Don't Ask, Don't Tell

My husband and I have adopted our own unofficial don't ask, don't tell policy, because sometimes, you really just don't want to know. Now, don't worry, it's nowhere near as controversial as the military's policy; it has to do with our children. Let's backtrack to last Sunday and you'll see what I mean...

I like to sleep in on the weekends, and by sleeping in, I mean staying in bed until at least 8:00 a.m. I know, I know...for those of you who don't have children, you are probably thinking to yourself, "8:00 a.m.??? That's the time I normally wake up! What do you mean you slept in?" Meanwhile, those of you who have young babies are hating me for being able to stay in bed sooooo late. It's a matter of perspective.

Well, on this particular Sunday, I was awake, but stayed in bed, just because I could. My daughter was generously preparing breakfast for me, and so I was forced to stay in bed until she was ready. It was horrible—OK, no, it was really great. I could have stayed in there forever, but eventually, the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and piercing shrieks emanating from the kitchen drew me out of my room.

What a beautiful sight! Fresh coffee was waiting for me on a table spread with yummy breakfast delights personally prepared by my daughter-why, there were even candles on the table! I dove right into the Greek yogurt sprinkled with dark chocolate and walnuts and munched away blissfully. Everything was going great until I realized that the plate it was served in came from the decorative display cupboard in the dining room...you know, the one you only dust when company comes over...the one with the cobwebs? Gasp!

My enthusiasm for devouring my breakfast faded instantly. It was replaced with nervousness and apprehension.

My mind wandered...
Did she remember to...
Of course she would never serve food on a plate without...
OK, just don't think about eating dust and cobwebs—Oh no! Now that's all I can think about!

Without raising suspicion, I tried to casually glance over at my husband to see if he had noticed anything unusual about his breakfast, but the alarm in my eyes immediately tipped him off.

"Do you think she..." he began to inquire nervously.

"Don't ask," I muttered under my breath.

"But what if..." he continued.

"Do you really want to know?" I asked, cutting him off.

We paused and stared at each other, then down at our plates, and finally, back at my daughter, who was beaming with pride at the beautiful spread she had worked so hard to prepare for us, eagerly awaiting for us to take our next bites.

"Mmm! This is so yummy!" I declared.

My husband quickly followed suit:

"Yes, did I ever tell you that you are my favorite daughter?" he asked, knowing full well this always gets a smile out of her because she is our only daughter.

And with that, we dropped the conversation about whether or not she washed the dishes before serving us, and continued eating our questionable breakfast. Some things are just better left unsaid.

Separation Anxiety

I was suffering from separation anxiety today. I felt so distracted at work, and I just couldn't wait to get home. I fidgeted, bit my lips, and kept checking the time. I just didn't know what to do with myself.

I forgot my iPhone.

I know...you were probably thinking I was having difficulty separating from my children. While I have had my share of those days, that wasn't it today. When I don't have a coffee in one hand and a baby in the other, the vacancy is usually occupied by my iPhone. I felt so lost without it. I guess I'm a bit of a tech junkie.

My iPhone is my constant companion on my on-the-go life. It is my instant portal to family and friends. I realize I would do very poorly in solitary confinement.

Thankfully, we are re-united, and it feels so good! There were no hard feelings between us, not even the awkward, "Why did you leave me?" moment. Whew! Glad that's over.

Idiot Friends

It's 'blame everyone else Tuesday'. How do I know? My best friend told me so.

Not making any sense? It's not supposed to. It was a text message I got from my friend this morning. You see, one of my best friends and I keep in touch throughout the week by sending each other ridiculous texts purely for the sake of being ridiculous. The more absurd, the better. I don't remember exactly how we got started, probably on a late night when our babies truly were just itsy bitsy newborns and we would text one another to see if the other was awake. It evolved from "R u awake" to texts so stupidly funny I have actually spit out my coffee laughing.

