Go.
How do you slow your roll, your timing, your pace?
As self-proclaimed type-A's, raising boys, (add the ADHD)... it's hard to lower it to simmer. We run, run, run all day long. Run to work. Run to lunch. To the Store. Run to get the kids. Run home.
Speed through cooking dinner. Dishes. Mow the lawn. Watch the big kid on his bike. Please don't go past the stop sign and don't stand on the seat.
Chase the little kid on his 'motorcycle' and scooter. Carry both back over your shoulder when he has a melt-down on the next street over. Speed walk, smiling, past the giggling neighbors (older, wiser and been there).
Run through the week, the meetings, the calls, the plans, the laundry, the crunchy floor, the laundry as my good pal puts it, that requires you to load it into not one but two receptacles manually with each and every tedious load. Fold, gets dumped, refold, leave for three days before putting away. Rifle through, can't find socks, underwear, anything.
Ahhh, the weekend. Now the rhythm can be restored. Slow down, savor a glass of wine, a toddler snuggling on your lap, a big kid, maybe, too if he'll agree... but he's too big now, says he.
Sleep in, run a few miles, restore what's yours.
Stop.
I Can Do This, Right?
Friday, June 21, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
TGIM - Best Day Ever
Thank goodness it's me. It's me that is permitted to have this crazy kind of whacked-out morning month with two patient, wide-blue-eyed boys in the back-seat, trying to remember what they did to get stuck with such a bat-shit crazy mom. Thank goodness I am so lucky to get to be their mom.
Last Friday horrifically started to look a little something like this. No joke. Don't ask. I know.
The poor pup had an accident in the kennel Thursday night - yay! It was drying and she had to be gated in the mudroom - boo! She barked for an hour while makeup melted off of my face, trying to straighten fast-frizzing hair. I kept offering favorite chew toys. Don't bribe me, said her thought bubble. Her snugly bed was in there. She didn't care. She was a little mad at me, because well, she is my first-born and still has a little of that puppy separation anxiety. I've always said I should have taken a maternity leave with the sweet girl. Thank goodness we've been able to have her in our family for so long.
Lickety split, it was time to go. I had gotten up early, let the boys sleep late. It was 'donut' Friday. Or as Beetle Bug (he doesn't like that nick-name and sternly corrects me with his full title, all three names) calls it, Dundins DOHnuz. They get 2 chocolate munchkins each (wild and special treat for Big Kid, because this is not on his uschz all-natural menu) and sometimes I say screw it and get a donut too, trust me, last Friday, I could have had a dozen.
Sidebar: Hey - new guy at the drive-thru, please learn the difference between a chocolate cake iced and a chocolate glazed sour cream. Dozens of bug-eyed, wild-haired soccer moms are rolling up in your lane, counting on you, "Preston," or whatever your popular YouTube generation name is, to get the danged order right. Ahem. Thank goodness this place is not closer, because I'd #1 be getting donuts every morning and #2 I'd soon be asked not to return because of my attitude.
Back to the mudroom. Lieutenant Mommy started giving orders to the little soldiers. 'Dudes, look. Sophie is sad that she is not in her kennel and has to stay in the mudroom today. Hello, is everyone listening? PLEASE DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR, because she will run. Got it? What did mommy say?'
"I dot it, mommy!" says Beetle Bug.
'OK, great. Wait for me...'
Not, great and not OK at all, really.
Stepping forward, I held the dog back with my left leg. I reached my right hand out to open the door, held it with my right knee, in hopes of ushering the kids out quickly, while keeping the dog in. But to the boys, my 'OK' meant it was OK for them to open the door. The OK in my head meant that I was announcing the start of this process. We had a little miscommunication. Sophie took off like a bullet. Thank goodness it wasn't storming.
Mommy was thinking about peeling tires out of the summer day camp drive after drop-off and heading to the bar. Thank goodness they are not open yet.
Beetle Bug kept asking, 'Mommy, are you happy?' This kid's timing is impeccable. He was pacing from window to window looking for Sophie and saying, eek... 'G-Dang it.' I suggested that he say, 'fiddlesticks.'
"How about 'chicken feathers' like Pete on Mickey Mouse Club House?" I said. "Oh-tay, but I'm mad about it, mom." Thank goodness he didn't swear. Yet.
I grabbed the leash and did the quick sweep down the street and up again in full work clothes. Nothing. I guess she was serious about the mudroom.
All righty, then. To the car, everyone. Big Kid, a.k.a., 'big bwutha', asks if he can bring a mug of chocolate milk in the car. I advised him that I was leery, having had chocolate milk spilled, splashed and slowly dripped onto the back seat of my car so many times, but after making him triple-promise that he would-not-spill-it-no-way, I caved. 'Here's how to use the lid. See, click, click. Open-close. Got it?' "I'M NOT GOING TO SPILL IT, MOM, JEEZ!!!"
Onward ho, we jogged to the car. I was perspiring (you're really letting me down, Dove), fuming about Sophie's timing. Not impeccable. She really needs to work on that. Big Kid jumps in the car. The lid was not clicked. Especially not click-clicked. Chocolate TruMoo hit everything in the backseat. Blue blankey had collateral damage, (Beetle Bug was not pleased, in fact, I think he may have sworn, but whatever he said, he used the deep, serious voice and pinched his lips together, talking through his teeth - cutest ever) as did the hoodie to be worn by Big Kid to the field trip... tasty, daily dose of calcium and perfect aim. It does a body good. A backseat? Not so much.
Dabbing with the original magic eraser, a baby wipe, I soaked up as much milk as possible. Can't wait to smell this in about a week. The guy at the detail shop is making a killing off of us and our spilled milk. Thank goodness it wasn't dog doo.
But that didn't matter much, because on the next street over, there was Soph, doing her business in someone's front yard. [Neighbor-who-lives-at-the-end-of-the-street following me -inappropriately close- as I went 15 miles per hour, sorry for stopping so quickly to make a right. Um, the dog got out again. And, well, there she was. That was me driving.] She jumped in, scratching Bug's leg in the meantime and lounging out as if on a chaise, across Big Kid. I glanced in the rear view mirror. She met my glance as if to say, 'nice, mom, where are we going now?' I had to laugh. Thank goodness she was OK.
