Not Dead. And It’s My Birthday!

So we are now back from two weeks at a lake, surrounded by family and supervising Ironflower and Lovebug in their flower girl/ring bearer debut. I meant to actually post while I was there, but each day was filled with family activities, too much wine and chasing my now-mobile baby around an un-baby-proofed house.

To write about the whole ordeal vacation thing would require more patience than I have and more posts than anyone is likely to read, so I thought I’d just share a few random observations.

1. It is a shame that we don’t live closer to my cousin’s kids, who are the ideal playmates for my own.
2. Three year old boys don’t really make good ring-bearers. At least not when they’re thirsty, haven’t napped and have no parent in the wedding party.
3. A vacation without a nanny is not really a vacation for everyone involved.
4. Rushing through a hike, however short the hike, kinda misses the whole point.
5. Ballroom dance lessons do not a fun reception make.
6. Four year old girls with princess complexes do make good flower girls. Except when they forget that the wedding is supposed to be about the bride.
7. My dad’s side of the family can drink an awful lot of wine. And still dance well.
8. Oh my god, how in the hell can I be THIRTY-EIGHT? Shouldn’t I be mature by now?
9. I want to live on a lake.
10. And own a boat.
11. Every restaurant should have a playground.
12. Some people should learn the difference between small talk and conversation.
13. Sometimes playing Lexulous is more fun than writing.
14. Some Republicans are really, really nice.
15. My husband looks very good in a suit.
16. Ironflower has good instincts about people.
17. ChunkyMonkey LOVES chocolate cake. Already.
18. Never leave the TV on all night in your three year old’s bedroom.
19. Babies sleep better in rooms with no windows.
20. It’s probably a bad sign when a gown makes you think of Cruella De Vil.

What have you learned while I’ve been gone?

Sell Out

I never had sympathy for those parents who blamed “the school” or “the other kids” for their children’s behavior. Surely parents had more control over their children than their peers did, at least until adolescence began. And when a parent would assert that little Johnny had never kicked anyone before entering my first grade classroom, I would grind my teeth together, secretly blaming Johnny’s kicking on his father’s rumored drug use. Sure my classroom was purely a force for good, I was thrilled to find a preschool with a similar philosophy.

And then Ironflower actually went to preschool.

It’s not that she became aggressive. If anything, her behavior got better. But my smugness lessened when she began talking about the Disney princesses. Up until then, she had played princess like she had played other imaginary games. “Princess” was a character like “doctor” or “paleontologist”. Then she learned about Cinderella. And Ariel. And Sleeping Beauty. And Belle. And. . . . .now it’s become an obsession. Just like it is for every other girl in her class. A not very imaginative obsession, at that.

And it’s not like the Princesses send out a great message. In fact, I despise the whole idea of The Little Mermaid (think about it, she gives up her VOICE for a cute boy. If that ain’t a metaphor for a tragic female adolescence. . .). But they’re all over my house anyway. Because I didn’t want her to be an outcast.

At least Lovebug discovered Thomas before he discovered school. At least I know it’s his passion. Because I’m not so sure about Ironflower and her princesses sometimes. Of course, that could be wishful thinking.

(During this writing, ChunkyMonkey managed to army crawl all the way across the family room to get to his brother’s Lego train. I see more Thomas crap in my future.)

Anyway, I feel like such a sell out. I never intended to purchase all this character crap. Of course, we also weren’t going to watch TV and we were only going to eat organic.

Note to self: Stop making parenting pledges ahead of time.

I Can’t Believe I’m Posting About This

Days like this I’m ready to move back to Kansas City. Not because of my friends or the more affordable lifestyle, but because I need the sun. I cannot take anymore rain. It’s the sole reason that I would never move back to Portland. I LOVE Portland. Especially it’s proximity to the beach and the mountains. Where was I? (See, the rain is even starting to affect my brain.) Oh yeah, RAIN.

You see, it doesn’t rain this much in Kansas City. Ever. And it’ never this fucking cold in JUNE, either.I

I need summer and I need it now.

Today was supposed to be the end of the year picnic/pool party for the kids’ preschool. Thanks to today’s steady downpour it’s being postponed until next week. When Hot Guy will be out of town. Which begs the question. . . .

Am I really going to appear in public, in front of all the lovely skinny mommies, in a bathing suit?

See, if we still lived in Kansas City I would not being having this problem. The party would have been today and Hot Guy could have done bathing suit duty. And, it would be SUMMER.

Or, if we lived in Portland, no one would have planned an outdoor pool party for June. Problem solved.

This weather is so bad that not only am I in a bad mood about it, I’m POSTING about it. I’ve been reduced to posting about the weather. What will I post about next – poopy diapers?

On an unrelated note: Watching the Real Housewives of NJ is really disturbing me. Some of them live in a nearby town – a town where I know people. And they keep eating at restaurants in my hometown. Part of me is appalled that their behavior will forever be associated with my home and another part of me keeps thinking, “See? THIS is why you don’t have more friends here.”

