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What I learned at MamaCon

May 22, 2013 By 6 Comments

Vagillion – n. a million vaginas or in reference to a lot of women. (source- Urban Dictionary)

Vagillion- the word I said by accident, when introducing Nikki of Moms Who Drink and Swear at the comedy show- Honey I Shrunk My Libido.

A brilliant mistake. Like Edison and the light bulb, Ben Franklin and his kite, I coined a phrase I didn’t even know existed. So now I give you a vagillion reasons to attend MamaCon 2014. Okay, I’ll make a short list of a few reasons and we’ll call it good, ‘kay?

(This list is not in numerical order, as you can see.)

85. Do not feel guilty for taking time for yourself
This is important. We are horrible at constantly flexing the guilt muscle. You are thinking of all the things you could or should be doing, and sitting in a seminar with a bunch of moms learning about how to take time for yourself, doesn’t seem like one of those things. Well, let me tell you- it is.

You have to fill your tank to be able to give to others. <pshhsk> (that’s the sound of the loud speaker) “This is your Captain speaking- Mom’s, put your oxygen masks on first.”

Got it? Good.

33. Don’t do chores begrudgingly.
This is hard, I know. Maybe harder than taking time for yourself and not feeling guilty. But I learned that if I want my kids to do chores, I better do my own chores without complaining. Being productive is good. Sure laundry and dishes may not be that fun, but darn it, it’s not hard and it needs to get done. So yeah, I will only complain about chores on Facebook and my blog, not in front of my children. Oh, and I told McSweetie this too. He agrees that rolling his eyes whenever I ask him to take out the trash or put his washed shorts away, is probably not a good example in front of the kids.

122. Hook the shit out of closets.
I know you’re thinking, ‘what in thee sam hill is she talking about?’ Well, it was an organizing expert that shared a nice tidbit about using vertical spaces. We need to do it more. Horizontal, we have nailed. Covered, quite literally. But vertical- there’s a whole new world of storage if we put hooks all over our closets, the backs of doors and under shelves. I will be making a trip to Home Depot soon. Translation- I will be sending McSweetie to Home Depot soon.

22. I need to not worry about the mythical relationship between food and exercise. There is no relationship between food and exercise. They don’t know each other. They’ve never met. There’s a relationship I have with both of them and it’s called, I need them to live. Yeah. It’s that simple. I need to stop thinking over every little calorie, stop beating myself up for every missed trip to the gym. I will eat, I will exercise. I have to. It’s how humans survive. I will eat when I’m hungry, and try to move as much as possible. And this includes trips to the gym, walking the dog, playing catch or pogo-sticking with Owen, or a roll in the sack with hubs. So there.

5. I can host a comedy show like nobody’s business. I’m no Tina Fey or Ellen DeGeneres, but when I impersonated urinating like a sprinkler and read my Sky Rockets in Flight  blog for the crowd, there was much laughter. And I can’t take all the credit. The fabulous ladies, Mom comedians Jacki Kane (jackikane.com), Joanie Quinn (livetired.net), Nikki Schulak (nikkischulak.com) of Honey I Shrunk My Libido and Nikki of Moms Who Drink and Swear had the crowd of women, eating out of their hand. I burned a vagillion calories that night laughing. See what I did there?

I hear there’s a MamaCon in Chicago come October. If I play my cards right, and save my lip gloss money, I might get to go!

See you then!

 

 

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Scary Mommy book review and a Mother’s Day Giveaway

May 6, 2013 By 11 Comments

 

Hey it’s Mother’s Day next week. You know what that means? Macaroni necklaces and handprint pictures that you will treasure forever. Or not.

Don’t think I’m a bitch for saying this- but sometimes for Mother’s Day, I would actually like a present that isn’t an outline of my child’s hand, or I don’t know, a shower head fixture. Now that the kids are older, I don’t get many egg crate jewelry boxes or seashell decoupages. And not to say I didn’t enjoy the ones I did get in my past. I did. I remember vividly tearing up at the hand print poem Owen gave me the Mother’s day he was in Kindergarten. It was precious. And I understand that McSweetie doesn’t really know what to do with Mother’s day anyway. Do I get a simple bouquet of flowers and call it good? Or do I need a giant diamond pendant that signifies all the fabulous things I do each and every day?

Well, neither.