Why do we do it? Besides the obvious-why not?-there is a more profound reason for the foolish shenanegans. It's our special way of holding onto our friendship and our sanity despite our super busy, sometimes chaotic, often stressful working mother lives. I look forward to the nonsense banter that's refreshingly light and carefree compared to my not-so-carefree life.

So if you are reading this, my precious idiot friend who boldly dares me to laugh a little every day and not take life too seriously, I finally finished my list! It's a good thing the maid and the nanny and chef and the driver took care of everything because it took all day. Tomorrow is 'name that lipstick color Wednesday', so brush up at the MAC counter!

Have you texted a friend today?

Say What?

Occasionally, I feel like I need a translator when my children talk to me. It's as if I am a foreigner in their fantasy land of made up words. Today, for example, as my daughter was sharing a story about one of her classmates, who happened to miss school, she explained that "she was 'apusent'".

"Absent?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'apusent'," she replied, implying that that was exactly what she had just said.

Yeah...right, of course. Sometimes the mispronounced words can be downright confusing. At other times, they are just plain amusing, especially in instances when words are misapplied.

Every night, for example, when Aloni says her prayers, she addresses God as her "heavenly Fodder". I can't help but smile and wonder if God finds it equally amusing that she refers to Him as a divine bale of hay on a regular basis.

I think my absolute favorite faux pas is when she affectionately refers to Anthony as her baby "bwudder". He has been her baby bwudder since before he was born, and I hope he will be her baby bwudder for the rest of her life.

Repeat After Me...I am Not a Super Woman...



Bing image search: superwoman


My mommy friends will occasionally ask me, "Have you felt guilty about (insert your biggest guilt here)?", and the answer is always a resounding YES!

ALL THE TIME!

Let's face it: MotherWomanhood is fraught with a measure of guilt. It seems like we can always find something to feel guilty about...not spending enough time with our children...not giving them enough space. The list of possibilities is endless. You are probably thinking of something you feel guilty about right now.

Speaking of guilt, every night before I go to bed, I stop by my children's rooms after they have fallen asleep and I check on them. I make sure the temperature in their room is just right, that they are not falling out of their beds, as I usually find them asleep as if they just collapsed onto their beds in mid-flight, and I hug and kiss them. Then, I take a step back, and I just stare at them. There is nothing more beautiful to me than a sleeping child. I study their ever-changing faces. I close my eyes and try to freeze-frame a picture of them in my mind. Then, I always find myself coming back to the same question...

If I could live this day all over again,

what would I have done differently?

I'll pause and reflect on my day, and I'll usually think of at least one thing I said or did or didn't do that I wish I had done differently. Someone once told me that being a parent is not the hardest thing in the world, no, it's being a parent while trying to be everything else that's truly hard. Unfortunately, it's this delicate balancing act where I struggle the most. Often, it's when I'm exhausted and frustrated from "everything else" that I lose my patience with my children, and it usually has nothing to do with anything in particular that they did or didn't do; it was just that "one last straw" on top of everything else. That's when I remind myself that I am not a super woman. I am a MotherWoman.

I try not to second-guess myself at the time, and I realize that given more time to think on a matter, of course I might have come to another solution or alternative as to how I could have handled the situation. Any mother will tell you that hindsight is 20/20. At some point, I have to learn to live with myself, and accepting my own shortcomings is a start.

So, instead of recalling something I wish I could change, I'll try to recall a magical moment that happened that day that I wouldn't change a thing about, and then I will replay it again and again in my mind, hoping to remember it forever.

At the end of the day, I never want these moments to be overshadowed by guilt.

So when you are feeling overwhelmed or guilty for not being everything to everyone exactly as you'd like to be...repeat after me: I am not a super woman, I am a MotherWoman.

Confessions of a MotherWoman

I am sitting on a comfy chair at one of my favorite places, Barnes and Nobles, trying not to feel guilty about not tucking the kids into bed. Ok, that's not entirely true. I'm trying not to feel guilty about the fact that I don't feel guilty at all about not tucking the kids into bed, hence the confession. My evening class finished early, and I could have gone home early and helped my husband with the whole process of getting the children to bed...but I didn't.
I know this may sound shocking, but there are nights where I would rather not read my daughter her tenth bedtime story or sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for the hundredth time to my son. No, every now and then, there are times when I just want to curl into a ball on a comfy chair and just be. Just sit quietly and just be. So let's just keep this between you and me, OK? It will be our little secret.