We dropped the dog back home successfully, then picked up some chocolate donut holes. While in line, we played 'who can make the best rewind noise'? Since mommy needed to rewind the morning and apologize for yelling and being so grouchy after Sophie got out, and it was not their fault and she was not mad at them and she was so proud of how calm and collected they stayed during that moment. Thank goodness I get to tell them before dropping them off for the day.
Bug was settled at daycare. As we are exiting the car at day camp, Big Kid says to me, "And, mom, when you get to work, could you maybe clean off this seat, because it's covered in dog hair." Hysterical. A dog hair and chocolate milk pesto, to be exact.
We ran into one of the day camp counselors on our way up the stairs and she pointed out that Big Kid did not have his camp shirt on. It was field trip day. Oh. Right. Should have guessed. I didn't.
I think she could tell from the look on my face that this was not impeccable timing. Before I could say anything, she offered to find an extra - she had a few in her office. "PERFECT!" I said. "Have a great day!" My mood had improved drastically by the time I reached the car. Thank goodness for kind people.
Thank goodness I took a few minutes to edit this post because the draft from Friday had a lot more curse words and exclamation points.
Happy Monday.
Last Friday horrifically started to look a little something like this. No joke. Don't ask. I know.
The poor pup had an accident in the kennel Thursday night - yay! It was drying and she had to be gated in the mudroom - boo! She barked for an hour while makeup melted off of my face, trying to straighten fast-frizzing hair. I kept offering favorite chew toys. Don't bribe me, said her thought bubble. Her snugly bed was in there. She didn't care. She was a little mad at me, because well, she is my first-born and still has a little of that puppy separation anxiety. I've always said I should have taken a maternity leave with the sweet girl. Thank goodness we've been able to have her in our family for so long.
Lickety split, it was time to go. I had gotten up early, let the boys sleep late. It was 'donut' Friday. Or as Beetle Bug (he doesn't like that nick-name and sternly corrects me with his full title, all three names) calls it, Dundins DOHnuz. They get 2 chocolate munchkins each (wild and special treat for Big Kid, because this is not on his uschz all-natural menu) and sometimes I say screw it and get a donut too, trust me, last Friday, I could have had a dozen.
Sidebar: Hey - new guy at the drive-thru, please learn the difference between a chocolate cake iced and a chocolate glazed sour cream. Dozens of bug-eyed, wild-haired soccer moms are rolling up in your lane, counting on you, "Preston," or whatever your popular YouTube generation name is, to get the danged order right. Ahem. Thank goodness this place is not closer, because I'd #1 be getting donuts every morning and #2 I'd soon be asked not to return because of my attitude.
Back to the mudroom. Lieutenant Mommy started giving orders to the little soldiers. 'Dudes, look. Sophie is sad that she is not in her kennel and has to stay in the mudroom today. Hello, is everyone listening? PLEASE DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR, because she will run. Got it? What did mommy say?'
"I dot it, mommy!" says Beetle Bug.
'OK, great. Wait for me...'
Not, great and not OK at all, really.
Stepping forward, I held the dog back with my left leg. I reached my right hand out to open the door, held it with my right knee, in hopes of ushering the kids out quickly, while keeping the dog in. But to the boys, my 'OK' meant it was OK for them to open the door. The OK in my head meant that I was announcing the start of this process. We had a little miscommunication. Sophie took off like a bullet. Thank goodness it wasn't storming.
Mommy was thinking about peeling tires out of the summer day camp drive after drop-off and heading to the bar. Thank goodness they are not open yet.
Beetle Bug kept asking, 'Mommy, are you happy?' This kid's timing is impeccable. He was pacing from window to window looking for Sophie and saying, eek... 'G-Dang it.' I suggested that he say, 'fiddlesticks.'
"How about 'chicken feathers' like Pete on Mickey Mouse Club House?" I said. "Oh-tay, but I'm mad about it, mom." Thank goodness he didn't swear. Yet.
I grabbed the leash and did the quick sweep down the street and up again in full work clothes. Nothing. I guess she was serious about the mudroom.
All righty, then. To the car, everyone. Big Kid, a.k.a., 'big bwutha', asks if he can bring a mug of chocolate milk in the car. I advised him that I was leery, having had chocolate milk spilled, splashed and slowly dripped onto the back seat of my car so many times, but after making him triple-promise that he would-not-spill-it-no-way, I caved. 'Here's how to use the lid. See, click, click. Open-close. Got it?' "I'M NOT GOING TO SPILL IT, MOM, JEEZ!!!"
Onward ho, we jogged to the car. I was perspiring (you're really letting me down, Dove), fuming about Sophie's timing. Not impeccable. She really needs to work on that. Big Kid jumps in the car. The lid was not clicked. Especially not click-clicked. Chocolate TruMoo hit everything in the backseat. Blue blankey had collateral damage, (Beetle Bug was not pleased, in fact, I think he may have sworn, but whatever he said, he used the deep, serious voice and pinched his lips together, talking through his teeth - cutest ever) as did the hoodie to be worn by Big Kid to the field trip... tasty, daily dose of calcium and perfect aim. It does a body good. A backseat? Not so much.
Dabbing with the original magic eraser, a baby wipe, I soaked up as much milk as possible. Can't wait to smell this in about a week. The guy at the detail shop is making a killing off of us and our spilled milk. Thank goodness it wasn't dog doo.
But that didn't matter much, because on the next street over, there was Soph, doing her business in someone's front yard. [Neighbor-who-lives-at-the-end-of-the-street following me -inappropriately close- as I went 15 miles per hour, sorry for stopping so quickly to make a right. Um, the dog got out again. And, well, there she was. That was me driving.] She jumped in, scratching Bug's leg in the meantime and lounging out as if on a chaise, across Big Kid. I glanced in the rear view mirror. She met my glance as if to say, 'nice, mom, where are we going now?' I had to laugh. Thank goodness she was OK.
We dropped the dog back home successfully, then picked up some chocolate donut holes. While in line, we played 'who can make the best rewind noise'? Since mommy needed to rewind the morning and apologize for yelling and being so grouchy after Sophie got out, and it was not their fault and she was not mad at them and she was so proud of how calm and collected they stayed during that moment. Thank goodness I get to tell them before dropping them off for the day.
