You know those days when you've just got it together? You're like the It Mom. You look good, the kids are well-behaved, you get to places on time, you packed everything you needed, everything is cool, calm, collected...
Yesterday was not one of those days.
I started the day already off when I attempted to pack a bag for an entire day's outing, complete with errands, groceries, and a water play date, in a frantic and rushed 7 minutes. Needless to say, I forgot a couple of things...like wipes and enough food and formula for the baby. I also forgot to do something with my hair.... I did not realize until I got home at 8 p.m. just how disheveled I had looked all day. We're talking stray fly aways in every direction, the messy bun pulled up in the back...a look that screams "I have lost total control and right now I just can't stop what I'm doing to find it." (But in my defense, I had worked out that morning. It was Gym Hair.)
At my friend's house, the play date started out pretty smoothly: water balloons, a slip & slide, and the sprinklers. Even Aidan Kai got in on the fun...until I dropped him. Yes. Dropped him. Again. This time, fortunately, it was not off of a sofa and onto a laminate floor. It was a simple, but theatrical, drop and flip out of my arms and onto the wet grass, where he promptly rolled over and immediately started an indignant and impatient wail. My friend was kind enough to chuckle and withhold any comments. (But in my defense, I have a bum arm.) Aidan Kai did recover quickly (as so many children do while the mothers hold on to the guilt and self-inflicted abuse for days, at best), but we should've known the play date fun couldn't last. Two constantly hungry newborns, two 3-year-old rambunctious boys, and one very curious and mobile 10-month-old...what were we thinking? The adults were outnumbered, and the kids knew it. By the time I got out of there, I needed a nap, a nanny, and/or a cocktail.
I left there and then drove 40 minutes in South Florida traffic to my neighborhood Target with the intention of buying formula, and only formula. An hour and one severe thunderstorm later, I had spent $200, and nearly forgotten the formula. But hey, I had red and blue July 4th paper plates, glittery Uncle Sam hats, and a pack of water balloons...Oh, and almost a broken baby. This time it would've been Aidan's own fault if he had fallen, as he decided to show off in the register line and climb out of the shopping cart seat and STAND UP. (Okay, no, maybe it would've been my fault yet again, since I was the one who never clipped him in. But in my defense, Ben never climbed out of shopping carts.) I got to him just in time, as the cashier frowned at me and said, "Mommy, you should clip him in. You don't want an injury like that." Yes. Thank you, Target Check-out Girl.
We then go on to do full blown groceries. Now the three of us are hungry, cranky, and in need of naps. When we arrive at Publix, I immediately clip Aidan into the shopping cart and even wipe the cart down with antibacterial wipes for extra credit. I am zooming up and down the aisles, frantically trying to keep Aidan entertained, Ben nearby, and my entire family's nutritional needs in mind. It is when we are in the produce section and I am seduced by the summer peaches, that I think it is okay to step two frickin' feet away from Aidan, because...after all, everyone, he is clipped in. I am sniffing my third peach when Ben starts shrieking "Mama! Aidan has a piece of the bag in his hand and he's putting it in his mouth!" I think, 'Bag? What bag?' and assume Ben is being dramatic, as so many of us in my family are (okay, just me). But no, he has managed to tear off a tiny square of the plastic bags used for fruits and vegetables and is, in fact, putting it in his mouth. This can not be good. After a few seconds of "what-ifs" running around in my mind, I showered Ben with praises about how "dangerous" that could've been and what a "good job he did taking care of his brother." (In my defense, the peaches really were spectacular.)
So we are now down to the near-end of my day, and I am grateful that I have a shopping cart full of groceries and a baby with no major head injuries. We are standing in line to pay when Aidan starts getting pretty fussy, so I whip out the only thing I've got left: emergency Cheerios. (It is important to remind my readers at this point that Aidan has some puking tendencies, so we try to refrain from any solid pieces of food in public locations...even good ol' Cheerios.) And I do think for a moment, 'Is this a good idea?' But I also think, 'C'mon, Liz...after the day you've had? You'll be out of here in 2 minutes, and the kid will have a handful of Cheerios to keep him busy.' Like the play date earlier, it seemed okay at first....I had already run my card through the machine and even signed the receipt...I was waiting for the bag boy to pack the last of the bread bags...IT WAS THE LAST FRICKIN' CHEERIO, PEOPLE. And he did it. Yes. I know you saw this coming. He started to gag, and I did what any other mother would've done...I cupped my hands under his mouth and prayed OUT LOUD "Oh God, no please. No." But yes. Right there, in the check-out line at the grocery store. Go ahead. Laugh. (In my defense, I did such a good job wiping everything down with antibacterial solution and paper towels, that the floor was shining.)
On our way home, I got a call from a friend, and she happened to ask about my day. I used the term "frazzled mom" in the description. Apparently, Ben liked this phrase, because he sang it repeatedly as I pulled into the driveway..."Frazzled Mom! Frazzled Mom! Frazzled Mom!"
Fabulous.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Summer is here...
Most of you know that Hubby and I are teachers, which means that we have now been officially on Summer Vacation for 12 days (but who's counting?). So in case you are wondering where the heck I've been...
Hangin' at the playground...
Hangin' at the playground...
Playing with cars (and still daydreaming about Barbies)...
Visiting dear friends in Melbourne...
Swimming (sort of)...
Playing Rock Band with crazy friends in Gainesville...
Visiting Sea World in Orlando...
Generally enjoying the freedom that comes with summer...