Girl Meets Boy

Bing search: bath time

My son has a special friend, Lulu, that comes over our house once in a while to play. Lulu and Anthony have been friends 'from the womb', as Lulu's mom and I overlapped in pregnancies, albeit rather briefly; I was just a few weeks pregnant when Lulu was born.

Since birth, they have done absolutely everything together. Played together. Laughed together. Cried together, although that's usually because one hit the other, but that's beside the point.

Up until recently, they even shared bath time together. Given the fact that both of them seemed blissfully unaware of the gender difference between them, it had never been a problem. That is, until recently...

My son and Lulu were taking a bath together the other day, as on any other day, except for one minor detail. Lulu looked down and noticed the obvious that had previously escaped her attention, and as she pointed to it, she very seriously inquired:

"What's that?"

"Well, that's Anthony's pee-pee."

"Where's mine?"

"You don't have one."

"Well, WHY NOT?"

"Because you're a girl and he's a boy, silly, that's why!"

I was amused, but she, clearly, was not. Her eyes opened wide in amazement. Her bottom lip dropped to the floor. This was a revelation! She paused to reflect on what this meant. Then, she turned her attention away from me and directed her focus squarely on Anthony.

"Hey Anthony! Hey, I'm talking to you. Did you know that you are a boy?"

"NO! I ANTHONY!"

Not exactly sure what a boy was and not liking the idea of being accused of something he's not sure about in such a hostile tone, he vehemently denied it.

"NO! You ARE A BOY!!!"

"NOO! I ANTHONY!!!"

A heated argument quickly ensued. Bubbles started flying. At that moment, I don't think Anthony was prepared to handle the truth, and Lulu was not prepared to let it go until he acknowledged it. I quickly separated them and put them down for a nap until I could figure out how best to handle the situation. I called Lulu's mom to let her know about her 'discovery', and on a later occasion, I did explain to Anthony that he, in fact, was a boy. He seemed alright with it once he understood it. Unfortunately, bath time will never be the same again.

Do You Know Where Your Children Are?

Bing search: hide and seek

 Have you ever seen that commercial that asks: "It's 10:00 pm. Do you know where your children are?"

Well, even before I had children, whenever I saw that commercial, I always wondered to myself, "What kind of parent doesn't know where their children are...I mean seriously, if you don't know where your children are, well, you shouldn't have kids!" And then, after I had children, I became even more self-righteous. Every time I would hear the commercial, I would  smile smugly and think to myself, "Of course I do...What kind of mother doesn't know where her children are!" Well, I eventually learned what kind of parent doesn't know where their children are...really, really, really sleep deprived parents...like myself.

This brings me to the time I "misplaced" my son. I casually mentioned the incident in my recent post about new mommies and the culture shock they experience upon entering motherwomanhood, and it stirred up a bit of curiosity.  Before I get into the story, I just want to clarify that no children were harmed in the making of this story! Honestly! And technically, because my son never left the premises, he wasn't truly lost...at least he knew where he was. It was more like playing hide-and-seek, only I didn't know I was it. OK, so here's the story:

It happened about two years ago when my son was a few months old. I was sound asleep one night when my husband woke me up and asked me where the baby was. I wasn't really awake, so I mumbled something about checking his crib.

"But I was just there...he's not in there."

Nothing was registering in my sleep-deprived brain just yet. All I could think about was getting back to sleep. I mean, how many times does my husband ask where something is when it's right in front of him! We've all been guilty of it, but my husband should be charged and fined for all the times he's been guilty of it. I think it should be punishable by law. But, I digress. Back to the story...

I motioned to the empty space in front of me.

"Well, obviously, he's not here," I stated sharply.

Now my husband looked at me very nervously, realizing that months of sleepless nights had finally gotten to me.