I think flowers are a rip-off at Mother’s Day. They jack up the prices. And a giant diamond pendant is a little ridiculous. Just a little. A medium-sized diamond pendant wouldn’t be that ridiculous though…

So let’s be real here. We want to share all the real things we love and hate about Mother’s Day. You know there are those things that suck about it! And I thought what would be more perfect than a review of an awesome new book. Recently, I got the privilege of a copy of the new book Scary Mommy; Motherhood Comes Naturally  (and Other Vicious Lies) by Jill Smokler. I was tickled that I got a preview of the book from her publisher and I couldn’t wait to share my book review with you. It does not disappoint.

If you come from the point of view that motherhood isn’t all baby powder freshness and cooing lullabies, you will love Jill’s book. This is a second installment of her Scary Mommy tales. All I can say is, where was this woman when Emma was a baby?

Some Scary Mommy Confessions you can probably relate to:

“I beat my kids at Super Mario Bros. and proceeded to do a victory dance that made them all cry. Whoops.”

“For Mother’s Day, I will trim my pubes. And then I’ll pleasure myself while fantasizing about child-free days, endless bottles of wine, and the time when my husband was actually sexy.”

And my favorite-

“For years we’ve been assuming our daughter is just in an annoying phase. Turns out, she’s actually just really annoying.”

 

So for all you hard working, (every mom is a working mom) tireless, selfless mothers out there- I’m doing something special.

Enter for a chance to win a copy of Motherhood Comes Naturally (and Other Vicious Lies) by Jill Smokler, and I will throw in a copy of I Just Want To Pee Alone! As a bonus giveaway- if you prove in the comments with a link to a social media site that you told your friends about Scary Mommy’s book, I will randomly select a winner for something special by ME! No macaroni necklaces here, this will be a great load of loot, I promise.

Jill has been crazy busy promoting her book on the Today show and is starting a book tour- Find her cities here. 

I want to help her sell a ton of books. She has three kids to put through college people- or pay for therapy, either way.

So enter and share!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures is now in a really non-crappy book

March 27, 2013 By 67 Comments

Do you know the blog, Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures? If you don’t, you need to.

Here’s why:

It’s funny

She nails the parenting stuff to a ‘T’

The pictures really aren’t that crappy (okay, maybe a little), but make everything more funny.

 

Her book comes out this week and I was thrilled that I received an early-bird copy to get to read. Oh my goodness- I snorted out loud! My husband wondered what I was reading. He thought it might be that I was re-reading I Just Want to Pee Alone. True- I snorted at that too, but this time, it was Crappy Pictures I was laughing at.

Here’s some of my favorite highlights-from the Chapter- The 50 Crappy Laws of Parenting-

Law #10- “After a long car drive during which you hoped they would nap, they fall asleep a mile from your destination.”

Law #39- “They only spike a fever after the sun goes down and the doctor’s office is closed.”

Law #44- “The baby will fall asleep on you, but only when you have to pee. Very badly.”

Amber has asked her readers what they want her to do in the event her book gets on a best seller list. Like a challenge, per se to encourage people to buy the book.

Here’s some of her kids’ suggestions. By the way- she has two boys they are called Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby-

Here’s one idea

 

I think this is a good one though-

 

My vote is that she takes a real picture of her face and let’s us see her non-crappy self! But going to Disneyland is a good 2nd choice.

I’m giving away a copy of her book to one of you!!

And… wait for it- a copy of I JUST WANT TO PEE ALONE as well!

Yay- everyone is happy. By the way, she wrote a review of our book here that you can read. And low and behold, she graced us with some of her fine artwork. I just love it!

 

Here’s what you have to do:

Enter according to the Rafflecopter instructions, it gives you all kinds of chances to win.
a Rafflecopter giveaway

You can always buy the book as well!

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I Just Want to Pee Alone- the book

March 11, 2013 By 7 Comments

 

 

Holy cow. I’m published in a book. A real pages with paper and ink- book. Not the ones stapled together in middle school you wrote in English class. Or the ones you tied together with string or ribbon from elementary school. A book.

Motherhood is the toughest – and funniest – job you’ll ever love. Raising kids is hard work. The pay sucks, your boss is a tyrant, and the working conditions are pitiful – you can’t even take a bathroom break without being interrupted with another outrageous demand.

Hasn’t every mother said it before? “I just want to pee alone!”