Sunday, June 7, 2009
101 Things About Liz
So I'm not usually into the whole fashionably late thing...in fact, I like to be timely whenever possible. However, when it comes to blogging, unfortunately, I am not always as consistent as I'd like to be (hence, my last post). Sarah and Jen from http://www.momalom.com/ (which rocks, by the way) had these pretty cool "101 Things About Me" posts a couple of weeks ago. A few of their followers followed along and I thought I would too, since it was pretty cool to read and seemed pretty challenging to write. So in a particularly narcissistic, self-indulgent, and hopefully slightly revealing post, I present you with...
101 Things About Liz.
1. I'm 36 years old.
2. I was born in Chicago, but consider myself Cuban.
3. I own 56 pairs of shoes.
4. This includes my running and biking sneakers, an assortment of flip-flops, and one pair of fuzzy slippers.
5. My iPod, cell phone, planner, and a lock of hair are all hot pink.
6. My one goal as a teacher is to get my students to love reading.
7. When I was a little girl, I really believed I could be and do anything when I grew up.
8. I also believed my dad when he used to tell me I was the "most beautiful girl in the world."
9. I was pretty bummed when I realized I, in fact, was not.
10. I think I'm still pretty cute.
11. I have 4 tattoos.
12. I will be getting one more.
13. I ran two half-marathons, completed two Muddy Buddies, a couple of sprint adventure races, and several 5ks.
14. During my first half marathon, I was recovering from a stomach virus.
15. During my second one, I was pregnant and did not know it.
16. I never want to jump out of an airplane.
17. My soul is in Hawaii.
18. My favorite person in the whole world is my husband.
19. I drive a 6-year-old Hyundai, but once paid $533 for a pair of shoes.
20. Those shoes are my favorite thing in my closet.
21. I have two super powers: my sense of smell and an uncanny ability to remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard a song.
22. If I could choose a real super power, it'd be the ability to teleport.
23. The smell of hospitals makes me sick to my stomach.
24. I am irrationally afraid of lizards, especially geckos and salamanders.
25. I used to work at the Miami Seaquarium.
26. I got certified in scuba diving just to prove (to myself) that I could do it.
27. I hyperventilate when I snorkel.
28. When I was 4 years old, I nearly drowned in a hotel swimming pool.
29. I remember the experience.
30. This is harder than I thought it would be.
31. I cry a lot.
32. I wasted 9 years of my life with the wrong guy.
33. I believe in angels.
34. My oldest son is named after a character on the TV show "Felicity."
35. When I was pregnant with him and did not know it, we ran into the actor that played him on the streets of New York.
36. I'd rather have 10 pap smears than one teeth cleaning, but I'm too Type A to skip the dentist.
37. My father drives me nuts.
38. I worry all the time that when he is gone, I will regret a million things.
39. Mountain biking scares the crap out of me every single time I do it.
40. I absolutely love it.
41. If I could switch lives with anyone, it'd be Gabrielle Reece.
42. If I could have my husband switch lives with anyone, it'd be Laird Hamilton. 43. I talk too much.
44. So does Ben.
45. I don't talk nearly enough to Baby Aidan, which makes me feel guilty and worry he will not be as verbal as Ben.
46. I am obsessive about keeping my toenails painted.
47. I absolutely hate the smell of cigarette.
48. I eat peanut butter and banana on an english muffin for breakfast almost everyday.
49. I dream of completing a full marathon.
50. I need to have surgery for a torn meniscus in my knee.
51. When I was in 6th grade, the boy I liked told me it was "too bad" I didn't look more like my sister.
52. I like my sister more and more everyday.
53. When I am playing with pirate swords or Matchbox cars, sometimes I daydream about Barbies and dollhouses.
54. I think God knew if I had a girl, I'd drive her--and everyone in the house--crazy with my good intentions.
55. I often dream about what my life might have been like if I'd been brought up in a less traditionally Cuban home.
56. I would not trade my parents for anything in the world.
57. Drew Barrymore would play me in my Life Story.
58. I resent Photoshop in fashion magazines, but loved it when it was used on my pictures.
59. I wish I were less sensitive.
60. I wish I were braver.
61. I wish I were thinner.
62. I keep a "Life List."
63. I have done most of the things on the list so far.
64. The book Tuesdays With Morrie changed the way I live my live.
65. I am constantly afraid of "the other shoe falling."
66. I hate when people say "supposably."
67. The sound of static drives me nuts.
68. Snoring bothers me even more.
69. I think I'm tougher than I let on.
70. I love to be babied.
71. My favorite part of being a mom is watching them turn into actual people, with personalities and preferences and quirks.
72. The worst part of parenting is the lack of freedom.
73. Every time I watch the news, I get so freaked out by the stories, I have to turn them off.
74. I am an absolute idiot when it comes to geography and history, so I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut on both subjects.
75. I think I ended up in the wrong career.
76. Even though I absolutely love teaching.
77. Venice is the only place left on my "Places I Absolutely Must Visit Before I Die List."
78. I don't believe in coincidences.
79. I don't go to church.
80. I believe in God.
81. I've suffered from migraines since I was 7.
82. I love hats.
83. My favorite show ever in the history of the world is "Sex and the City."
84. I don't iron. Ever.
85. My 3-year-old has a better sense of direction than I do.
86. I am a sucker for romance.
87. I married a man who called himself "un-romantic" but--lucky for me--actually turned out to be over-the-top, straight-out-of-a-movie romantic.
