper, and all around hostess for the entire month of September.
I know this will come as a big surprise, but I on occasion have a tendency to make a bigger deal about things than is really necessary...and from time to time can go a little overboard with things (I know, insert GASP). Therefore, you can only imagine the kind of pressure that all of these events puts on me, and I am surprised that I can't smell smoke coming from my brain because it is in a constant state of overload.
Needless to say I have a lot to do in order to prepare for the upcoming festivities ... thankfully there is very little math involved!
Kindergarten
Tomorrow Mr. 5-year old starts Kindergarten and it is no coincidence that it is the same day I start taking Prozac or Xanax or whatever people use to help them get a GRIP. I swear this mom stuff is just more than I can handle. Honestly, I have always suspected that this might be true, but I am becoming increasingly convinced that I am really not equipped to deal with it all. I have been an emotional wreck all day today regarding this whole Kindergarten thing and it doesn't even start until tomorrow! I can't imagine how I am going to pull myself together enough to walk the child to school, reassure him that there is nothing to be scared about, and tell him to have a nice day without ending up sobbing in the fetal position in front of the school. He will probably have to spend the next 13 years of his school career being known as the boy with the lunatic mom! I guess the positive thing is that I will likely be locked up in a mental institution long before 1st grade begins, so at least I will not have to endure that agony.
I have been thinking all day about the first day I brought Mr. 5-year old home from the hospital. Of course then he was known as Mr. Never Sleeps For More Than 45 Minutes In A Row, however despite the fact that we had no idea what we were doing he has managed to grow into a boy that is ready for Kindergarten. Too bad I have not grown into a mom who is ready for Kindergarten. Many of you may remember my blog about the tragedy I endured at the beginning of the summer ... also known as preschool graduation. I narrowly managed to get through that day, however don't think that Mr. Husband did not threaten to have me sedated if I could not pull it together. As unimaginable as it may seem, I suspect that the emotion of preschool graduation will pale in comparison to the first day of Kindergarten.
So tomorrow Mr. 5-year old will eat his special breakfast, put on his new Transformer backpack, smile while I take 5,000 first day of school pictures, and walk happily to the "big kid" school. I will put on my darkest sunglasses, most waterproof mascara, my best June Cleaver smile, and I will watch as the biggest part of my heart walks into that school for the first time.
If Mr. Husband was smart he would shoot me on the way home with a tranquilizer dart ... I am afraid sedation is going to be required!
I have been thinking all day about the first day I brought Mr. 5-year old home from the hospital. Of course then he was known as Mr. Never Sleeps For More Than 45 Minutes In A Row, however despite the fact that we had no idea what we were doing he has managed to grow into a boy that is ready for Kindergarten. Too bad I have not grown into a mom who is ready for Kindergarten. Many of you may remember my blog about the tragedy I endured at the beginning of the summer ... also known as preschool graduation. I narrowly managed to get through that day, however don't think that Mr. Husband did not threaten to have me sedated if I could not pull it together. As unimaginable as it may seem, I suspect that the emotion of preschool graduation will pale in comparison to the first day of Kindergarten.
So tomorrow Mr. 5-year old will eat his special breakfast, put on his new Transformer backpack, smile while I take 5,000 first day of school pictures, and walk happily to the "big kid" school. I will put on my darkest sunglasses, most waterproof mascara, my best June Cleaver smile, and I will watch as the biggest part of my heart walks into that school for the first time.
If Mr. Husband was smart he would shoot me on the way home with a tranquilizer dart ... I am afraid sedation is going to be required!
Curse You Transformers
Well, they are back! The Transformers are waging another battle of good vs. evil on the big screen. This means that we will get a chance to witness the Autobots and the Decepticons duking it out under the guise of sending a positive message about how good always prevails over evil, and as a bonus blowing A LOT of stuff up in the process. I would not care about this in the least except that along with the new movie the new Transformer merchandise has landed. I am especially irritated because I have already done my time in Transformer Hell. I spent about 6 months of last year with the Transformers, including a Transformer Birthday party, and a very frustrating Christmas morning with Optimus Prime (thanks a lot Santa). I studied nonsensical directions and spent hours manipulating microscopic robot pieces in an attempt to assist Mr. 5-year old with the transformation process. Anyone who has ever spent time at the mercy of an Autobot or Decepticon knows exactly what I am talking about. Transformer instructions are nothing but a cruel joke and a conspiracy to make moms everywhere feel stupid and technically inadequate. On more than one occasion I have looked around while I was diligently trying to decode the instructions because I was sure that I was being punked. I honestly think I could transform my mini van into a robot with less difficulty. The recommended age on the Transformer instructions says 5+, however, it turns out that the + is actually a PhD in Mechanical Engineering (probably from Harvard).