I Just Want to Pee Alone is a collection of hilarious essays from 37 of the most kick ass mom bloggers on the web. You will laugh, you will cry, you will want to share this book with every mom you know.

Featuring the hilarious Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva, My Life and Kids, Bad Parenting Moments, People I Want to Punch in the Throat, and many others, and ME!

Kindle version and paperback available on Amazon, see the link above! For iTunes- click here

And if you needed any convincing, the reviews are in and folks are saying it’s hilarious. Oh, and we just happen to be #1 on Amazon’s Parenting and Humor category. No biggy.

 

People I Want to Punch in the Throat

Insane in the Mom Brain

The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva

Baby Sideburns

Rants From Mommyland

You Know it Happens at Your House Too

The Underachiever’s Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess

My Life and Kids

Bad Parenting Moments

Let Me Start By Saying

Frugalista Blog

Suburban Snapshots

Ninja Mom

Four Plus an Angel

Honest Mom

Binkies and Briefcases

Naps Happen

Kelley’s Break Room

Toulouse & Tonic

HouseTalkN

Hollow Tree Ventures

The Fordeville Diaries

Snarkfest

Mom’s New Stage

Nurse Mommy Laughs

The Dose of Reality

The Mom of the Year

Life on Peanut Layne

Momaical

Cloudy, With a Chance of Wine

Confessions of a Cornfed Girl

I Love Them Most When They’re Sleeping

Random Handprints

RachRiot

You’re My Favorite Today

Funny is Family

My Real Life

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A mile in her shoes

February 26, 2013 By 96 Comments

What if I was so depressed, so profoundly sad, so completely out of my right mind, I took a gun to my head and ended my life? Would you judge me? Would you wonder why I didn’t get help? Wonder why didn’t I get some anti-depressants? Why didn’t anyone see the signs?

Now imagine knowing someone who is on anti-depressants. Or imagine knowing someone who checked themselves into a crisis center or psych ward. Someone who told their spouse they needed help. Would you judge them? Would you say they are weak for relying on drugs or therapy to help them get through their day? Would you say they shouldn’t have had children in the first place?

Harsh, huh?

All these things HAVE been said though. Not to me maybe. But maybe to you. Or your friend. Or maybe you have said those things once or twice.

Depression is like any other medical condition that needs help. It is not a bad mood to snap out of. It is not a blue time that’s easy to pass. It’s a serious disease. Like heart disease. Diabetes. Arthritis. Addiction.

If someone needs a medication for them to live with a disease then let them. Support them.

Would you tell the woman who’s ready to take her husband’s hand gun out of the safe, to just snap out of it? To just exercise more, take a few vitamins?

I didn’t think so.

I wish I didn’t know of 8 children that don’t have a parent because that parent took their own life. 2 moms and even a dad. You hardly hear about the men. But my cousin jumped off a building when his boys were just of preschool age. I didn’t know him very well to even begin to understand how someone could do that.

My childhood friend took her husband’s service revolver and shot herself in bed on Memorial day. Her family thought she was getting ready for work. They were at a relative’s for a barbecue. She had been unhappy. On pain medication. Withdrawn. Was there anything anybody could do? I don’t know. The what-ifs are a mile long. Does everyone now wish they could’ve done something? Yes. The pain is so raw, so great. Not just to those little girls that are left without a mother each of their birthdays and Christmases. But the mother of this woman, who still misses her little girl. Her sisters who miss weekends at the lake and summer days by the pool. Her husband that wants his wife there for his girls.

Then there’s my neighbor. 5 years ago she was home with her four little girls. She had been hospitalized for depression once before.  She had battled personal demons that we only knew about until after she was gone. She home-schooled her girls and always looked so cheerful. So happy. Her husband liked golf. He would leave her in the afternoons to go play and she would hang out with the kids. Get dinner ready. Set up for a dinner party with a few friends.  On the outside, I thought she was happy. We were wrong. Inside she was battling darkness. Darkness she hid from almost everyone. Especially her neighbors and friends who saw her every day. Why didn’t she say something?

One summer afternoon, right as she was getting ready for dinner; she put down the meat she was marinating, the salad greens she was putting in a bowl and she went upstairs to the master bathroom and shot herself. Her four little girls, ages 1 year to 8 years old, were home. No one heard anything. But when a neighbor discovered her after the eldest went next door to say she didn’t know where mommy was; the horror began for this cul-de-sac. You never, ever want to see a coroner’s van on your street.