88. He does not put up with any of my crap.
89. On the nights it's my turn to read Ben books, I silently pray that he does not whine, "But I want Daddy to read me books..."
90. He says it about 50% of the time.
91. I have no tolerance for incompetence.
92. I always let cars pass me on the road.
93. I believe there are times when a good curse word is necessary.
94. Elizabeth Bennett is my favorite literary heroine.
95. I love a good chick flick.
96. I tweeze my eyebrows at red lights.
97. I have a chandelier in my closet.
98. When I was a kid, I was always picked last for the team and begged the P.E. teacher to let me sit out.
99. I consider myself an athlete now.
100. I am loud and I like it that way.
101. The whole time I've been writing this, Aidan has been playing so quietly in his crib, I've checked on him about 15 times.
101 Things About Liz.
1. I'm 36 years old.
2. I was born in Chicago, but consider myself Cuban.
3. I own 56 pairs of shoes.
4. This includes my running and biking sneakers, an assortment of flip-flops, and one pair of fuzzy slippers.
5. My iPod, cell phone, planner, and a lock of hair are all hot pink.
6. My one goal as a teacher is to get my students to love reading.
7. When I was a little girl, I really believed I could be and do anything when I grew up.
8. I also believed my dad when he used to tell me I was the "most beautiful girl in the world."
9. I was pretty bummed when I realized I, in fact, was not.
10. I think I'm still pretty cute.
11. I have 4 tattoos.
12. I will be getting one more.
13. I ran two half-marathons, completed two Muddy Buddies, a couple of sprint adventure races, and several 5ks.
14. During my first half marathon, I was recovering from a stomach virus.
15. During my second one, I was pregnant and did not know it.
16. I never want to jump out of an airplane.
17. My soul is in Hawaii.
18. My favorite person in the whole world is my husband.
19. I drive a 6-year-old Hyundai, but once paid $533 for a pair of shoes.
20. Those shoes are my favorite thing in my closet.
21. I have two super powers: my sense of smell and an uncanny ability to remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard a song.
22. If I could choose a real super power, it'd be the ability to teleport.
23. The smell of hospitals makes me sick to my stomach.
24. I am irrationally afraid of lizards, especially geckos and salamanders.
25. I used to work at the Miami Seaquarium.
26. I got certified in scuba diving just to prove (to myself) that I could do it.
27. I hyperventilate when I snorkel.
28. When I was 4 years old, I nearly drowned in a hotel swimming pool.
29. I remember the experience.
30. This is harder than I thought it would be.
31. I cry a lot.
32. I wasted 9 years of my life with the wrong guy.
33. I believe in angels.
34. My oldest son is named after a character on the TV show "Felicity."
35. When I was pregnant with him and did not know it, we ran into the actor that played him on the streets of New York.
36. I'd rather have 10 pap smears than one teeth cleaning, but I'm too Type A to skip the dentist.
37. My father drives me nuts.
38. I worry all the time that when he is gone, I will regret a million things.
39. Mountain biking scares the crap out of me every single time I do it.
40. I absolutely love it.
41. If I could switch lives with anyone, it'd be Gabrielle Reece.
42. If I could have my husband switch lives with anyone, it'd be Laird Hamilton. 43. I talk too much.
44. So does Ben.
45. I don't talk nearly enough to Baby Aidan, which makes me feel guilty and worry he will not be as verbal as Ben.
46. I am obsessive about keeping my toenails painted.
47. I absolutely hate the smell of cigarette.
48. I eat peanut butter and banana on an english muffin for breakfast almost everyday.
49. I dream of completing a full marathon.
50. I need to have surgery for a torn meniscus in my knee.
51. When I was in 6th grade, the boy I liked told me it was "too bad" I didn't look more like my sister.
52. I like my sister more and more everyday.
53. When I am playing with pirate swords or Matchbox cars, sometimes I daydream about Barbies and dollhouses.
54. I think God knew if I had a girl, I'd drive her--and everyone in the house--crazy with my good intentions.
55. I often dream about what my life might have been like if I'd been brought up in a less traditionally Cuban home.
56. I would not trade my parents for anything in the world.
57. Drew Barrymore would play me in my Life Story.
58. I resent Photoshop in fashion magazines, but loved it when it was used on my pictures.
59. I wish I were less sensitive.
60. I wish I were braver.
61. I wish I were thinner.
62. I keep a "Life List."
63. I have done most of the things on the list so far.
64. The book Tuesdays With Morrie changed the way I live my live.
65. I am constantly afraid of "the other shoe falling."
66. I hate when people say "supposably."
67. The sound of static drives me nuts.
68. Snoring bothers me even more.
69. I think I'm tougher than I let on.
70. I love to be babied.
71. My favorite part of being a mom is watching them turn into actual people, with personalities and preferences and quirks.
72. The worst part of parenting is the lack of freedom.
73. Every time I watch the news, I get so freaked out by the stories, I have to turn them off.
74. I am an absolute idiot when it comes to geography and history, so I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut on both subjects.
75. I think I ended up in the wrong career.
76. Even though I absolutely love teaching.
77. Venice is the only place left on my "Places I Absolutely Must Visit Before I Die List."
78. I don't believe in coincidences.
79. I don't go to church.
80. I believe in God.
81. I've suffered from migraines since I was 7.
82. I love hats.
83. My favorite show ever in the history of the world is "Sex and the City."
84. I don't iron. Ever.
85. My 3-year-old has a better sense of direction than I do.
86. I am a sucker for romance.
87. I married a man who called himself "un-romantic" but--lucky for me--actually turned out to be over-the-top, straight-out-of-a-movie romantic.