I was relieved at the beginning of the year when the fascination with Transformers was replaced by Star Wars; and although I did not particularly enjoy all of the light saber fighting, the Darth Vader impersonations and the fact that I always had to be Yoda, at least it never drove me to screaming a profanity over a plastic robot part.
But alas, it begins again! There are new, more powerful, and although impossible to believe more complicated Transformers to be had. So it appears that I will spend the remainder of the summer battling these wee beasts in an attempt to gain superiority. I am going to remain calm and use my superior intelligence to show the Transformers who is boss. If that fails I have a back up plan ...
Let's see who rules the universe now!
In the event this were an actual emergency ...
Kids are demanding, impatient, and to them everything is important. They often lack the impulse control to prioritize their needs and think it appropriate to scream at the top of their lungs to convey their concerns. As I am writing this it occurs to me that it is not really just a kid thing, because that description could easily fit several of my bosses and maybe one or two past boyfriends. In any case, in our house we are working on patience and self control to try and deal with our needs rather than acting in inappropriate ways, oh wait that is what I am working on. What I am trying to get the kids to understand is that sometimes in life you have to wait and not everything represents an EMERGENCY.
This morning while I was in the shower I thought I heard screaming and because this is not an unusual occurrence (it is amazing the havoc that can occur during a 4 minute shower) I turned the water off to "diagnose" the scream - was it "I have severed a limb" type screaming or "someone swiped my Transformer" kind of screaming. Today it sounded like pain induced screaming - so I flew out of the shower and ran downstairs soaking wet wearing only a towel. Luckily, I had gotten there in the nick of time to deal with the impending disaster - Mr. 2-year old could not find his Pirate hat. Later, while I was outside watering the Topsy Turvy tomato plants that Mr. 5-year old made me buy after watching an infomercial about them (another blog post entirely), I again heard screaming in the house. I sprinted inside to find Mr. 2-year old on the floor clutching his stomach and crying uncontrollably. I thought appendicitis, stomach ulcer, food poisoning, stab wound, emergency room. When I finally calmed him down enough to understand what he was saying I was able to determine the cause of the screaming - I had inadvertently turned on Dora instead of Diego.
It goes on and on. While I was in the basement standing in front of the washing machine that was filling up with water I thought I heard crying. I turned off the washing machine and from upstairs I heard panic filled sobbing, "Mom, Mom, Mom". I yelled up the stairs, "what's wrong?", no response. I go upstairs to find Mr. 5- year dejectedly crying, I immediately think he has been bullied by the kids next door, scarred for life, self-esteem damaged beyond repair. I bend down and hug him tightly and say, "Buddy what's wrong, let me try and help you." He says, in barely audible words, " I can't tighten my belt enough to keep my light saber from falling out of it." Fabulous, another disaster diverted.
The thing that makes me the most crazy about this tendency to overreact (theirs, not mine silly) is the fact that when there is an actual emergency nobody can be bothered to tell me. Once the toilet upstairs was overflowing, of course no one even brought that to my attention. Another time, Mr. Small Dog was throwing up like something from the Exorcist on the living room carpet - not so much as a peep from anyone.
I have spent an exhaustive amount of time trying to define "blood curdling" scream emergency to the kids (i.e. actual blood, uncontained bodily fluid of any kind including the dog's, difficulty breathing, killer bees, animal attack, fire, flood, home invasion, you get the picture). Not only is this inability to determine what qualifies as an emergency a problem for me; because lets face it I am getting older and I'm not sure how often it is feasible for my heart to stop in one day, but it also makes me concerned about the future. I have this vision of the kids as grown adults on a date in an expensive restaurant doubled up on the floor in hysterics when they learn they are out of prime rib. I am concerned about the number of calls that will be placed to 911 regarding a lack of clean underwear or to report that the cable has gone out. I wonder how their future wives will enjoy being woken up from a sound sleep to the sound of shrieking only to find out that their favorite Survivor has been voted off the island.
I suppose like everything else this is a skill that is acquired over time. Although admittedly I have been known to overact to a situation or two (insert gasp), and sometimes screaming is involved. I guess the really important thing for my kids today and as they grow up is to know without a doubt that I will come running no matter what their "emergency" is.
You officially become a mother when ...