"OK, honey...I need you to think. When was the last time you remember being with the baby?"

"Uh... I was nursing him in bed...but then I put him right back in the crib when he finished. Or at least I think that's what happened..."

"I can't remember..."

He stared at me in disbelief. There was no time to try and bring me to my senses. My husband started frantically patting down the bed in search of our little MIA. He whipped off the covers when he finally found a bump underneath, and there he was, snuggled in a ball in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. Apparently, I only dreamed I put my son back in the crib, and somehow, he had wiggled his way down under the covers.

My husband was just appalled.

"How could you forget where you put him?" he asked, horrified.

I was still in a coma, and couldn't process what had just happened. In a very sleepy voice, I replied,

"Oh, you found him...(yawn)that's great...could you put him back in his crib...yeah, that would be great...(snore)."

I was fast asleep. It wasn't until the next day, when my husband told me what happened that the reality of the situation finally hit me. Chills ran down my spine. How could I forget where I had put him??? From that day on, my husband finally conceded to helping out with the night shift and letting me get some more sleep. And from that day forward, I could confidently say, I know where my children are! Most of the time...there was that other occasion when...

You Might Be a MotherWoman If...

You know what these are...

You have a few of them lying around the house...

You may even wear them!

Wonder Moments

Bing.com

There are times when being a motherwoman can be so stressful you actually wonder what life would have been like if you hadn't had kids. We have all been there. The guilt you feel afterward for thinking that way is heart wrenching.

Then, there are those moments that remind you about how absolutely wonderful being a motherwoman can be and you can't imagine life without your children. The surprising thing is that most of those moments are never the landmark moments you'd expect to draw such an emotional reaction from, like baby's first steps or the first day of kindergarten. No, more often than not, they are the very small unexpected moments in between moments that can melt your heart.

Take the other day, for example. I was washing the dishes, wondering how it is possible to go through every fork, dish, and cup we own on a daily basis and debating whether or not we should go Moroccan and just start eating with our hands directly from the serving dish when my son came up to me and pleaded, "Up, up, Mommy. Uppa." Whenever he talks that way, I know he just wants some loving and reassurance from me.

I actually groaned, thinking to myself, "If I stop what I'm doing now, I may never finish this pile of dishes and it will haunt me for the rest of the day."

I was tempted to tell him, "Not now."

But then, as I looked down at his little face and outstretched arms, just begging me to hold him, I realized that the dishes could wait. After all, what could possibly be more important than loving him? And at moments like these when I face the dilemma of finishing a neccessary task and spending time with my children, I wonder...what if this is the last time he wants me to cuddle him like that?

I imagined us fifteen years into the future...my petite little frame crushed under the weight of this giant man-child teenager with long, awkward arms and legs trying to nestle into my lap for some cuddling...yeah, it's not likely he'll want to be held this way forever.

I crouched down so that he could climb on and I just wrapped my arms tightly around him and hugged him. He reciprocated joyfully by wrapping his chubby little hands tightly around my neck and smooshing his delightfully squishy face into mine. For that moment, time really did stand still. It was absolutely wonderful to get lost in that embrace with him. It didn't last, though.

"PUT ME DOWN!” he demanded, as if I had just held him against his will.

I laughed. How quickly he moves on! After receiving reassurance from me that I loved him without reservations, he was ready to face the world and begin a new adventure.

You see, it's those little moments that can really make the experience of being a motherwoman truly satisfying and worthwhile. In celebration of hugging moments, here's a little poem from Shel Silverstein, one of the best children's poetry writer ever...

Excerpt from "Where the Sidewalk Ends," by Shel Silverstein
Click here to visit his site!

Culture Shock

During a recent visit with a new-mom friend of mine, my friend admitted that no one had really told her the whole story about how challenging parenting can be sometimes, which left her completely unprepared for those first few weeks after the baby is born.