88. He does not put up with any of my crap.
89. On the nights it's my turn to read Ben books, I silently pray that he does not whine, "But I want Daddy to read me books..."
90. He says it about 50% of the time.
91. I have no tolerance for incompetence.
92. I always let cars pass me on the road.
93. I believe there are times when a good curse word is necessary.
94. Elizabeth Bennett is my favorite literary heroine.
95. I love a good chick flick.
96. I tweeze my eyebrows at red lights.
97. I have a chandelier in my closet.
98. When I was a kid, I was always picked last for the team and begged the P.E. teacher to let me sit out.
99. I consider myself an athlete now.
100. I am loud and I like it that way.
101. The whole time I've been writing this, Aidan has been playing so quietly in his crib, I've checked on him about 15 times.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
One more thing on the To-Do list that didn't get done this week
What do you mean, 'I haven't posted in a week'?!? What about the post about "Ben and Mama Day"? The one about how I took the day off to take him to his end-of-year party, lunch at his restaurant of choice, and then the movies, but he still wanted Daddy to read him books at bedtime...? You didn't read that one? Hmmm...What about the one about Aidan, a.k.a. The Vomiter, who decided to puke just as I sat down to dinner with my girlfriends? Oh but surely you read the one about how I went mountain biking and fell not once, but twice, on the same elbow--nearly breaking it? No? Didn't read any of those? Such a shame, 'cause they were funny and poignant and nearly award-worthy.
Oh wait. You couldn't have read them...because I only wrote them...IN MY OWN HEAD. I did. I swear. I walked around all week blogging away, but just never got around to sitting at the computer and writing it down where it counts. Some days I was just too busy. Some days I was just too tired. Some days I was just too busy and tired. And I'll be honest, when I get to That Point at the end of the day, when all I can think about is crawling into bed and either watching mindless TV, reading, or just going to sleep, I don't care enough. I mean, the thoughts are there. The words are there. The stories are there. I tell myself to get up, go to the computer, type them all in. But I can't. The all-consuming desire to Just Stop--stop thinking, stop trying, stop doing--is stronger than the desire to write. (Not to mention the fact that I think when I am that tired, if I tried to write, it'd be so bad, you all would stop following me.)
I have found this the toughest part about blogging. I thought the tough part would be finding enough material, or being willing to put myself "out there" for everyone, or even figuring out how to use the blogging program. But no, none of those have come close to the difficulty of finding the time and energy to post as often as I'd like. So...I suppose this post is one part apology, one part request for suggestions. How do you all manage it? How do you get around the demands of parenting, working, marathon training, scrapbooking, cooking, exercising, sleeping, living, (whatever!) and still find time almost everyday to post so many great, funny, honest, cool blog entries? Go ahead...advise and inspire.
Oh wait. You couldn't have read them...because I only wrote them...IN MY OWN HEAD. I did. I swear. I walked around all week blogging away, but just never got around to sitting at the computer and writing it down where it counts. Some days I was just too busy. Some days I was just too tired. Some days I was just too busy and tired. And I'll be honest, when I get to That Point at the end of the day, when all I can think about is crawling into bed and either watching mindless TV, reading, or just going to sleep, I don't care enough. I mean, the thoughts are there. The words are there. The stories are there. I tell myself to get up, go to the computer, type them all in. But I can't. The all-consuming desire to Just Stop--stop thinking, stop trying, stop doing--is stronger than the desire to write. (Not to mention the fact that I think when I am that tired, if I tried to write, it'd be so bad, you all would stop following me.)
I have found this the toughest part about blogging. I thought the tough part would be finding enough material, or being willing to put myself "out there" for everyone, or even figuring out how to use the blogging program. But no, none of those have come close to the difficulty of finding the time and energy to post as often as I'd like. So...I suppose this post is one part apology, one part request for suggestions. How do you all manage it? How do you get around the demands of parenting, working, marathon training, scrapbooking, cooking, exercising, sleeping, living, (whatever!) and still find time almost everyday to post so many great, funny, honest, cool blog entries? Go ahead...advise and inspire.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Dear Fat Pants,
Thank you for serving me so well. You have been reliable, trustworthy, comfortable, and--depending on what I paired you with--almost fashionable. We have been through a lot together: You were there for me during two first-trimesters, when the nausea and early bloating threatened to take over my life and general opinion on pregnancy. Even when I didn't button you, and hid you beneath too-long shirts, and pinned you with rubber bands and belts and maternity bands, you never complained. You waited patiently while I upgraded (or downgraded?) to full-blown maternity pants, and when I came back to you postpartum (both times)--ecstatically, joyously, thrillingly--I even started thinking of you for a short time as my Someday-to-Be-Skinny-Again Pants. But it was inevitable...a few weeks later, the dew was off the rose. You were back to being my Fat Pants. No matter how hard you try, you can't change what you are. You're just too much for me.
And this past weekend, I knew it was time. Some of your chic-er and more upscale cousins started to call to me...beckon to me...seduce me. "Give us a try," they said, alluringly. At first, I was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid that, in spite of the hours spent at the gym and calculating Weight Watcher points, I would still not be worthy of the single digits. But I was. Oh, I was. And I'm sorry, Fat Pants, but now that I have gone back, remembered what it feels like to be accepted by The Elite, I just can't be with you anymore. You understand...I can't settle. And that is what I'd be doing with you. I mean, sure, I look fine when I'm with you. But that's not enough for me. I want more. So it is time to say good-bye. I know you will find someone else, someone who will appreciate you, be thankful for you, wear you with pride. I will never forget you.