Bug was settled at daycare. As we are exiting the car at day camp, Big Kid says to me, "And, mom, when you get to work, could you maybe clean off this seat, because it's covered in dog hair." Hysterical. A dog hair and chocolate milk pesto, to be exact.
We ran into one of the day camp counselors on our way up the stairs and she pointed out that Big Kid did not have his camp shirt on. It was field trip day. Oh. Right. Should have guessed. I didn't.
I think she could tell from the look on my face that this was not impeccable timing. Before I could say anything, she offered to find an extra - she had a few in her office. "PERFECT!" I said. "Have a great day!" My mood had improved drastically by the time I reached the car. Thank goodness for kind people.
Thank goodness I took a few minutes to edit this post because the draft from Friday had a lot more curse words and exclamation points.
Happy Monday.
Monday, June 3, 2013
International House of Insanity (Er, Crabcakes and Pancakes)
All citizens of our town enjoying a delightful breakfast at IHOP Memorial Day morning: please let me officially apologize for the ruckus created by our table.
Restaurants proclaiming to be family-friendly: did your target audience matrix include the Toddler-Pre-Pre-Schooler? I'm sorry, but your place is not 2 or 3 year-old child-proof. Traits include lightning-quick reflexes, canine-cringing vocals, nerve-melting neediness, perspiration-causing whininess and full capacity for destroying your place of business when all the parents want is a break from making the pancakes themselves that morning (crepes, actually, I like the blueberry crepes.)
Naturally, if you stick a shiny stand displaying four different kinds of yummalicious maple syrup right on the table, it's going to get messed with. Convenient - maybe, but our 3 year old thought it was some sort of musical instrument, with it's fancy color-coded handles and tinny sounding sign (that's the noise it makes when you hit it; when yanked out of its holder, it's more like a frying pan falling to the floor.) Plus, could the surface area of the tables be any more 'efficient'? You see the crap we carrying into your eatery... with our purses and diaper bags and back-packs and sippy cooler-caddies and Thirty-One organizing totes full of crap to keep our kids quiet during coffee time??? Put a DS and a coloring book on that table and there is simply no room for re-fills of chocolate milk, OK. NO room. How are we supposed to accommodate four plates of grand, grinning griddle cakes?
We chose said eatery because of its many hints that it likes families and children. We'd surely be welcome and accepted. What with its chocolate chip and banana cream wonderments being enjoyed in the commercials by families of four like ours, smiling and laughing. What we did not realize is that number one - other people without excited, expressive children also frequent this establishment and number two - those people left the house, giddy, imagining a relaxing morning filled with delicious breakfast dreams, not a straw or half a crayon or a Skylander whizzing past their head. Sorry. I am truly sorry. When you get the sympathetic 'I get it smile' from parents with older children, you know it has happened. You officially look like you don't have your *stuff* together.
At this point, almost as if on cue, my husband mouths to me: 'Why do we do this?' I smiled and pretended that I had not understood his attempts at miming. Promptly I received payback when out of the corner of my eye, I saw our 3 year-old reach out and touch the behind of the server taking an order at another table... the organic reaction that I produced was one those half laughs/half cries/half gasps. It was not a slap (thank gawd) but more of a slow-motion, deliberate touch, as if to place one's hand on a window or glass at the zoo or mirror in fascination. When I tried to mouth (through laughter/embarrassment/who-knows-what) Hubbie decided that he did not understand my attempts at miming. I hear that there is a mime festival coming to Cleveland this month (Jennifer imitates the action of laughing with mouth open, toothy smile; holding side and slapping leg). Maybe they could help with our apparent lack of communication.
Why are our children the only lovely little wackadoo loonies in the place? We knew we were gambling, having just taken them out late Saturday night with family and then letting them play until they fell asleep sitting up on Sunday. We were sitting at my brother-in-law's favorite restaurant at around 8 p.m. Saturday evening. Barely having napped that day and high on sugar from his birthday party, the 3 year-old was on a roll in that goofy, talking-way-above-an-appropriate-decibel-level-kind-of-way. To be more specific, 'I. DON'T. WANT. DINN-UR! says he. And repeat.
I tried to avert my eyes from the stares we were getting from unassuming guests waiting on their meals. 'Free entertainment?' I fantasized about joking to the couple sitting most near our table. Diners at this joint are only looking to do one thing and one thing only, order the house special and not be disturbed while enjoying it. Oops.
This was our local, very low-key family-owned place that had been around for decades. The kind Guy Fieri would showcase on Triple D. It had a jukebox - light-up button nirvana to a 3 year-old. I was sure that our child would be the one who broke the 1960s gem and we'd get a bill for $2000. In chair, out of chair, in chair, out of chair. Pound. Pound. Pound on the buttons. Extra snugly hugs and rapid fire thoughts recalling his birthday party to keep him still and sitting.... yeah, we all know that does not work. It really only exacerbates the situation and draws this reaction. STOP! LET! GO. OF. ME! Sweating. Unattractive.
Some very helpful teen working as a bus-boy appeared with a high-chair and a booster seat. I laughed and thanked the sweet lad because while our little guy is about a year past fitting in a high-chair, the booster is almost catapulted to the level of dangerous on the restaurant safety meeting agenda. I pictured it being kicked out from beneath us and tripping some server just as she rounded the corner with clam chowder. But, alas grandma produced something very cool from her pocketbook and we were able to divert attention for a bit.
We were only saved but for the grace of a kind older cousin who walked our little man around and let him pretend to play grab-em games for a half an hour. Schwew. And then the food came. He ate one french fry and said, 'I'm gonna be done now, mom.' Exhausting. And sweaty. The stress-induced mommy-trying-to-contain-her-child hot flashes never fail. But the crab bisque was a bit spicy.
I could really benefit from the super-human stretching ability like the mom on The Incredibles. My arms are unusually long. Might save me some back pain from twisting and wrenching around in one swift movement to heft a kid back onto a restaurant chair, chase them through Target in heels and a skirt... how ridiculous must I have looked clomping across the kids section after a much-speedier toddler?