Making Life Better

As we all know, I am not a domestic goddess. I am not even a domestic demi-goddess. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the term “domestic” shouldn’t even be applied to me. But apparently this whole mom gig demands domestic tasks, especially when your husband keeps going out of town and you cannot afford help. Though I do mooch off of my own mother as much as possible, since she really is a domestic goddess.

Since someday my own children may need me to feed their adult palates (they will develop tastes beyond chicken nuggets, right? RIGHT?), I’ve been toying with the idea of learning to cook a few grown-up meals. Then House Hunters comes on, and I forget. But Unilever, maker of Ragu, Lipton, Skippy, Hellmann’s and loads of other products, has come along to remind me. They have a new site called Making Life Better, which has tons of domestic goddess tips. Including recipes, some of which don’t seem too daunting. Especially since you can watch some of them being made on YouTube. Though I am confused by the burger recipes. Aren’t they just ground beef?

They also have health and beauty tips, with which I am much more comfortable (I used to take really good care of myself. I even had cute hair.) And parenting tips. And sweepstakes to win free groceries. And coupons. (Odd but true: I can’t cook but I do embrace grocery shopping. As long as I don’t have to bring all three kids with me.) The whole point, of course, is to Make Life Better. It’s sort of like reading a more interactive women’s magazine, which I like. (Even though my feminist sensibilities bristle at the idea of all this being “women’s” stuff, as if only women care about cooking and parenting. But that’s another post.)

Thanks to Mom Central for introducing me to Making Life Better.

The Chocolate War

Chocolate was not a problem for me until I got pregnant. I mean, I liked it. I wasn’t mentally ill, for God’s sake. But it wasn’t a compulsion, like french fries. Then I got pregnant and I became an addict. I had high hopes the addiction would fade away after my pregnancy, like my swollen feet. Instead, the chocolate problem was more like my now straighter and darker hair – permanent.

I’ve tried to fight it. But since I have the willpower of a two year old, that hasn’t been successful. I’ve tried to indulge it. But since I still have to wear my maternity jeans, that hasn’t exactly been successful either. I’ve tried low calorie versions of chocolate. But since I am picky, I have only recently been successful.

I’ve discovered Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches. They are really, really good. Not expensive chocolate truffles from Belgium good, but pint of chocolate ice cream good. And they’re much less fattening than eating a pint – or even a serving – of ice cream. Chocolate wafers, cookies and cream ice cream (there are other flavors like strawberry, vanilla and mint, not that I’ve tried them) . . . for less than 200 calories.

Thanks to Mom Central, maybe someday I’ll be able to wear my real jeans again.

Mama Said

I remember the first time it happened. I was at the doctor’s office for Ironflower’s six month check up. I was so proud of my happy baby girl. She was such a good sleeper and so personable. I was sure the pediatrician would be as impressed as I was.

Of course she wasn’t.

Worse than unimpressed, however, was the fact that she was concerned. My girl wasn’t gaining weight as quickly as she had been. I had to come back in a month for a weight check. In the meantime, I was to get her to eat more. I tried to get her eat more, but it didn’t help. And even though her height was fine and she was happy and had met all of her developmental milestones, the next appointment was even worse. She hadn’t gained enough weight. The message that I was doing something wrong was loud and clear. We spent another month putting formula into her baby food and offering her ice cream. The doctor still wasn’t happy and sent us to a nutritionist at the children’s hospital. Who took one look at Ironflower and pronounced her fine. She suggested using real food instead of baby food (apparently there is little nutritional value in baby food, it’s merely practice food) but that was it. Our daughter was just skinny. We hadn’t done anything wrong. And even though I had suspected that all along (in between bouts of terror that she had some horrible disease), it was nice to be reassured. We then switched pediatricians.

Not that that was the last time an expert failed me.

This is why I like Mamapedia. Had I been more of an internet junkie then, I could have found moms who had been through the same thing. Moms who wanted to give me advice, but whose advice I could read at my leisure and dismiss or take without affecting a friendship. Mamapedia is a compendium of all local Mama Source articles and advice, so you can get advice specific to your area or get advice from moms across the country. There are categories or you can search for specific terms. And it’s free.

I love it when Mom Central turns me on to helpful websites.

Not About Me

Reading parenting books reminds me of cleaning the bathroom.

I’ll procrastinate until the issue is too big to ignore. I’ll hate doing it. There will be a lot of guilt.

But when I’m done I feel better.

And so it was with Out of the Mouths of Babes, Parenting from a Child’s Perspective. Written by Dyan Eybergen, a registered nurse and mom of three boys, it’s not so much prescriptive as descriptive, which made it more appealing (to me, anyway) than most parenting books.

But still. I felt the guilt while reading it. Not the author’s fault. She’s very kind and positive. Like you could have tea with her (I didn’t say beer on purpose. I don’t think she’s a beer person. But I like her anyway.) and tell her how your kids were driving you batty and she would give you thoughtful, kind advice. And my issue – whenever I hear advice – is always to wonder why I didn’t think of it. And to reflect about what else I’m doing wrong. And. . . .

Sorry. Technically this post is not about me.