Sincerely,
Me
And this past weekend, I knew it was time. Some of your chic-er and more upscale cousins started to call to me...beckon to me...seduce me. "Give us a try," they said, alluringly. At first, I was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid that, in spite of the hours spent at the gym and calculating Weight Watcher points, I would still not be worthy of the single digits. But I was. Oh, I was. And I'm sorry, Fat Pants, but now that I have gone back, remembered what it feels like to be accepted by The Elite, I just can't be with you anymore. You understand...I can't settle. And that is what I'd be doing with you. I mean, sure, I look fine when I'm with you. But that's not enough for me. I want more. So it is time to say good-bye. I know you will find someone else, someone who will appreciate you, be thankful for you, wear you with pride. I will never forget you.
Sincerely,
Me
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
I think I have lost my mind...and 20 bucks
I am craving chocolate all day. I want it. Bad. I spend the morning debating: Is it worth the 6 Weight Watcher points I will use up on a 3 Musketeers bar? What if I chew some gum? What if I have some more water? In the end, the craving wins. I go to the grocery store on my lunch break, buy my chocolate bar along with a couple of other things, request 20 bucks cash back, take my bags, receipt, and...leave my $20 sitting in the dispenser of the self check-out register. After thoroughly savoring every point of my 3 Musketeers, I happily walk into my office, look for the twenty I was going to use to pay a colleague for something, and realize I forgot to take the cash. I break into a sprint (as if this is going to help) back to the parking lot, and break my shoe. Literally. The whole strap comes off. Now I am hobbling into the grocery store, asking for a manager, flailing my receipt around, swearing off chocolate forever (or at least 3 Musketeers bars). The very patient manager, who takes me into the camera room, plays back all 18 minutes worth of the security video, during which I watch a little old lady use the same self check-out register, insert her cash, and retrieve her change from the dispenser...along with a $20 bonus. I wanted to break into tears.
I call my husband and rant like a lunatic about my chocolate weakness, broken shoe, and forgotten $20, and his response? "Ok. So? It's $20. It happens to everyone. Forget it. Don't turn this into a Thing, Liz. Don't make it more than it is."
Oh.
That never occurred to me.
Don't make it a thing? But isn't it a thing? I mean, I forgot to take my $20. And last week at work, I scanned an entire section of library books without actually putting them into the database. And let us not forget the forgotten Mother's Day Luncheon...
Ok, so I forgot $20. No big deal. But it kinda is. For me. Lately, I am constantly not paying attention. I am forgetting things. I am dropping the ball. I am living up to my hair color's reputation. I realize that maybe hubby's right: maybe I shouldn't make everything A Thing. Maybe if I could learn to live like that, in a constant state of alert relaxation, then I wouldn't be so forgetful in the first place. But...the point is, I'm not living like that. I don't know how. And even if I did, these patterns I'm "developing" are just not working for me. Although it may not be a big deal to forget things here and there, and although it's so common that people assign it cute little labels like "Mommy Brain," I can't just shrug it off. I have to find a way to Be In The Present. To actually pay attention to how it feels to exist in one singular moment. And I'm not even talking yogic New Age existential stuff (although that would be lovely). I'm talking, quite simply, of being aware enough of the moment I'm living in so that I'm actually just paying frickin' attention. Because a) I don't like forgetting stuff, especially cash and my children's events; and b) what if the Universe is trying to tell me something? What if the next time the thing I'm supposed to be paying attention to really is a big thing?
Years ago, I went to a seminar given by Oprah Winfrey (yes, the real one), and one of the things she talked about was just that: signs from the Universe. Of course she was incredibly more poetic and profound than I, but basically she said that the Universe sends you messages. These messages start out as little whispers. You really have to be paying attention. If you're not, they get louder and louder and eventually the Universe will peg you on the forehead with a big ol' metaphorical rock. So I'm gonna start trying. I'm gonna focus. I'm gonna try and shut my mind off for a little bit here and there (or at least turn the volume down). I am going to pay attention. Because I'm thinking a broken shoe and a lost 20 dollar bill is better than a concussion.
I call my husband and rant like a lunatic about my chocolate weakness, broken shoe, and forgotten $20, and his response? "Ok. So? It's $20. It happens to everyone. Forget it. Don't turn this into a Thing, Liz. Don't make it more than it is."
Oh.
That never occurred to me.
Don't make it a thing? But isn't it a thing? I mean, I forgot to take my $20. And last week at work, I scanned an entire section of library books without actually putting them into the database. And let us not forget the forgotten Mother's Day Luncheon...
Ok, so I forgot $20. No big deal. But it kinda is. For me. Lately, I am constantly not paying attention. I am forgetting things. I am dropping the ball. I am living up to my hair color's reputation. I realize that maybe hubby's right: maybe I shouldn't make everything A Thing. Maybe if I could learn to live like that, in a constant state of alert relaxation, then I wouldn't be so forgetful in the first place. But...the point is, I'm not living like that. I don't know how. And even if I did, these patterns I'm "developing" are just not working for me. Although it may not be a big deal to forget things here and there, and although it's so common that people assign it cute little labels like "Mommy Brain," I can't just shrug it off. I have to find a way to Be In The Present. To actually pay attention to how it feels to exist in one singular moment. And I'm not even talking yogic New Age existential stuff (although that would be lovely). I'm talking, quite simply, of being aware enough of the moment I'm living in so that I'm actually just paying frickin' attention. Because a) I don't like forgetting stuff, especially cash and my children's events; and b) what if the Universe is trying to tell me something? What if the next time the thing I'm supposed to be paying attention to really is a big thing?