Sidebar: I cannot help it, dear, sweet Target, that my boy is a Houdini and your semi-tractor-trailer carts that he insists on riding in don't have strong enough shoulder straps to keep him in. Oy! Those were built for the Duggars or Kate and her 8 or some family who cannot comfortably fit into a conversion van. Target: you're my BFF and I love you. You get half of my paycheck. Please listen when I say that parents will NOT be upset if you require .50 cents and a minimum child count to use these carts. Think of how much touch-up paint you'll save on from me always banging into random end racks and corners and such... just a thought.
My children sound like animals, but they are truly polite and kind and lovely. They just really don't do well in stores or restaurants. We do much better camping, in the water, at parks, fairs, carnivals, zoos and... oh.
I have a good friend with kidders a few years ahead of mine in age. She'd always say, 'Yeah, my kids don't do shopping...' and I was aghast. She is a genius.
Flip-flop back to flap-jacks... just when I had asked our newly-minted 3 year-old to please stop making chocolate milk raspberries at his brother and breaking Crayolas, our angel server arrived with a huge, genuine smile and what seemed like 15 plates of food, asking if we needed anything else. Turns out she has three boys herself.
Perfect. Timing.
Never again is what we said the last time. Cheers!
Restaurants proclaiming to be family-friendly: did your target audience matrix include the Toddler-Pre-Pre-Schooler? I'm sorry, but your place is not 2 or 3 year-old child-proof. Traits include lightning-quick reflexes, canine-cringing vocals, nerve-melting neediness, perspiration-causing whininess and full capacity for destroying your place of business when all the parents want is a break from making the pancakes themselves that morning (crepes, actually, I like the blueberry crepes.)
Naturally, if you stick a shiny stand displaying four different kinds of yummalicious maple syrup right on the table, it's going to get messed with. Convenient - maybe, but our 3 year old thought it was some sort of musical instrument, with it's fancy color-coded handles and tinny sounding sign (that's the noise it makes when you hit it; when yanked out of its holder, it's more like a frying pan falling to the floor.) Plus, could the surface area of the tables be any more 'efficient'? You see the crap we carrying into your eatery... with our purses and diaper bags and back-packs and sippy cooler-caddies and Thirty-One organizing totes full of crap to keep our kids quiet during coffee time??? Put a DS and a coloring book on that table and there is simply no room for re-fills of chocolate milk, OK. NO room. How are we supposed to accommodate four plates of grand, grinning griddle cakes?
We chose said eatery because of its many hints that it likes families and children. We'd surely be welcome and accepted. What with its chocolate chip and banana cream wonderments being enjoyed in the commercials by families of four like ours, smiling and laughing. What we did not realize is that number one - other people without excited, expressive children also frequent this establishment and number two - those people left the house, giddy, imagining a relaxing morning filled with delicious breakfast dreams, not a straw or half a crayon or a Skylander whizzing past their head. Sorry. I am truly sorry. When you get the sympathetic 'I get it smile' from parents with older children, you know it has happened. You officially look like you don't have your *stuff* together.
At this point, almost as if on cue, my husband mouths to me: 'Why do we do this?' I smiled and pretended that I had not understood his attempts at miming. Promptly I received payback when out of the corner of my eye, I saw our 3 year-old reach out and touch the behind of the server taking an order at another table... the organic reaction that I produced was one those half laughs/half cries/half gasps. It was not a slap (thank gawd) but more of a slow-motion, deliberate touch, as if to place one's hand on a window or glass at the zoo or mirror in fascination. When I tried to mouth (through laughter/embarrassment/who-knows-what) Hubbie decided that he did not understand my attempts at miming. I hear that there is a mime festival coming to Cleveland this month (Jennifer imitates the action of laughing with mouth open, toothy smile; holding side and slapping leg). Maybe they could help with our apparent lack of communication.
Why are our children the only lovely little wackadoo loonies in the place? We knew we were gambling, having just taken them out late Saturday night with family and then letting them play until they fell asleep sitting up on Sunday. We were sitting at my brother-in-law's favorite restaurant at around 8 p.m. Saturday evening. Barely having napped that day and high on sugar from his birthday party, the 3 year-old was on a roll in that goofy, talking-way-above-an-appropriate-decibel-level-kind-of-way. To be more specific, 'I. DON'T. WANT. DINN-UR! says he. And repeat.
I tried to avert my eyes from the stares we were getting from unassuming guests waiting on their meals. 'Free entertainment?' I fantasized about joking to the couple sitting most near our table. Diners at this joint are only looking to do one thing and one thing only, order the house special and not be disturbed while enjoying it. Oops.
This was our local, very low-key family-owned place that had been around for decades. The kind Guy Fieri would showcase on Triple D. It had a jukebox - light-up button nirvana to a 3 year-old. I was sure that our child would be the one who broke the 1960s gem and we'd get a bill for $2000. In chair, out of chair, in chair, out of chair. Pound. Pound. Pound on the buttons. Extra snugly hugs and rapid fire thoughts recalling his birthday party to keep him still and sitting.... yeah, we all know that does not work. It really only exacerbates the situation and draws this reaction. STOP! LET! GO. OF. ME! Sweating. Unattractive.
Some very helpful teen working as a bus-boy appeared with a high-chair and a booster seat. I laughed and thanked the sweet lad because while our little guy is about a year past fitting in a high-chair, the booster is almost catapulted to the level of dangerous on the restaurant safety meeting agenda. I pictured it being kicked out from beneath us and tripping some server just as she rounded the corner with clam chowder. But, alas grandma produced something very cool from her pocketbook and we were able to divert attention for a bit.
We were only saved but for the grace of a kind older cousin who walked our little man around and let him pretend to play grab-em games for a half an hour. Schwew. And then the food came. He ate one french fry and said, 'I'm gonna be done now, mom.' Exhausting. And sweaty. The stress-induced mommy-trying-to-contain-her-child hot flashes never fail. But the crab bisque was a bit spicy.
I could really benefit from the super-human stretching ability like the mom on The Incredibles. My arms are unusually long. Might save me some back pain from twisting and wrenching around in one swift movement to heft a kid back onto a restaurant chair, chase them through Target in heels and a skirt... how ridiculous must I have looked clomping across the kids section after a much-speedier toddler?