It happens differently for everyone. For some people the realization that your life has radically changed and you have become a mom is a slow process that happens over the course of months or years and is evidenced by small changes. For other people it happens all at once and you wake up one day and think crap I really have become a mom. I'm not really sure how it happened for me, but I am painfully aware of it now and I see evidence everywhere I look. Feel free to add your own "evidence" that you are officially a mom.
1. Your perfectly lovely car has morphed into a mini van, and worse yet a toxic waste dump that requires you to have a HAZMAT suit and a Tetanus shot to drive.
2. You go out with spit up down the back of your shirt. Worse yet, none of your "mom" friends even notice.
3. Your purse used to look like this:
Now it looks like this:
4. You drive for 45 minutes listening to Elmo on the DVD player even when your kids are not in the car.
5. It seems perfectly normal to go to the bathroom in front of an audience - kids, dogs, etc.
6. You look forward to getting a root canal because aside from the sound of the drill it will be quiet there.
7. You know what this and you know how to use it.
8. Your shoes used to look like this (hello lovely):
Now they look like this (hello comfortable and washable):
1. Your perfectly lovely car has morphed into a mini van, and worse yet a toxic waste dump that requires you to have a HAZMAT suit and a Tetanus shot to drive.
2. You go out with spit up down the back of your shirt. Worse yet, none of your "mom" friends even notice.
3. Your purse used to look like this:
Now it looks like this:
4. You drive for 45 minutes listening to Elmo on the DVD player even when your kids are not in the car.
5. It seems perfectly normal to go to the bathroom in front of an audience - kids, dogs, etc.
6. You look forward to getting a root canal because aside from the sound of the drill it will be quiet there.
7. You know what this and you know how to use it.
8. Your shoes used to look like this (hello lovely):
Now they look like this (hello comfortable and washable):
Questions for the Ages
To say that Mr. 5-year old is curious would be an understatement. He asks questions about everything, and if he happens to hear you mention something in passing he will open a line of questioning that would put the Spanish Inquisition to shame. I used to look a lot of things up because I felt like it was important to give him accurate information, that and I was tired of feeling like I was not smarter than a preschooler. All the research became exhausting. I still try to answer his questions, but I more frequently say I'm not sure, ask your dad, or can I use a life line to phone a friend.Here is a list of questions from the last couple of days and the answers I wish I could have given him.
5-year old Question - If you keep walking forever will you eventually run out of dirt?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - I don't know, but I'm sure if there is one patch of dirt left your brother will fall in it.
5-year old Question - If you crack open the earth will you find gold in the middle?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - Perhaps, but I think you might also find my car keys because I swear I have looked everywhere else.
5-year old Question - What is a tornado made of?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - Mobile homes and flying monkeys.
5-year old Question - Can a tornado rip an engine out of a car?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - It depends on how mad the monkeys are.
5-year old Question - If you get sucked up by a tornado will you just fly around and around?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - Enough with the tornadoes already Dorothy.
5-year old Question - If I spray water on the bathroom wall will all the paint come off?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - Actually, I think that will cause a tornado.
5-year old Question - I saw a magician pull a penny out of a kid's ear, can anyone do that?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - Only emergency room doctors can pull a penny out of kid's ears.
5-year old Question - If I stick my toe in this tiny hole in the patio furniture will Firemen have to come and get it out?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - WHAT?
5-year old Question - What kind of tool will they use to get my toe out?
Not Mother of the Year Answer - A bone saw - you can't get those chairs from Costco any more.
The Not So Friendly Skies
Once upon a time I was a working girl ... I know given my current lack of brain cells it is hard to believe. However, I assure you it was true! My status as a working girl required me to travel A LOT, and I am painfully familiar with the trials and tribulations of navigating airline travel. Over the course of my traveling career, I have been bumped, canceled, weather delayed, rerouted, diverted, stranded without luggage, forced to spend the night at the airport, and inconvenienced in every possible way by the airlines. I am well aware that my seat belt should be buckled low and tight across my lap, that the nearest exit may be behind me, and that in the unlikely event of a water landing my seat cushion may be used as a flotation device. Additionally, in the old days of travel there were no Ipods or portable DVD players instead we read books and paid $4 to watch the inflight movie on tiny 5 inch screens that dropped from the ceiling 5 rows in front of you.