Years ago, I went to a seminar given by Oprah Winfrey (yes, the real one), and one of the things she talked about was just that: signs from the Universe. Of course she was incredibly more poetic and profound than I, but basically she said that the Universe sends you messages. These messages start out as little whispers. You really have to be paying attention. If you're not, they get louder and louder and eventually the Universe will peg you on the forehead with a big ol' metaphorical rock. So I'm gonna start trying. I'm gonna focus. I'm gonna try and shut my mind off for a little bit here and there (or at least turn the volume down). I am going to pay attention. Because I'm thinking a broken shoe and a lost 20 dollar bill is better than a concussion.
Friday, May 22, 2009
T.G.I.F.
Friday nights used to mean happy hour...or napping and then going out clubbing...or on a quiet night: take-out pizza, beers, and a rental movie.
Now?
It is exactly 8:34 p.m. and I am too tired to watch either of the movies we rented. After this post, and my hot vanilla milk (yes, I swear, it's true...it's from Starbucks...does that make me any less nerdy and geriatric-like?), I am going to bed.
And instead of happy hour there was a 15-minute trip to the public library so Ben could check out some new books. And instead of take-out pizza and beer, there was frozen Kashi pizza, ice water, and Tylenol.
Oh...yes. And after I ran out to the liquor store (more on that later), I returned to find my ever-optimistic husband changing crib sheets, Lysol-ing, and chuckling while a re-bathed (and quite giggly) Aidan Kai crawled around on the floor of his room.
He had been sleeping when I left, but apparently he was also coughing...and those of you who have been following this blog and/or my family, know that he's a vomiter and yes, he struck again. That's our baby: cough, cough, gag, vomit. Everywhere. I just stood there, slightly horrified, glad I was the one who had volunteered to go buy the Bacardi, while hubby? He just laughed...and commented on how happy HE was that I had been the one to go buy the Bacardi, because I would've had a nervous breakdown (his words, not mine).
I have to laugh at myself...at us...at our lives. We're not even sure how we got here. How did we go from people who were pretty cool, fun-loving, spontaneous, always on the move, to people who are too tired to sit on a couch and watch a movie (not even a deep one, mind you...it's not like we rented "Schindler's List" here, people) and sip warm milk on Friday nights? Oh yes. We had kids. Right.
So...the rum run? Thankfully, I have a mother who still fully believes that we should try and hold on to that part of us we used to be...a mother who, at 68 years old, excitedly buys herself new earrings and shoes to wear to go out dancing--yes, DANCING--with my soon-to-be-70-year-old dad who she's been married to for over 45 years. And so tomorrow, gloriously, blessedly, thankfully, joyously we will have A Babysitting Day thanks to my dear mom...our first time alone in a couple of months...and we will sit on the beach and drink rum. And I'd like to think that at least for a few hours tomorrow, we can feel like our Old Selves again...just Liz and Pablo, The Couple...instead of Mama and Dada.
Now?
It is exactly 8:34 p.m. and I am too tired to watch either of the movies we rented. After this post, and my hot vanilla milk (yes, I swear, it's true...it's from Starbucks...does that make me any less nerdy and geriatric-like?), I am going to bed.
And instead of happy hour there was a 15-minute trip to the public library so Ben could check out some new books. And instead of take-out pizza and beer, there was frozen Kashi pizza, ice water, and Tylenol.
Oh...yes. And after I ran out to the liquor store (more on that later), I returned to find my ever-optimistic husband changing crib sheets, Lysol-ing, and chuckling while a re-bathed (and quite giggly) Aidan Kai crawled around on the floor of his room.
He had been sleeping when I left, but apparently he was also coughing...and those of you who have been following this blog and/or my family, know that he's a vomiter and yes, he struck again. That's our baby: cough, cough, gag, vomit. Everywhere. I just stood there, slightly horrified, glad I was the one who had volunteered to go buy the Bacardi, while hubby? He just laughed...and commented on how happy HE was that I had been the one to go buy the Bacardi, because I would've had a nervous breakdown (his words, not mine).
I have to laugh at myself...at us...at our lives. We're not even sure how we got here. How did we go from people who were pretty cool, fun-loving, spontaneous, always on the move, to people who are too tired to sit on a couch and watch a movie (not even a deep one, mind you...it's not like we rented "Schindler's List" here, people) and sip warm milk on Friday nights? Oh yes. We had kids. Right.