Sidebar: I cannot help it, dear, sweet Target, that my boy is a Houdini and your semi-tractor-trailer carts that he insists on riding in don't have strong enough shoulder straps to keep him in. Oy! Those were built for the Duggars or Kate and her 8 or some family who cannot comfortably fit into a conversion van. Target: you're my BFF and I love you. You get half of my paycheck. Please listen when I say that parents will NOT be upset if you require .50 cents and a minimum child count to use these carts. Think of how much touch-up paint you'll save on from me always banging into random end racks and corners and such... just a thought.
My children sound like animals, but they are truly polite and kind and lovely. They just really don't do well in stores or restaurants. We do much better camping, in the water, at parks, fairs, carnivals, zoos and... oh.
I have a good friend with kidders a few years ahead of mine in age. She'd always say, 'Yeah, my kids don't do shopping...' and I was aghast. She is a genius.
Flip-flop back to flap-jacks... just when I had asked our newly-minted 3 year-old to please stop making chocolate milk raspberries at his brother and breaking Crayolas, our angel server arrived with a huge, genuine smile and what seemed like 15 plates of food, asking if we needed anything else. Turns out she has three boys herself.
Perfect. Timing.
Never again is what we said the last time. Cheers!
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Lost Dog, Found Faith Through Facebook
I am a professed tongue-and-cheek, high-expectation reader, elitist user of Facebook. I don't post often (twice today was ground-breaking!). I am a habitual 'liker.' I admit it - I curse at posters that say, 'just got a Starbuck's' or 'just got back from a run.' WHAT ELSE? I am naturally curious so I want to know more. People: I friended you for a reason. Entertain me, here. What happened at the coffee shop today? Did the person in front of you have the most high-maintenance, ridiculous coffee order ever and then trip and spill it down the front of their suit? On your practice 5k tonight, did you snap a photo of the most beautiful sunset ever, meet a very friendly tomcat who tried to keep up with your jogging pace? I know, I am a needy FB user. Plus, when I noticed comments like, 'wow, that was a thoughtful synopsis, Jen'... I realized that a blog would be a better way to for me: always verbose.
The allure was too much to pass up, and the prospect of reconnecting with all of my old high school pals was exciting. But once we all caught up, exchanged information, shared kid and pet photos, the shininess wore off a bit for me. I got bored. There are a few go-to posters for me. Mostly, the like-minded smart asses. They say what I am thinking and instead of posting it to FB, I usually write about it here. I've recently connected with a few colleagues and there are some goodies. Especially the litigators. Now, if you mix a litigator with mommy hood and ureka, you've got star-quality, to-the-point storytelling in organized little bites. Just beautiful, I tell you!
Last week I was able to see the beautiful caring hearts of tons of people I knew and didn't know from Adam through (of all the places): Facebook. I should not be surprised, I am in marketing after all. I know the power of social media, it's just never worked so quickly and powerfully... so personally. I'm always flabbergasted to tears how Momastery's fundraising phenoms work - where there is a fantastic cause and followers are asked to donate no more than $25. The response is 'stop-in-your-tracks, omg, that-is-the-coolest-thing-I've-ever-experienced.'
Our old girl, Sophia Quicksilver (family name) Shankleton decided that 5:45 a.m. last Thursday morning was a nice time for a run. To our dismay, she wasn't just out smelling around for the other neighborhood dogs, cats, rabbits and squirrels, she was in the mood for a nice 4 or 5 mile run.
You see good old Soph is 13. She's in her golden years - Sophie with her crystal blue eyes and still shiny silver-gray coat. Even though she's up their in age, her attitude has gotten snappier. Isn't that what they say about us humans? Some of us get a little anxious for adventure, sharpen up our sarcasm skills and feel the right to be a little well, cantankerous? Sophie took full advantage of this concept. She must have been reading AARP. Don't laugh, I assure you there is a pet section in that publication.
Lately, she's been testing us. Like she's a puppy all over again. Looking us straight in the eye while we're calling her and slapping our legs and whistling and making smooching sounds and getting louder and louder, while she whips her sassy ears and head around and trots in the other direction. She practiced this scenario last Thursday morning with Jason (and she has only ran from him one other time) and decided to take her sweet time coming back. Between the moment she decided to sprint (crossed two major intersections, visited an assisted living center, spent the day on a friendly stranger's couch) and when we picked her up 20 minutes from our house, the details are sketchy (she's been very tight-lipped about it all), but it went a little something like this:
5:45 a.m.
Jason: Sophie ran. I'm going to look for her.
Me: Drabbit! I'll hurry and get downstairs to watch for her.
Jason: Cannot find her; gotta get to work. I'll be back after my meeting to look again.
Me: Nothing on the way to daycare, from daycare to school and school to home.
8 year-old: 'Mom, you know when Sophie curls up into a really tight ball when she sleeps and she looks like a rock? Well, I just saw a rock in that person's yard, and it really could be Sophie!'
Neighbor: I'll also look after I drop the kids at school.
10:00 a.m.
Jason: Still nothing.
Neighbor: Still nothing.
Me: CRAP.
Jason: DOUBLE CRAP.
Me: Calling the vet, pound, etc... making a pretty flyer for our Sophie.
Jason: Calling the warden, city, etc...
Me: Posting on Stark County Humane Society Facebook Page.
FB Community: SHARE... SHARE... SHARE...SHARE...SHARE... SHARE... SHARE... SHARE...
7:30 p.m.
Friend of Stark County Humane Society FB Page: 'I private messaged you, I think someone found your dog!'
Me: OMG.
Terrifically Kind Dog-Loving Person: I have your dog!
Us: Unbelievable!!! So thankul. Thank you!!!
9:15 p.m.
Sophie is back on her favorite blanket, in front of the chair, watching us, watching prime time TV.
That would have been a lot to recap on FB in its entirety. A little wordy, right? Through the amazingly helpful hearts of pet-lovers on FB, we were able to be reunited with Sophie. Collar permanently on, even though she drives us nuts with incessant the shaking of the ears and the chewing of the tags... she's back. In the words of our almost three year-old: 'I am so gwad dat Sophie is bat. When she wuns away, she dohs many pwaces.' And we are so lucky to have our Soph-the-most back in the place she belongs - home.