Having said all of that, nothing prepared me for the prospect of airline travel with small kids. Traveling with kids, especially small ones is not for the faint of heart, but rather should be done only after careful consideration and a trip to the airport bar. The first obstacle of course is the 750 lbs. of carry-on bags that are necessary to keep 2 small kids busy for 3 hours. For me, this also includes a full size car seat which I inconveniently carry like a back pack on my back. The car seat is absolutely a safety precaution, however it is also a necessity for the rest of the traveling public because I assure you having an unrestrained Mr. 2-year old on an aircraft is a recipe for disaster. If you had told me 5 years ago when I was traveling for work that I would some day trade in my laptop in order to trek through an airport pushing a stroller with bags hanging off every possible handle, wrangling 2 kids, and wearing of all things a 20 lb. car seat on my back I would have laughed until I peed my pants.
When Mr. Husband has been forced to carry the very fashion forward backpack/car seat he spends the entire time muttering under his breath about how he can't believe this is necessary and how he feels like an enormous jack ass. I hate to break the news to him that not only does he feel like a jack ass, in actuality when you get right down to it he really looks like one too. Getting through security with all of that stuff is no picnic, and once the other travelers in line spot the car seat and stroller they will try to avoid you as if you had the Bubonic Plague. Who can blame them? Usually by the time we have removed shoes, collapsed strollers, emptied pockets, taken off jackets, hoisted enormous bags on to the security belt and negotiated our way through the metal detector I have broken into a sweat and lost my temper at least once - only to repeat the whole process in reverse on the other side.
Schlepping through the airport like a pack mule can only be topped by the actual plane ride itself. As soon as you lumber on to the aircraft with your massive carry-ons and undoubtedly by this time, a screaming kid or two in tow you will notice the "LOOK". The "LOOK" I am referring to can be found on the face of every passenger you approach on your way to your seat. The look is a combination of terror and silent pleading, "please don't sit next to me, please don't sit next to me". I recognize the look because I have had it many times when I traveled before kids. They are generally so relieved once you pass their aisle that they do not even seem to notice when you inadvertently hit them in the head with the car seat on your way down the aisle.
We have been on several trips with our kids and had the entire spectrum of experiences, from slept the entire way to screamed and cried to such a degree that I thought maybe a head was going to spin completely around. In fact I think two of the longest hours of my entire life occurred while I was trapped on a plane with the then Mr. almost 2-year old. An unfortunate serious of events (all of which were Mr. Husbands fault) left Mr. almost 2-year old without his car seat and sitting on my lap. I honestly think wrestling an alligator for 2 hours would have been less exhausting. Even Mr. 5-year old put on his headphones and asked me to turn up his DVD player in an attempt to drown out the noise. I think the entire cabin breathed a collective sigh of relief when Mr. almost 2-year old FINALLY fell asleep - too bad it was about 4 minutes before we landed. I then got to carry a completely comatose child in addition to my 750 lbs. of carry-on luggage. While we were standing in the crowd of passengers waiting to retrieve our luggage someone who was not on the plane commented about what a cute boy I had ... a man standing next to her who was on the plane actually laughed out loud. Oh well, we probably had that coming!
Bootcamp - A New Form of Torture
Luckily the kids were already in bed when I got home, because it took every ounce of energy I had left to extract myself from my sweat drenched clothes, crawl over to the Advil (which I swallowed with no water because it made me nauseous to think of going downstairs for a glass), and collapse into bed. Of course at 2:00 am, Mr. 2-year old had a nightmare and started to cry. I sat up swung my legs over the edge of the bed and fell down as soon as my feet hit the floor. I guess in my comatose state I had forgotten about the work out and when I tried to stand on my legs the pain was so excruciating that it actually took my breath away. I used my super-human Mom strength to get myself into Mr. 2-year old's room to calm him down and I ended up sleeping in his rocking chair the rest of the night because I could not bear to make the return trip to my bed. The next morning was not any better. I quickly realized that leg muscles are key in going from a standing to seated position on the toilet. The trip back up from the toilet was no treat either, and let me just say I was impressed at how much weight the toilet paper holder could bear. My stomach muscles hurt so much when I breathed that I was convinced I had some how punctured my lung, perhaps it was the 3,000 push ups I did or maybe it was the fall I took during the night . Additionally, I had a pain in my shoulder that was so excruciating that if I did not know better I would have sworn I had been stabbed in my sleep. I endured several days of agony from my bootcamp experience mitigated to some degree by Ibuprofen and I must admit a few glasses of wine.
I always tend to be a little over zealous when it come to exercise. I think that is a nice way of saying that I have a fairly warped perception of my abilities. You do not have to be a genius to figure out that a "bootcamp" class is going to be difficult ...the level of intensity should be obvious given that bootcamp is used to prepare people for WAR. I think I have attended my last bootcamp class, and unless there is some crazy twist of fate and I am forced to join the armed forces (heaven help us) I think I will leave bootcamp to the professionals