You spend nine months dreaming about how wonderful it will be to hold your beautiful baby in your arms for the very first time, and it truly is an awe-inspiring and magical moment. But, then, after that moment comes and goes, as all wonderful moments tend to do, you are left with the overwhelming awareness of what it takes to take care of that completely helpless and dependent little person.

Well, I pride myself in honesty, so as a public service, from one motherwoman to another, I am going to shed some light on some the very real challenges that come with becoming a new mom, and some coping methods I have learned along the way.

First, we'll start with the subject of sleep...

Forget sleeping for a very, very, very long time.

One of the hardest adjustments any new mom will have to make is getting by on a seemingly impossible amount of sleep—virtually none at times. To this day, I still feel like I have yet to recover. Remember the "Sleepless in Seattle" post?

As you well know, the effects of sleep deprivation can be devastating! Don't underestimate it. Sleep deprivation turns you into an un-intelligible zombie—you can't remember your own name or even form coherent sentences. I don't know how many times I would aimlessly wander around the house in search of something I was looking for, only to realize I actually did not remember what exactly I was supposed to be looking for. On another very sleep-deprived occasion, I misplaced my son. Oh, don’t worry, my husband did eventually find him and no harm was done…and it only happened once...but more on that another time.

My advice for coping with the lack of sleep...

Forget chores, errands, cooking, even showering. When your baby sleeps, YOU sleep! And in case your baby isn't sleeping as much as you'd like, recruit a loved one to watch your baby for a while, and steal some sleep. I have a single girlfriend who graciously allows me to just drop by and crash on her futon for nap, no explanation necessary. If you can't find a single friend who has no children and would be willing to give you a key to the apartment so that you can steal some sleep, now is the time get one, but you’ll have to get your own, mine’s taken.

Bottom line on sleep…

Sleep deprivation can render you completely useless, so put it high on your priority list and do whatever you can to get some!

Now, I know there are other areas of life that are forever altered by the birth of a child. I'll tell you more about them in future posts. You'll just have to keep reading to find out!

By the way, how have you coped with sleep deprivation after the birth of your baby? Do you have any funny stories about how sleep deprivation turned you into a zombie? Hopefully, you did not misplace your baby...yes, I know...that's pretty bad. What can I say? I was half asleep.

Shh...It's a Surprise!

Hello MotherWomen!

I am sorry it has been a while since I have posted a new entry. I have been so busy with back-to-school, for both my daughter and myself. You, no doubt, have been keeping very busy yourselves!

I am taking two evening classes in finance and marketing, and the hour drive to and from certainly gives me time to think about things.

My marketing class class was not what I imagined it to be. I hate to say it, but I was extremely bored. I love learning, and as an instructor myself, and always ready to support the class and join in the discussions, but there was nothing to join into. I guess I pictured my marketing professor to be this pumped-up, outgoing individual who was ready to jump off sofas for the sake of motivating the class. Instead, I got the enthusiasm of that guy from the Clear-Eyes commercial. Maybe it was just the late hour, or just the first day blues, but it made counting kegels sound exciting...

98...99...100!

If you are not sure what kegels are, you need to have a serious talk with your OBGYN! The last thing you want is your uterus to fall out. Now that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it?

Anyway, after suffering through a very dry marketing class, I ventured homeward in my quiet car for a lonely hour drive. I wondered what my family was doing. I was curious if my husband had any surprises for me when I arrived. Oh, I'm not talking surprise me with a warm bubble bath and a glass of wine. I've been married over ten years now, and after the fifth year, I started to catch on that those weren't the kind of surprises I could expect from him. I was thinking more along the lines of whether or not the kids had been put to bed, or if the dishes had been done. My husband is very "laid back", and that means bed time is not necessarily an exact time as it is a very flexible, loosely-interpreted window of time some time between 8:00 p.m. and the next day.

My husband has adopted this punch line from family comedy as his personal slogan: "I wasn't sure if you wanted me to wash the dishes...so I didn't." It's funny in theory, but not so much in practice.

Whew! Thankfully, the kids were asleep when I arrived home, well past even my bedtime. Although I had missed them, I was so relieved that I didn't have to get involved in the long, drawn out process of tucking them into bed.