Is this post about suicide or depression? Well, both I guess.

I’m trying to get people to understand that depressed folks do in fact, take their own lives. And I don’t understand how anyone can judge someone who needs help.

My own depression started after Emma was born. She was 3 months old and I could feel myself slipping into what I guessed was post-partum depression. James was helpful. My mom was helpful. I got myself through it. But a year and a half after that a friend passed away from breast cancer. I couldn’t snap out of my grief. I was melancholy, crying and having a hard time just getting through the day.

My doctor prescribed an anti-depressant. A very low dose of Prozac. It was just enough to help me. I admit, I’ve tried quitting cold turkey a couple of times. Thinking that I feel good enough not to take it and then go a couple weeks without. Boy is THAT a BAD IDEA. Even the low dose needs a doctor to help you wean off of it. But not only that, without it, the chemicals in my brain are such that, I would be sad, crying, bitter, helpless. I don’t need to be those things. I am not those things the chemicals, or lack of, make me.

I’m proud to take 20 mg of something that helps keep me in check for my kids’ sake. My husband’s sake and my mom’s. Thankfully, I’ve never contemplated suicide.

I know a friend that did though and she got help. She is the bravest person I know to have checked herself into the psych unit at a local hospital when she realized that harming herself would be okay. I’m so grateful she took that step. She got help and we supported her for it.

Please don’t tell someone all the things they should be doing differently, or that maybe they shouldn’t have had children in the first place if motherhood is such a burden. Is motherhood harder than expected? Yes. Would I trade it for anything? No. Do I need my sanity for it? You betcha!

Nobody’s life is perfect. Nobody can understand what it is like to live as anyone else. You haven’t walked a mile in their shoes, nor could you.

I’ve disclosed to several friends, happily even, that I got help, got some meds and feel so much better.

They too have told me that they got help themselves. That they weren’t sure they should take any pills. That they were embarrassed to tell their spouse about it or tell their doctor they need help. But that after talking to me, they took that next step to talk to their doctor. And they are glad they did.

Wake up people. If a man has no problem telling his doctor he needs erectile dysfunction drugs, then we shouldn’t make a woman feel bad that she needs drugs to keep her mental health in order.

The stigma related to anti-depressants is still out there. Maybe some of you reading this post are shaking your heads at me wondering why I would go such a route. Well, because it works for me. It helps me.

I don’t want to be that mom who contemplates what a gun would feel like. How long my car’s fumes would take. I will NOT be that person.

I will be here for my children. I will make sure that I am in control. That I can see things clearly.

If you need help. Please get some. If you can’t figure out what is making you feel sad and the sad doesn’t go away. Talk to your doctor. If your spouse will understand, tell them. It’s okay.

If you need to tell just me, I will listen too.

I want to thank Honest Mom for her candid and honest discussion you can read here, and The Bearded Iris for her bravery, and The Bloggess for inspiring me to write this post. For giving those with depression a voice and for keeping the conversation going. Thank you. Take care my friends. And be understanding to one another.

 

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If I were a cover girl

February 12, 2013 By 5 Comments

I love magazines. I have several; Instyle, Redbook, O, Marie Claire… Yeah. But honestly, I just don’t live up to the stuff inside the pages.

If I were to be Editor in Chief of a magazine, I think it would look more like my mock-up here.

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Thankful for boogers and dribbles on the seat

December 17, 2012 By 4 Comments

Yep. I’m going to say it. I know, it’s a complete change of heart. Especially after all the complaining I do and when I threaten to go on strike. You guys know that’s just hyperbole right? (what a big juicy word, ‘hyperbole’)

Every day a child is taken too soon from this world. It’s the sad fact of life. Childhood cancer, bike accidents, car accidents happen every day. Children by the hundreds die in the  Sudan because of starvation and disease. Why did the Sandy Hook Elementary tragedy make such a difference for me? I don’t know. Maybe because it’s relatable to me based on the victims’ ages and location and its absolute randomness. It could happen anywhere.

So I’m still my snarky self. Trust me. But I decided first to remember before I gripe at my kids ONE MORE TIME about the clothes that needed picking up and the wrappers left randomly around the house, to take a breath, to speak calmly, and not let the little things bother me.