Ok, so let's go back to my snarky comments at the beginning of this story. Post whatever you want about whatever you're doing, I'm over being picky about posts ridiculous need for scintillating FB ponderings. I'm just jealous that you are getting a custom-made java in the middle of the day and I am not. Lazy latte drinkers...
The allure was too much to pass up, and the prospect of reconnecting with all of my old high school pals was exciting. But once we all caught up, exchanged information, shared kid and pet photos, the shininess wore off a bit for me. I got bored. There are a few go-to posters for me. Mostly, the like-minded smart asses. They say what I am thinking and instead of posting it to FB, I usually write about it here. I've recently connected with a few colleagues and there are some goodies. Especially the litigators. Now, if you mix a litigator with mommy hood and ureka, you've got star-quality, to-the-point storytelling in organized little bites. Just beautiful, I tell you!
Last week I was able to see the beautiful caring hearts of tons of people I knew and didn't know from Adam through (of all the places): Facebook. I should not be surprised, I am in marketing after all. I know the power of social media, it's just never worked so quickly and powerfully... so personally. I'm always flabbergasted to tears how Momastery's fundraising phenoms work - where there is a fantastic cause and followers are asked to donate no more than $25. The response is 'stop-in-your-tracks, omg, that-is-the-coolest-thing-I've-ever-experienced.'
Our old girl, Sophia Quicksilver (family name) Shankleton decided that 5:45 a.m. last Thursday morning was a nice time for a run. To our dismay, she wasn't just out smelling around for the other neighborhood dogs, cats, rabbits and squirrels, she was in the mood for a nice 4 or 5 mile run.
You see good old Soph is 13. She's in her golden years - Sophie with her crystal blue eyes and still shiny silver-gray coat. Even though she's up their in age, her attitude has gotten snappier. Isn't that what they say about us humans? Some of us get a little anxious for adventure, sharpen up our sarcasm skills and feel the right to be a little well, cantankerous? Sophie took full advantage of this concept. She must have been reading AARP. Don't laugh, I assure you there is a pet section in that publication.
Lately, she's been testing us. Like she's a puppy all over again. Looking us straight in the eye while we're calling her and slapping our legs and whistling and making smooching sounds and getting louder and louder, while she whips her sassy ears and head around and trots in the other direction. She practiced this scenario last Thursday morning with Jason (and she has only ran from him one other time) and decided to take her sweet time coming back. Between the moment she decided to sprint (crossed two major intersections, visited an assisted living center, spent the day on a friendly stranger's couch) and when we picked her up 20 minutes from our house, the details are sketchy (she's been very tight-lipped about it all), but it went a little something like this:
5:45 a.m.
Jason: Sophie ran. I'm going to look for her.
Me: Drabbit! I'll hurry and get downstairs to watch for her.
Jason: Cannot find her; gotta get to work. I'll be back after my meeting to look again.
Me: Nothing on the way to daycare, from daycare to school and school to home.
8 year-old: 'Mom, you know when Sophie curls up into a really tight ball when she sleeps and she looks like a rock? Well, I just saw a rock in that person's yard, and it really could be Sophie!'
Neighbor: I'll also look after I drop the kids at school.
10:00 a.m.
Jason: Still nothing.
Neighbor: Still nothing.
Me: CRAP.
Jason: DOUBLE CRAP.
Me: Calling the vet, pound, etc... making a pretty flyer for our Sophie.
Jason: Calling the warden, city, etc...
Me: Posting on Stark County Humane Society Facebook Page.
FB Community: SHARE... SHARE... SHARE...SHARE...SHARE... SHARE... SHARE... SHARE...
7:30 p.m.
Friend of Stark County Humane Society FB Page: 'I private messaged you, I think someone found your dog!'
Me: OMG.
Terrifically Kind Dog-Loving Person: I have your dog!
Us: Unbelievable!!! So thankul. Thank you!!!
9:15 p.m.
Sophie is back on her favorite blanket, in front of the chair, watching us, watching prime time TV.
That would have been a lot to recap on FB in its entirety. A little wordy, right? Through the amazingly helpful hearts of pet-lovers on FB, we were able to be reunited with Sophie. Collar permanently on, even though she drives us nuts with incessant the shaking of the ears and the chewing of the tags... she's back. In the words of our almost three year-old: 'I am so gwad dat Sophie is bat. When she wuns away, she dohs many pwaces.' And we are so lucky to have our Soph-the-most back in the place she belongs - home.
Ok, so let's go back to my snarky comments at the beginning of this story. Post whatever you want about whatever you're doing, I'm over being picky about posts ridiculous need for scintillating FB ponderings. I'm just jealous that you are getting a custom-made java in the middle of the day and I am not. Lazy latte drinkers...
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
A New Man in my Life
I didn't think it was possible for my heart to open up any further, to feel love for yet another man in my life at this moment.
But it broke open like a Cadbury egg. Love oozed out and butterflies burst through. A rainbow appeared. All because of this little itty bitty man, right here.
My sister, soul-mate and best friend gave birth to this miracle of a monkey, Xavier Jeffery, two weeks ago. A blessing and a breath of fresh air (mmm, baby fresh, I definitely inhaled some major new baby scent from him ala Claire on Modern Family)...
He is the reason for the high hopes, toothier smiles, renewed faith in well, faith, life, love and future. Watching my sis blossom overnight into a meant-to-be mom was nothing short of an
aha! moment for me. It just fits her and she is perfect at it. I was a mess my first time around. I was watching her tend and love and morph into her momminess almost in slow motion. It was magic. Our family needed this squiggly little distraction to lull us into pure, unadulterated, enchantment. We've had enough reality over the last 18 months.
My mom took some new photos of the baby on her phone and showed them to me over the weekend. I gasped when one was so clearly my dad's face looking back at us. It's certainly surreal but it all feels right. My dad looking back at us to say that it's going to be ok, through this tiny baby's eyes.