So...the rum run? Thankfully, I have a mother who still fully believes that we should try and hold on to that part of us we used to be...a mother who, at 68 years old, excitedly buys herself new earrings and shoes to wear to go out dancing--yes, DANCING--with my soon-to-be-70-year-old dad who she's been married to for over 45 years. And so tomorrow, gloriously, blessedly, thankfully, joyously we will have A Babysitting Day thanks to my dear mom...our first time alone in a couple of months...and we will sit on the beach and drink rum. And I'd like to think that at least for a few hours tomorrow, we can feel like our Old Selves again...just Liz and Pablo, The Couple...instead of Mama and Dada.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
When I'm awake, I fantasize about sleeping
Saturday evening/Sunday morning
10:45 p.m. Check on Ben's fever
1:30 a.m. Check on Ben's fever, 103.9, administer Motrin
2:15 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, provide water, check temperature, take to potty
2:45 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, adjust sheets, provide additional water
5:25 a.m. "Waaaahhhhh!" Prepare a bottle, feed Aidan, check on Ben
6:15 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, give up, go make coffee
I am not a morning person. Remember? But when I have nights like the one described above (and Sunday night was not much better), I am not a Morning/Noon/Night Person either. I like to sleep. A lot. Always have. And soooo many of my helpful friends would tell me, "Oh, get your sleep now, because once you have kids you'll never sleep again." (That is always such an encouraging thing to say to a pregnant woman, by the way.) If it actually worked that way, if we could rack up sleeping hours the way we do frequent flyer miles, I'd be set. 'Cause I used to sleep. A lot. But then I had kids. And it seems I suffer way more than hubby does. (It seems I suffer more than hubby about a lot of things, damn it. Where does one buy one of these eternally optimistic dispositions and endless Box-O-Energy anyway?) He keeps insisting that I just have to find some way to come to terms with the fact that I am, for a while anyway, going to be chronically sleep-deprived. Because even when your kids sleep through the night, they never sleep through the night every night and no matter how many black-out curtains you buy or how late you make their bedtimes, they are always up at the crack of frickin' dawn.
Oh, how I miss my Saturday mornings and how they would turn into Saturday afternoons while I would lay in bed, only half awake, running through the list of neighborhood restaurants that still served breakfast passed noon...
The nights of staying up till all hours, watching a movie or dancing or doing something even better, and not caring how late it was, because after all, I did not have a "morning curfew"...
When you have children, you gain so much, but you lose a lot too...sleep being at the top of my official Things I Miss Most From My Pre-Parenting Days list. It has gotten to the point where I actually fantasize about sleeping...the kinds of fantasies usually reserved for topics like Hawaiian vacations, calorie-laden desserts, the shoe department of Nordstrom, and encounters of the passionate, heavy-breathing kind. You know that sleepy trance-like feeling you get when you're watching TV or reading a book and you start to doze in and out and your eyes are shutting of their own accord and you try to fight that urge and shake yourself awake? Well, lately, when that happens, (and I am not driving or feeding/bathing/holding a small child) I succumb. I do. No matter what I'm watching or what time it is or how badly I want to finish the movie or read the next chapter or whatever, I just give in. Usually this occurs around 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight, when I'm supposedly beginning the portion of the evening that is labeled as "Grown Up Time." And that moment right before I put my book down or give up on the TV and close my eyes...sadly, pathetically...has become my greatest indulgence these days. Yup. Knowing that I am about to fall asleep has become my favorite thing to do. I know. I'm a wild and crazy girl. Woo Hoo. Now please turn off the light.
10:45 p.m. Check on Ben's fever
1:30 a.m. Check on Ben's fever, 103.9, administer Motrin
2:15 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, provide water, check temperature, take to potty
2:45 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, adjust sheets, provide additional water
5:25 a.m. "Waaaahhhhh!" Prepare a bottle, feed Aidan, check on Ben
6:15 a.m. "Maaaaaamaaaa!" Check on Ben, give up, go make coffee
I am not a morning person. Remember? But when I have nights like the one described above (and Sunday night was not much better), I am not a Morning/Noon/Night Person either. I like to sleep. A lot. Always have. And soooo many of my helpful friends would tell me, "Oh, get your sleep now, because once you have kids you'll never sleep again." (That is always such an encouraging thing to say to a pregnant woman, by the way.) If it actually worked that way, if we could rack up sleeping hours the way we do frequent flyer miles, I'd be set. 'Cause I used to sleep. A lot. But then I had kids. And it seems I suffer way more than hubby does. (It seems I suffer more than hubby about a lot of things, damn it. Where does one buy one of these eternally optimistic dispositions and endless Box-O-Energy anyway?) He keeps insisting that I just have to find some way to come to terms with the fact that I am, for a while anyway, going to be chronically sleep-deprived. Because even when your kids sleep through the night, they never sleep through the night every night and no matter how many black-out curtains you buy or how late you make their bedtimes, they are always up at the crack of frickin' dawn.
Oh, how I miss my Saturday mornings and how they would turn into Saturday afternoons while I would lay in bed, only half awake, running through the list of neighborhood restaurants that still served breakfast passed noon...
The nights of staying up till all hours, watching a movie or dancing or doing something even better, and not caring how late it was, because after all, I did not have a "morning curfew"...
When you have children, you gain so much, but you lose a lot too...sleep being at the top of my official Things I Miss Most From My Pre-Parenting Days list. It has gotten to the point where I actually fantasize about sleeping...the kinds of fantasies usually reserved for topics like Hawaiian vacations, calorie-laden desserts, the shoe department of Nordstrom, and encounters of the passionate, heavy-breathing kind. You know that sleepy trance-like feeling you get when you're watching TV or reading a book and you start to doze in and out and your eyes are shutting of their own accord and you try to fight that urge and shake yourself awake? Well, lately, when that happens, (and I am not driving or feeding/bathing/holding a small child) I succumb. I do. No matter what I'm watching or what time it is or how badly I want to finish the movie or read the next chapter or whatever, I just give in. Usually this occurs around 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight, when I'm supposedly beginning the portion of the evening that is labeled as "Grown Up Time." And that moment right before I put my book down or give up on the TV and close my eyes...sadly, pathetically...has become my greatest indulgence these days. Yup. Knowing that I am about to fall asleep has become my favorite thing to do. I know. I'm a wild and crazy girl. Woo Hoo. Now please turn off the light.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I got an award? For real? Cool.