Will I still parent and make them hate me from time to time because I put my foot down on setting boundaries? You betcha. Will I do it with respect for them and their dignity? Absolutely.

This weekend I told McSweetie I’m not going to nag. He probably thought it was a Christmas miracle that came early. I will kindly ask him to remove his toenail clippings from the bathroom floor and whiskers from the sink. And then I’ll flash him my boobs when the kids aren’t around. It’s a win-win situation for both of us. He might start doing more chores, more often.

I will remember not to roll my eyes (it’s hard for me). I roll my eyes and see my brain sometimes. I will try not to get exasperated when Owen asks for the bajillionth time questions like this- “how tall is Marshawn Lynch from the Seahawks?” “How much money did Steve Jobs make before he died?” “Is the White House the biggest house in America?” “What kind of car am I going to drive when I get my license?” “Does Dad make more money than so and so’s dad?”

You get my point.

He is one inquisitive kid. But hey, what a blessing, right?

Then there’s Emma’s fits of absolute dissolve over something minor. But never tell a pre-teen girl ‘it’s not a big deal’. Because guess what? It’s a pretty big fucking deal I didn’t wash the socks she was planning to wear today.

I will remind her, without screaming at her, that I am not a mind reader. That I’m happy to wash her socks with the rest of the laundry after she gathers it up off her floor and into her hamper. But then I will smile, and hug her (but only when she’s ready, because hugging a pre-hormonal adolescent girl before she’s ready is as dangerous as wrangling an alligator.) I will smooth her hair and wipe her tears and offer her a snack.

Most often kids are cranky when they are hungry, so I will make sure she doesn’t need anything to eat.

So I think this will be a good plan. When Owen hands me a booger, the size of his thumb and announces, “I was digging for gold!” I will smile and tell him that his gold needs to be put in a kleenex treasure chest.

Those little stinkers!!

I love them and their boogers, and their tears, and their farts. And McSweetie’s toenails. I kinda love them. Sort of.

 

 

 

 

 

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What I REALLY want for Mother’s Day. Really.

May 3, 2012 By 23 Comments

Peace.

Not world peace. That would be nice.  Just peace. And quiet. It’s not hard really. Is it?

I will admit, my children are older now. They are very good at entertaining themselves. They usually are off at a friend’s house, stuck in a book, watching a show, at school, whatever. So I have it good. But sometimes on weekends when the whole family is together, it gets a little dicey. There’s bickering. Snide remarks. Insults under the breath (ARGH, I hate that!) and sometimes tears. Usually by the boy after the girl tells him he’s a stupid boy that needs to go away. She can get a little nasty sometimes. She’s in training to be the perfect mercurial moody woman. But there’s also times when they are the best little angels. I mean really. They can be so sweet to each other. Mostly on my special days- like birthdays and Mother’s day, they know to be nice. They have even written a contract some years. I’ll be pulling out the contract again this year.

But back to Mother’s Day. MY Mother’s Day. I will not let myself feel guilty for wanting a real Mother’s Day. Why not?? I deserve it dammit!

I’ve learned over the years how to play the Mother’s Day game. I am so blessed and lucky to have my mom. I have my mother in law nearby as well. So in the years of early motherhood, I was the pleaser. I tried to please them and try to have it all but in the end, just got frustrated. Mother’s Day sucked. So now, I spread it out. I have the ability to have time with my mom on one day. And then usually the Saturday before Mother’s Day Sunday, we can all go down to my in-laws and do the grandma thing where she can revel in the children, they can make her feel special, and everyone’s happy.

So I’ve come up with some Mother’s Day options to pick from for myself:

There’s the Fantasy Mother’s Day; Daniel Craig brings me tea on a tray while he’s wearing Speedos and tells me I’m the new Bond girl and he needs to take me to the set in Istanbul the next morning on the studio’s private jet. Hmmm, not sure about this one. That would confuse the children greatly why James Bond is barely clothed in our house and daddy’s scooping the cat box. They might need therapy.  Maybe scratch that idea.

There’s the I’m Tired of Being Around My Kids Mother’s Day; You spend the whole day at a spa and don’t come home until they are tucked in bed. As great as this sounds,  this is hard since it’s on a Sunday and I don’t know many spas around with those hours. Also- very confusing to the children. It is, after all, the day I’m celebrating my motherhood which only is because of their existence. Probably another reason for therapy in their adult years.