"I want to read one more story."

"I'm thirsty."

"You forgot to say a prayer."

"Did I ever tell you about the dream I had when..."

"WHERE'S MY (fill in the name of your child's favorite stuffed animal here)!!!!!"

Sometimes, I wish children came with an "off" button. Now that would be the ultimate "easy" button.

I crashed on the couch besides my husband and joined him in watching some TV. I didn't bother asking about the dishes, and thanked him for tucking the kids in on time. He smiled, and I was glad I didn't ask about the dishes.

Well, that's the major events of the moment in a nutshell. I hope you have been able to enjoy some quiet evenings yourself.

You Might Be a MotherWoman If...

You learned from several near-death experiences that toys on the floor can be quite hazardous to your health...

Picture by Explodingdog.com

When a fork is not enough

For the sake of my daughter's self-worth, I need to run out and get chopsticks today. I must get them right away. Let me explain. It all started when she was watching Ni Hao Kai-Lan, a cartoon that exposes children to Chinese culture, and was left with an inferiority complex after watching the show.

She asked me if Chinese people can eat with forks. Sure, it seemed like an innocent question, but I have learned that a question is never just a question, at least not with her. Remember when she asked me what I was going to leave her when I die? I was not sure where she was going with this particular question, but I had a feeling I was walking into a sticky situation judging by the serious look on her face.

"I'm sure most of them can, honey", I replied.

Wrong answer! I could tell by the concern in her furrowed little brows that that was not the answer she was hoping to hear, although I had yet to understand how that could possibly be a problem.

"Ugh! Great! Chinese people can eat with both a fork and chopsticks, but I only know how to eat with a fork", she exclaims in disbelief.

"Yes, that's tragic", I thought to myself in a moment of pure cynicism.

She was still staring at me in her typical wide-eyed anticipation, waiting for some glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

"Would you like some chopsticks?"

"Really? Oh, yes, please! Then I'll be able to eat with both a fork and chopsticks!"

"Right...yes...because what would life be like if you only ate with a fork?", I continued sarcastically monologuing to myself. She grinned from ear to ear. My cynicism melted into a smile. I actually can't wait to get her those chopsticks, as I know this about so much more than just chopsticks. Hey, she could have asked for a pony.

Morningitis

I began my blog with a warm and endearing entry about the joys of entering motherwomanhood. I forewarn you that what you are about to read may be very disturbing, so if you would like to hold on to the illusion that motherwomanhood will always be a joyous experience, then stop reading this right now! The truth is there are often many days in motherwomanhood that are all guts and no glory.

Fast-forward from the days of spending endless hours staring at a sleeping infant bundled cozily in my arms to the present, where I find myself wishing someone would bundle me tightly in a snug little blanket and place me in a dark, quiet, padded room. I will now direct your attention to a plague that blindsides unsuspecting motherwoman everywhere at the most ungodly hour, or as I know it, the morning.

The plague is morningitis. The symptoms of morningitis are very similar to those of severe cases of dementia or Alzheimer’s. Disorientation is common. Children who are suffering from morningitis have a difficult time identifying what day or time it is and may require assistance with the most basic daily living functions, such as dressing and feeding themselves. Although they need close supervision and constant re-directing at this critical time, they may strongly resist such attempts to help. In severe cases, some have been known to wander aimlessly in circles while in their underwear with one sock on, unresponsive to their names when called.

The most important to thing to do when encountering this phenomenon is to remain calm—people may be watching...

I remember during one particularly bad episode of morningitis, I was standing helplessly in my driveway, barely holding back a tidal wave of tears of frustration, moments away from hurling myself against the pavement in a psychotic tantrum of my own as I watched my then four-year old daughter stumble around the car in circles, like a drunk, blind man. It was if she had never seen a car before and just did not know what to do, which was as simple as opening the door and getting into the vehicle.

I had to pause and breathe deeply between each word to re-compose myself as I completed the usual morning ritual with the most obvious and unnecessary reminder:

GET...