I am pretty happy when someone who knows me and loves me comments on my blog. I am ecstatic when someone who doesn't know me and doesn't love me (yet) finds me out there in the blogosphere and comments on my blog. So you can only imagine what I was like when I found out that one of those fellow bloggers actually granted me an award! Apparently, I rock. At least just a little teeny bit.Thank you so much, Sarah at http://www.momalom.com/ for granting me with One Lovely Blog Award! I'm pretty new around here, and I'm learning as I go...but apparently part of the deal is I pass this award on to other bloggers I deem worthy (ooooooh, the power...!). So go on and check out the following mommy blogs...
Keep reading and I'll keep writing!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Mother Of The Year...Not
See my crown? It was made out of pipe cleaners, green tulle, and plastic beads. Ben made it in school for Mother's Day. Not so sure I deserved it.... In fact, at one point last week, I was sure all of my Mother's Day gifts were going to be returned.In a single 24-hour period I managed to miss Ben's Mother's Day luncheon at school AND drop Aidan Kai on his head. Yup. Mother of the Year. Let me explain...
I dropped Ben off at school on Thursday morning and read a sign on the classroom door that said that the kids would be making lunch for their moms, and any moms who could not attend at 11:30 were to pick up their packed lunches from the school frig at the end of the day. Obviously, I read this and understood it. I am repeating it here. I also repeated it to my husband at work later that day. So why...can someone please tell me...did I not actually, apparently, process this information enough to actually attend the luncheon?!? I did not miss the luncheon because I could not get out of work. I did not miss the luncheon because I did not know about it. I missed the luncheon because my head is always so damn filled up with to-do's, responsibilities, stuff, dreams, fantasies about sleeping, Weight Watcher points, and general miscellaneous noise, that I knew the information and yet did not know the information.
My husband just stared at me blankly, a puzzled look on his face, and asked, "If it was today, why didn't you go?" I could have gone. In fact, it was one of those days at work that would've been perfect for me to have taken my lunch at that time. I just stared at him, and as the realization set in, the tears immediately started. I missed my son's first school Mother's Day luncheon! I missed it! For no reason! What if I was the only mother not there? What if my little boy was the only one sitting at the table without his mommy? What the hell is wrong with me? You have to understand; this is so not like me. I am one of those people who writes everything down: I have a planner and I actually carry it around and use it; I keep post-its around to remind me of upcoming events and errands. I am organized! Reliable! Responsible! I am anally retentive, damn it! Anally retentive mothers do not miss Mother's Day events!
But I did.
And I was absolutely devastated. It did not matter that, when he got home from school and handed me my packed lunch (a sandwich with mustard, cheese, turkey, carrots, lettuce, and peanut butter) and my crown, he did not mention any special school activity. It did not matter that, apparently, most of the other moms did not attend either. It did not matter that he did not even notice I was missing. Because I missed it. I missed an opportunity--the first opportunity--to sit with my son at his itty-bitty little pre-k table and make lunch together and share pretzels and juice and see him in his school setting with his friends and his teacher. I was heartbroken. Even, if he did not notice a thing. So heartbroken, in fact, that I spent half of my day crying (not teary...we're talking bawling) and the other half trying to make up for it by eating the aforementioned sandwich, roughhousing and wrestling with him all afternoon (not usually my choice of play), and letting him watch TV during dinner. I think the hardest part for me is that it was solely and completely my fault, and I missed it for absolutely no good reason other than I was not paying attention.
I dropped the ball.
And a mere 12 hours later, I dropped the baby. Yep. Again, because I was not paying attention.
I was trying to take Aidan Kai's "Today-I'm-9-months-old" picture, but he kept throwing himself forward on the sofa in an attempt to crawl. So, brilliant mother that I am these days...I think: "I know! I'll give him a toy so he is entertained and sits still for my very important picture!" Except I totally miss the obvious: if I need to give him a toy so he stops trying to lunge himself off the sofa, why would I think that he would stop doing exactly that while I get him a toy? The second I turn away, I hear a loud "Thump" and turn to see an empty sofa. In that millisecond, I actually think to myself "Please, oh please, tell me he did not fall off the sofa." But where the hell did I think he could have gone?!? Poor thing had tossed himself headfirst between the coffee table and sofa and was lying there, face up, with a look of complete shock and terror. I don't know who started crying first: him or me.
"That's it!" I yelled to my husband, as I rocked and swayed and shushed and checked for broken bones, concussions, and blood. "That's it! Return my gifts! Revoke my Mommy Card! I am not worthy!" (I'd like to be able to say that this is just for humor's sake, but no, I really did say all of that. And, I believed it.)
The thing is, I never thought I'd be Soft. I never thought motherhood would turn me into one of those ridiculous, sniveling, pansy saps who is oh-so-heartbroken about "trivial" parenting stuff. Yeah, apparently, when you're a mom, some of it doesn't feel trivial at all, and even those of us who think we're one of the Tough Ones turn into mush when we feel like we've let them down...when we feel like we dropped our guard (and the baby) and didn't quite meet our own self-imposed standards. Fortunately, no one gave my sons (or my husband) a copy of this list of standards, so they all still deem me worthy of being the Queen. And thus, I shall keep my crown.
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