There’s the I’m Such A Wonderful Mommy I Want To Spend The Whole Day With My Kids Making Flower Pots and Ceramic Tiles and Go to A Petting Farm Mother’s Day. Well, this just wouldn’t do because it would drive me batshit crazy and I would be exhausted and one of us (me) will end up in tears.

Then there the balance of the second and third choice. The Please Just Pick Up Your Shit, Be Nice, Let Me Sit And Drink A Cup of Tea Without It Getting Cold and Make Me A Meal Mother’s Day. YES!! Ding ding ding ding. We have a winner!

This is the Mother’s Day I want.

It’s not that hard. It just takes a little pre-planning.

It will go something like this-

Wake up to smiling faces and a hot cup of tea brought to me in bed. I don’t even need a gift- just the hand made cards will do. Oh wait- I already took the kids to Target to buy my Mother’s Day cards, so all they have to do is sign them. How easy is that?? I didn’t look at the cards, in case you are wondering. Just for that fabulous gesture on my part, my husband should really buy me a yellow diamond pendant. Because when I say I don’t want a gift I am totally lying. I always want gifts. Who am I, a monk?? Gifts. Please!

We will get ready and go to church. On time. No fighting. No whining about shoes that don’t feel right. No rolling eyes because church is boring. Just get in the car, keep your mouth shut and sit in church dammit!

We will then go somewhere to dine. It doesn’t have to be a fancy schmancy four course brunch or super uber expensive brunch buffet. Which I never eat my money’s worth anyway. It just needs to be someplace that isn’t IHOP or Applebees. If they wanted to cook, I would be okay with that. (Again, another lie. I would SO not be okay with this)  My husband doesn’t cook and then I would end up doing the cleaning up or getting annoyed with how he’s using the wrong spatula on the non-stick skillet. You know what I mean? So just getting out of the house is probably best for all.

After we’ve dined, I might just read a book for the rest of the afternoon. Curl up and watch James Bond DVDs with the boy. Maybe it will be sunny and I can lounge out on the deck.

There will be no last minute scramble to get homework done, PE uniforms in the wash, rushing out to buy poster board at the office supply store, scrambling to make a video for math class that needs to be uploaded to YouTube or any other hasty hurried spur of the moment thing forgotten by either offspring.

Dishes will be put in the dishwasher. Toilet paper will be replaced on the roll- squares going OVER, not under. Towels will be hung up on towel racks after showers not to be found later in a mildewy damp pile. Socks will be put in the hampers.

This isn’t too much to ask. It can be done. The other 363 days (my birthday is the other ME day) I will handle the chaos, messes and emergencies. But not Mother’s Day. It’s just one day. One day. That’s all I ask.

Thank you.

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The happiness of being a mother. No- really!

April 8, 2012 By 18 Comments

We are celebrating my daughter’s 12th birthday today. And it happens to be Easter. One of the perks of being born in April, there’s a chance your birthday falls on Easter. This is the second time we have celebrated the two together. The last was five years ago. We were at Disneyland for spring break. I don’t think a 7 year old could have had it any better!

This year, Emma is on the brink of teenagedom. She has always been mature- beyond her years. She was uber sophisticated at the young age of 2 when she said very clearly- “Aunt Edna broke her pelvis” to everyone she met on the street. This was true. Aunt Edna had, in fact, broken her pelvis. She also would lay on our family room carpet with the clear plastic toy bin over her head pretending she was Snow White in the casket the dwarfs had made her. And we would have to take turns playing the Prince. Getting on bended knee, lowering our head in sorrow, then lifting the toy bin to kiss her. She would open her eyes and play the princess off to be with her prince. Oh gosh, how I miss those days. Sort of.

Emma was never really a good sleeper. She gave me trouble even in-utero when she decided she wanted to start coming out at 25 weeks. I was hospitalized and on strict bed rest for 10 weeks. When she was born, we couldn’t get her to latch on. Breast feeding was hell. I think this is what caused her to not sleep. Her poor sleep patterns continued until she was about 5.

Now, what do you know? I can’t wake her up in the mornings. She would sleep a solid 12 hours if you let her. Which is hard when you have to get her out the door for school at 7:15 am and most activities and homework keep her up until 9pm. She probably needs as much sleep now as a toddler does, but life doesn’t allow for that.