Seeing my boys, Xavier's cousins grin and giggle and be awe-struck at this new little being is intoxicating. No' is geeked out that he is now the oldest cousin on my side of the family. Ro' wants to share 'his very best Skylanders' with Xavier and wonders if he can talk. My sister and I are thrilled that these cousins will grow up together. Three boys with a sprinkle of my dad's spirit and many new precious memories to make.
Xavier - I will print this post for your baby book and will someday tell you in person how you came to our family at just the right time. We loved you from the moment we found out you were a tadpole in your mommy's belly and now that you are here, little frog prince, we are beyond words, over the moon, bubbling over with joy to watch you grow. Thank you for opening our hearts again.
Love,
Your Aunt Ninny
But it broke open like a Cadbury egg. Love oozed out and butterflies burst through. A rainbow appeared. All because of this little itty bitty man, right here.
 |
| More pics of baby Xavier at Meghan G Photography. |
My sister, soul-mate and best friend gave birth to this miracle of a monkey, Xavier Jeffery, two weeks ago. A blessing and a breath of fresh air (mmm, baby fresh, I definitely inhaled some major new baby scent from him ala Claire on Modern Family)...
He is the reason for the high hopes, toothier smiles, renewed faith in well, faith, life, love and future. Watching my sis blossom overnight into a meant-to-be mom was nothing short of an
aha! moment for me. It just fits her and she is perfect at it. I was a mess my first time around. I was watching her tend and love and morph into her momminess almost in slow motion. It was magic. Our family needed this squiggly little distraction to lull us into pure, unadulterated, enchantment. We've had enough reality over the last 18 months.
My mom took some new photos of the baby on her phone and showed them to me over the weekend. I gasped when one was so clearly my dad's face looking back at us. It's certainly surreal but it all feels right. My dad looking back at us to say that it's going to be ok, through this tiny baby's eyes.
Seeing my boys, Xavier's cousins grin and giggle and be awe-struck at this new little being is intoxicating. No' is geeked out that he is now the oldest cousin on my side of the family. Ro' wants to share 'his very best Skylanders' with Xavier and wonders if he can talk. My sister and I are thrilled that these cousins will grow up together. Three boys with a sprinkle of my dad's spirit and many new precious memories to make.
Xavier - I will print this post for your baby book and will someday tell you in person how you came to our family at just the right time. We loved you from the moment we found out you were a tadpole in your mommy's belly and now that you are here, little frog prince, we are beyond words, over the moon, bubbling over with joy to watch you grow. Thank you for opening our hearts again.
Love,
Your Aunt Ninny
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Losing a Hero
I am not a total slacker! I actually wrote something in the month of February despite the assumption that I have been hibernating in a pile of Whatchmacallit wrappers...
Check out my guest blog post on EasytoLoveButHardtoRaise.com, called Losing a Hero.
Here's to the shortest, sweetest month of the year.
Check out my guest blog post on EasytoLoveButHardtoRaise.com, called Losing a Hero.
Here's to the shortest, sweetest month of the year.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Smuggling Snacks in the Bathroom
We've had the altered food plan and have been eating healthily since we learned just how much artificial flavors, colors, dyes and sweeteners can affect Noah. The whole family adjusted and it took a while to get used to but it was worth it and everyone is better off for it... except, well, my sweet tooth and my dairy addiction. (I'm not even really supposed to be 'doing' dairy).
The holidays really threw me for a loop this year. I ate WAY more than my share of cookies, pie, cake, candy between Thanksgiving and New Year's. I was working out less because we scheduled ourselves crazy and the weather was crummy and I was lazy because of the crap I was eating andI think I know I gained five pounds. Ah - don't want to hear it! I thought it and then the sad, cold truth was confirmed when I went to the doctor during my recent bout with the bronchitis that could not be stopped by an entire army of antibiotics... got on the scale. Took off my coat, put my purse down, then the scarf and gloves. Considered taking off my shoes... yep, 5, almost 6 pounds. That pumpkin roll and chocolate drizzled Jenni's popcorn is GOOD and heavy, apparently. Then there were the amazing cut-outs that my mother-in-law made and I was a goner. There were lots of friend and family get tether's and events and holiday-warm-and-fuzzies and shopping that always went better with hot chocolate, cookies and Starbucks Salted Caramel Mochas (half-caf with soy).
And now it's almost the end of January and I've run and been to gym all of about 4 times in the last four weeks. First the baby was sick, then I was sick, that's two and a half weeks. Then my appetite came back and what happened. I felt guilty about all of the crud (yummy crud) I scarfed over the holidays so I succumbed to sneaking my kids Mott's all-natural gummy bears (love anything gummy). Boys: ''Whatcha got, mom?" Me: "muffink!"
Amazingly, I think I did drop a few again while dealing with the sinus infection and bronchitis from hell. An all-soup diet does wonders. But, when my appetite reappeared this weekend, it was ugly. I had cake and Baklava at my sister's baby shower, two Starbucks on Saturday and one on Sunday. During the work day, I am really well-behaved. I stopped making thrice-weekly trips to Insomnia Cookies (they deliver until 2 a.m. to the college dorms - genius!!) who caters to sugar-starved working schleps on Main Street like me. Warm. Cookies. They even have milk and ice cream cookie sandwiches. Can you imagine, during the day? Just sauntering on over to the old cookie shop and ordering up an ice cream cookie sandwich? Decadent and ridiculously delicious during the workday. Let me tell you, if they were open when I was pregnant, this would be a different conversation, and it would go something like this: "So I was in line to get my 3 o'clock chocolate chip and peanut butter cookie with chocolate ice cream sandwich, and some yahoo tried to cut in front of me, and I said..." you get the picture.
I pass up birthday donuts in the break room and avoid the vending machine. I even gave up my chocolate gift from a vendor this holidays season. Took it straight to the coffee station and did not look back. This is all progress. It's at home when we are trying to get dinner ready and the boys are starved because they had their last snack at 2-ish and we haven't eaten a thing since lunch that it all goes south. Seemingly innocent low-fat cheese and a few baked all-natural wheat crackers turns into a dinner before the dinner. I think if I have this, I won't eat the bad stuff (what little of it is actually in our house).