Anyway, the book really looks at parenting from the child’s point of view. It explains how children perceive things and discusses how to use that knowledge to effectively raise your children. There are stories and quotes from the author and her children and wonderful strategies for dealing with discipline, toilet training and sleeping issues.

I also liked how the author showed that she wasn’t a perfect saint, something you don’t often read in parenting books. She talks about mistakes and how she and her husband learned from them. But my favorite thing about the book was the quotes from the kids, which are interspersed through the book. Some of them actually made me laugh out loud, which I’m pretty sure I’ve never done while reading an advice book.

One of Us Has Issues

Very early on in our relationship, Hot Guy rearranged my refrigerator. As all it contained was breakfast food, condiments and diet Pepsi, I didn’t really think much about it. If he wanted to bring food over and cook it for me, who was I to complain about the organization of my refrigerator? Besides, it was so cute how much interest he took in it.

Now, of course, I make breakfast and lunch for the kids and myself every day. A lot of times I have to make dinner (or, you know, an attempt at dinner) too. The refrigerator is usually full. So – and it was just a coincidence that Hot Guy was out of town – I rearranged the fridge and freezer the way I like it. I like to have things organized because my short-term memory is shot from lack of sleep. Sorting things by category allows me to find things quickly, which makes me happy. And cuts down on the whining. The kids appreciate quick service.

Anyway, now Hot Guy is back. And what did I discover on the breakfast shelf of the freezer this morning? Chicken nuggets. I mean, sure, the kids probably WOULD eat them for breakfast. But they don’t. The chicken nuggets had been on the meat shelf. With the other meat. Like should be put with like. In rows. With the oldest ones in the front. Because that’s what makes sense, right? RIGHT?

Already his expensive Parmesan has moved from the cheese shelf to right in front of the yogurt.

I think his system can be summed up as, “Wherever I can put it quickly”. He says it has to do with being a cook. Either way, it means that stuff gets forgotten as it winds up in the back. And you always have to move stuff out of the way to get what you want. And it just looks messier. Not that he seems to care. He has absolutely no respect for my system.

So, which one of us is the problem here? Do you have an organized fridge? Or do you think I’m weird?

Go Vote. Or Define “Old”.

It’s now official. I am old.

Sure, I felt old when I turned 30. And 35. And was told to vote for a date for my 20th high school reunion. . .THIS YEAR.

There’s also the gray hairs. The songs from my youth being played on the Muzak at a department store. The fact that ripped jeans are finally back in style, but none of my old ones fit me anymore.

But for some reason, all of this pales in comparison to the fact that I am about to sign Ironflower up for soccer. Nothing has made me feel as old as this. I suppose it’s the idea that only big kids play soccer, so if I have a kid old enough to play soccer. . .

Or maybe it’s just that all this coincided with a new wrinkle in my forehead. Not that I’m vain enough to look for wrinkles or anything. I just happened to notice it while I was religiously moisturizing this morning.

Anyway, Ironflower. Soccer. Wow.

Of course, I can’t not sign her up for soccer. Not only is she dying to try it, I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement to live around here. Every town if filled with lovely, perfectly maintained sports fields. So I have to accept my oldness and fill out the paperwork. Because we should really take advantage of the fact that our town of six thousand people (most of whom don’t actually play soccer) has twelve well-maintained soccer fields. Approximately.

Lots of towns don’t. And if you’d like to help some town’s sports fields get makeovers, go to the Plant A Seed site and vote for one. You can search for fields near you, or by sport. You can vote once a day between now and May 31st. Then everyone can get that old feeling while signing their kid up for soccer!

Brought to you by Mom Central. And my issues about getting old.

It’s Been Such A Long Time Since I Whined

There’s just not enough chocolate in the world for this shit. I think I need some Percocet or something.

I’m sick. The big kids are sick. Aunt Flo has dropped in and she seems to have brought extra luggage. Hot Guy and my parents, aka the only other people who watch my children, are out of town. I’m so behind in writing assignments that I don’t think I’ll ever catch up. I’m getting three hours of sleep a night. I’ve developed a Lexulous addiction (that’s Facebook Scrabble for those of you smart people who avoid Facebook). I have six loads of laundry to fold. The baby is teething. All of which I might be able to handle if….

Lovebug has lost his mind. He’s keeping himself awake at night (after a week where all my other schedule and sleep tweaks had him sleeping well) and demanding that I come in to his room during the night – ignoring him results in tantrums, which wake the baby and result in me going in there anyway. He’s crying and screaming every time he doesn’t get his way or is told how to behave. Consequences make him even more crazy, but half the time he calms down immediately when I tell him the tantrum will get him in even more trouble. And no matter how immediately the consequences happen or how many times I explain WHY he got in trouble, he seems to make no link between his behavior and consequences. I know he’s only three, but he understands other kinds of cause and effect and quite well. I just don’t know what to do with him. He has so many moments of sweetness and kindness that I’m reasonably sure he isn’t a lost cause, though he may well be if I keep yelling at him.

Any ideas? Or good drugs?