Well, let’s get back to my original point. Happiness in motherhood. Seems like a paradox huh? Just kidding!

But truly, I wanted to be a mom so badly. I wanted Emma to be born safe and well. I willed her to be healthy. Don’t patronize me. I know that it’s not my thinking that made her. But I prayed hard, I meditated, I focused all my energies to gestating that healthy baby.

When she came out- oh lord, that was something. I had the best epidural known to modern medicine. This was after two hours of my uterus being hypertonic in a contraction that was ‘off the charts’. I thought I would die. When they finally let me have the epidural, the anesthesiologist- Dr. Fritz- performed magic. I didn’t even feel the needle (this could be because I was in such a fit of pain, you could have cut off my toes, and I wouldn’t have noticed it for the pain in my midsection) and then he said that my legs would start to feel warm like in a bathtub of warm water. Oh. He was right!! I could breathe. The pain subsided, my legs went heavenly numb and warm. My thoughts returned to the room I was in and the people around me. Like my darling husband, McSweetie, my mom, and my doula Peggy. The labor nurse, Ruth, was awesome. She got me comfortable and we let everyone go get some breakfast since it had been such a stressful morning of watching me writhe in pain.

She assured them it would be a few more hours before it was time to push.

Tick tock. A whopping 30 minutes went by (tee hee, I kid) and I sheepishly told Ruth I felt like I had to go to the bathroom. You know- I mean, number 2. She’s like, uhm, I don’t think so, let me examine you.

Sure enough- she’s in there with her whole hand. “Oh yeah, I feel the baby’s hair- you’re 10 centimeters”.

Me- “So I don’t have to poop?”

Ruth- “Nope. You’re gonna have this baby!”

In walks husband and mom with lattes and smiles on their faces thinking, la la la, this is a piece of cake. Then I say, “Hey, guess what? I’m ten centimeters so we’re going to start pushing, and by we, I mean ME.”

So up my legs go in the stirrups, Dr. Johnson, the best ob/gyn known to woman,  comes by with all the paper gowns and masks, I’m sure they put something on the floor to catch the mess. I had my Mozart CD playing in the hospital CD player, the sun was shining and I didn’t feel a thing. Anything that registered on the pain meter anyway.  I did what they told me and in about 10 minutes, I could see Emma with her eyes wide open staring at the doctor! She was covered in stuff that looks like what babies look like on TV and the movies when they pretend it’s a newborn. The doc was a little concerned. Emma had had the cord around her neck and the fetal monitor showed a morbidly low heart rate. They wanted to get her to oxygen right away. The Dr. didn’t even ask if one of us wanted to cut the cord. My mom with tears in her eyes, is holding my leg in the air, cheering, “She’s here, she’s here!”

I started to cry. But in a good, relief-happy cry sort of way.  I hadn’t heard Emma make a sound yet, but since I saw her color and saw her eyes wide open, I knew she was going to be okay. Within a few minutes they had her wiped off and on my chest. When I placed my hand on her, I thought I put my fingers in a warm bowl of butter. I had never felt anything so soft. It was literally, ‘like buttah’. I could smell her, I don’t know how to describe it, but it was HER smell. I cried and cried for my baby. The universe shifted and my heart opened up to a big giant surge of power. Infinite power that I could never imagine. This is truly what LOVE feels like. I get it. THIS is what everyone talks about.

Bliss lasted for a few hours. Once the epidural wore off and I could help myself to the toilet- that’s a winning moment for post partum moms. You DO NOT want a catheter if your bladder is ‘injured’ in any way. I remember feeling fabulous that I could breathe, my lungs weren’t squished, my pelvis didn’t have 10 pounds of baby weight pushing on it, I felt incredible. Until the next day when my hoo ha, swelled up like a grapefruit and I had to sit with frozen maxi pads. But that’s another story…

The latching on- not so good. The sleeping that night- not so good. The sleeping the next 45 nights- not so good.

Both hubs and I were bleary eyed, happy parents. But we knew we were screwed.

I remember looking at her in her bassinet. She was about 4 days old. I was still miserable. My boobs hurt like mo fo’s and I didn’t know whether to, as my dad says, ‘shit or go blind’, I was so tired. But I looked at her perfectness, and started to weep. I was so grateful she was here and safe. I had this perfect child. Of course, now, I was immersed in worrying all about the things that COULD happen. Is she going to stop breathing? Is her bassinet safe? What if there’s a fire? What if we get in a car accident on the way to a pediatrician appointment? What if she gets a fever? And the worrying never stops.