So here's the bad stuff. We bought some candy bars from our niece to support her class trip to D.C. in May. They have been put on top of our storage unit in the mudroom. I stared them down for weeks. I think we got them over Christmas. I wondered just what kind of stuff may be in there. But I didn't care much because I had the Christmas cookies and chocolate-drizzled popcorn and pumpkin roll to keep me occupied. And, like I said, over the last few days, my appetite came back, including my sweet tooth. Now, Noah scolded us for having those candy bars in the house at all. He wanted to know who's they were and why they were there and how long would they stay and it was a problem.
I tried to figure out a good way to get rid of them. But came up with nothing. Well. It's been a particularly stressful couple of weeks. The stress-induced sweet tooth craving must have been building up and it culminated in my husband calling for me and finding me in the downstairs powder room, with the door locked, eating one of these stinkin' (sorry Kerrigan, they don't stink, they are actually really tasty, especially the Crisp and the Caramel) candy bars. A friend was on my cell phone and my husband had just seen me and wondered where in the heck I disappeared to and where I was responding to his calls from and sure enough. I unlocked the door for him to see me sitting there, devouring the candy bar. He first said, 'no. are you kidding me?' Then he laughed hysterically and handed me the phone. I told him to shove it with my mouth shoved full of some amazingly fresh and delicious chocolate for fundraising candy. Well done, niece's school system. You picked a good candy vendor.
There, I put it out there. I smuggle candy and sweets into hidden caverns of my own home for fear of being caught by the rest of my family. Noah can't eat the stuff, we don't generally give Rowan 'candy' yet anyhow and hubby and I just should not be partaking anyhow. It's tough. When you don't buy the stuff on a regular basis and bake homemade on a pretty rare occasion, you just can't help yourself when it is staring you right in the face and calling your name. When you've been stressed. And not working out. And bored. And your DVR'd shows have all been watched. Humph.
I REALLY need to find somewhere, something to do with this candy before March. Because, I just remembered. We just ordered our annual lot of Girl Scout Cookies. I'm toast. (Mmmm, toasted coconut on the Samoas is delish!)
The holidays really threw me for a loop this year. I ate WAY more than my share of cookies, pie, cake, candy between Thanksgiving and New Year's. I was working out less because we scheduled ourselves crazy and the weather was crummy and I was lazy because of the crap I was eating and
And now it's almost the end of January and I've run and been to gym all of about 4 times in the last four weeks. First the baby was sick, then I was sick, that's two and a half weeks. Then my appetite came back and what happened. I felt guilty about all of the crud (yummy crud) I scarfed over the holidays so I succumbed to sneaking my kids Mott's all-natural gummy bears (love anything gummy). Boys: ''Whatcha got, mom?" Me: "muffink!"
Amazingly, I think I did drop a few again while dealing with the sinus infection and bronchitis from hell. An all-soup diet does wonders. But, when my appetite reappeared this weekend, it was ugly. I had cake and Baklava at my sister's baby shower, two Starbucks on Saturday and one on Sunday. During the work day, I am really well-behaved. I stopped making thrice-weekly trips to Insomnia Cookies (they deliver until 2 a.m. to the college dorms - genius!!) who caters to sugar-starved working schleps on Main Street like me. Warm. Cookies. They even have milk and ice cream cookie sandwiches. Can you imagine, during the day? Just sauntering on over to the old cookie shop and ordering up an ice cream cookie sandwich? Decadent and ridiculously delicious during the workday. Let me tell you, if they were open when I was pregnant, this would be a different conversation, and it would go something like this: "So I was in line to get my 3 o'clock chocolate chip and peanut butter cookie with chocolate ice cream sandwich, and some yahoo tried to cut in front of me, and I said..." you get the picture.
I pass up birthday donuts in the break room and avoid the vending machine. I even gave up my chocolate gift from a vendor this holidays season. Took it straight to the coffee station and did not look back. This is all progress. It's at home when we are trying to get dinner ready and the boys are starved because they had their last snack at 2-ish and we haven't eaten a thing since lunch that it all goes south. Seemingly innocent low-fat cheese and a few baked all-natural wheat crackers turns into a dinner before the dinner. I think if I have this, I won't eat the bad stuff (what little of it is actually in our house).
So here's the bad stuff. We bought some candy bars from our niece to support her class trip to D.C. in May. They have been put on top of our storage unit in the mudroom. I stared them down for weeks. I think we got them over Christmas. I wondered just what kind of stuff may be in there. But I didn't care much because I had the Christmas cookies and chocolate-drizzled popcorn and pumpkin roll to keep me occupied. And, like I said, over the last few days, my appetite came back, including my sweet tooth. Now, Noah scolded us for having those candy bars in the house at all. He wanted to know who's they were and why they were there and how long would they stay and it was a problem.
I tried to figure out a good way to get rid of them. But came up with nothing. Well. It's been a particularly stressful couple of weeks. The stress-induced sweet tooth craving must have been building up and it culminated in my husband calling for me and finding me in the downstairs powder room, with the door locked, eating one of these stinkin' (sorry Kerrigan, they don't stink, they are actually really tasty, especially the Crisp and the Caramel) candy bars. A friend was on my cell phone and my husband had just seen me and wondered where in the heck I disappeared to and where I was responding to his calls from and sure enough. I unlocked the door for him to see me sitting there, devouring the candy bar. He first said, 'no. are you kidding me?' Then he laughed hysterically and handed me the phone. I told him to shove it with my mouth shoved full of some amazingly fresh and delicious chocolate for fundraising candy. Well done, niece's school system. You picked a good candy vendor.
There, I put it out there. I smuggle candy and sweets into hidden caverns of my own home for fear of being caught by the rest of my family. Noah can't eat the stuff, we don't generally give Rowan 'candy' yet anyhow and hubby and I just should not be partaking anyhow. It's tough. When you don't buy the stuff on a regular basis and bake homemade on a pretty rare occasion, you just can't help yourself when it is staring you right in the face and calling your name. When you've been stressed. And not working out. And bored. And your DVR'd shows have all been watched. Humph.
I REALLY need to find somewhere, something to do with this candy before March. Because, I just remembered. We just ordered our annual lot of Girl Scout Cookies. I'm toast. (Mmmm, toasted coconut on the Samoas is delish!)
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