Now my worries are- who is she hanging out with after school, who is she getting a ride with to the movies, is her school campus safe, is she safe in her friend’s parent’s car on the way to a camp-out… ??? and on, and on, and on….

But today is her birthday. And even while she is right this very minute making a spoof video on her new Flip camera with her brother about murdering a cereal box- she is the apple of my eye, the sun in my day, and the peach in my fruit basket.

YOUR kids make videos about murdering cereal boxes and stuffed animals too, right?

Happy Easter. Happy Birthday Emma. The world is better with you in it.

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High tea and scones, with a side of James Bond.

February 6, 2012 By 5 Comments

In jest of one of my favorite mommy bloggers, Lady Goo Goo Gaga, and her post on bragging on Facebook- I’m going to brag about my fabulous afternoon with my favorite precious child that was spent having High Tea. I’m so blessed. (I threw that in for you Lady GGG!)

Yes, an 8 year old boy spent his Saturday afternoon in a fancy hotel dining room having Afternoon High Tea with his mom. And liked it!

The lobby set the tone. Owen was amazed at the splendid structures and sweeping staircases. He compared it to Bruce Wayne’s mansion. (There will be constant comparing of movie scenes throughout this post.) We entered the dining room and were seated at our lovely table set for two with fine linens, china and crystal. Two little pots of tea were brought to us. There were silver strainers in little silver cups by each cup and saucer. Little jars of honey and sugar cubes in a little bowl with silver tongs. The tower of goodies arrives with little tea sandwiches, scones, mini cups of custard, petit fours and macaroons. I almost forgot about the little fancy dish of berries we had to start with. Owen ate each berry individually with his fork. He was conscientious of his manners. He almost put his elbows on the table and stopped himself. So precious. And yes, I’ve used the word ‘little’ about a dozen times.

He loved the whipped cream to spread on the scones, he drizzled honey in his tea cup. He said how fantastic it would be if this was our house. If we had a butler to bring us tea. But then he said it might not be special anymore and he would get used to it and that would be sad. He mentioned the train station in Hugo and how quaint it all was to have a cafe, toy store and book store all in one spot. His idea of heaven.

Nothing could ruin our little day. Not even the crazy lady in the corner laughing to herself with great enthusiasm. We thought she was on her blue tooth or something, but no. Your bona fide crazy lady and all her grand illusions.

Conversation throughout tea with Owen went something like this:

Owen- “Mom, do you think James Bond drinks tea?”

Me- “Yes, I do. He’s English, he enjoys a cup of tea like the rest of us.”

***

Me- “Owen, tell me about the girls at recess that chase you. Do you like any of them back?”

Owen- “Yeah, there’s two.”

Me- “Do they know you like them?”

Owen- “Yeah, one of the boys in our group told one of the girls in their group so they know.”

Me- “Oh, like a messenger. You didn’t actually speak to these girls?”

Owen- “(laughs) No mom!”

***

Owen- “This is like Hogwarts, but really different.”

Me- “Cozy, but brighter. Hogwarts is pretty dark.”

Owen- “Yeah. Do you think this place is old? Do rich people come here? Are we rich? Hagrid wouldn’t fit in this chair.”

…you get the idea.

My favorite quote though from him between his sips of tea and nibbles of bite size peanut butter and jelly, “Being in this fancy place makes me want to be polite.”

Perhaps this is an idea for some reform idea for delinquents. Just the classical music and chandeliers encourage civil behavior.

Now, just so you guys don’t think I’m completely disillusioned in my blessed perfection of motherhood.

The tea sandwiches were tiny, the macaroons dry,  the staff could have brought more hot water sooner for me, and the whole thing cost a ridiculous amount of $$. But- was it the same as I would spend going to a 3D movie with the kids and buying popcorn and slurpees, suffering through an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese? Probably.

Time spent with favorite son one on one: priceless.

And if you’re wondering- yes, this was Owen’s idea of what to do for our Mom/Son day. I didn’t thrust this on him and bribe him with Pokemon cards.Which makes it even sweeter.

Look at that tower of goodies! (And yes, the boy STILL needs a haircut.)

The custard was perfecton and the chocolate bars were fabulous.

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