IN...

THE...

CAAAARRRR!!!

As the last word violently spewed from my trembling lips, I noticed my neighbor watching the ridiculous drama unfolding in stunned silence.

"Good morning, Paul," I managed to squeak out in complete humiliation.

 "Good morning," he replied, baffled, yet amused.

"Well, have a nice day," I offered apologetically, as I tried to stuff my screaming child into her car seat.

"Have a nice day," he said with an amused grin.

I share this story so that you will be forewarned. Morningitis is a very real and serious condition for which there is no cure at this time. I believe it may be the cause of countless nervous breakdowns. Remember, above all, remain calm. Among the many reasons for doing so, one of them is people are watching. They are watching and waiting to see you unravel. Don't give them the satisfaction. Smile and wave as you buckle your half-naked screaming child into the car and then drive off with that plastered smile just like the best of the Stepford wives and ignore the piercing screams emanating from the backseat. Just smile and wave.

You Might Be a MotherWoman If...

You find Cheerios in the strangest of places...

Sleepless in Seattle

I was trying to take a nap today—yes, that's right—a nap. I am not embarrassed to admit it. In fact, I'll be so brazen as to openly confess to all my readers that it's not the first time, either. I've taken LOTS of naps! There, I said it. Don't judge me because I believe in naps.

Now, if you're feeling the slightest bit jealous, it's probably just because you need a nap yourself. I would recommend you lie down for a bit to get over your sleep envy, but then you couldn't finish reading my story. Besides, the emphasis of the story is that I was trying to sleep. Sadly, I was not successful. My to do list kept interrupting me. I know, how rude!

There I am lying on the sofa with my silky sleep mask on (oh, yeah, I wear one of those—they are exclusively for serious nappers only). I was clenching my eyes shut, begging for sleep to take over, when my to do list came barging right in. It insidiously crept into my brain, and before I knew it, my thoughts of sweet, delicious sleep were replaced with all of the outstanding things that I had yet to do. Like a maniacal dictator, a voice inside my head began reciting my to do list. Meanwhile, the sleep deprived part of my brain became very irate and began shouting abusively at whatever part of my brain didn't get the memo that we were trying to sleep here!

BE QUIET!!!!!!

Well, needless to say, nobody truly won that argument. I decided to walk away before things got out of hand.

As a compromise, I attempted to prep dinner first and then try the nap thing again later, but that didn't work out so well either. My red, blood shot eyes burned from sleep deprivation. I was tempted to close my eyes a bit while I chopped the onions. Hmm, maybe that's not the best idea I have ever had. If only I had been able to take that nap first, I'd be able to think straight. But nooo...couldn't put the to do list in its place, could you!

Uh, that sentence wasn't directed at you, I was ranting to myself for a moment there. The truth is (and I say this without the slightest bit of exaggeration, no, not even a little), I haven't slept in six years. Six years! It all started when I became a motherwoman, but that's another story. I NEED naps. Naps are the only thing that get me by and prevent me from roaming around like a zombie. Well, that and coffee. Oh, if only...

Where's the Parade?

Flikr

Do you remember the first time you ventured out into the world alone with your new baby...just you and the baby???

Well, one of my new-mom girlfriends did just that the other day, and she commented on what a huge undertaking it was. The planning. The packing. The process. Then there is the  anxious anticipation of the what-ifs...

What if I forget something?
What if the baby starts to cry?
What if I start to cry?

It really is such a monumental milestone to overcome those fears and step out boldly and confidently into the world with your newborn baby. My friend made me laugh as she recounted her adventure because she lamented that by the time she arrived at the store, she was dissappointed to find that there was not a crowd of people ready to greet her with cheers and applause.

Where was the parade?

Where were the fireworks?

Unfortuneatly, as with many new-mommy milestones, there is no parade waiting to greet you when you overcome challenges, but there is that contentment and satisfaction that comes from being able to independently care for your baby and take on the world at the same time. I remember being so proud of getting my daughter ready to go out the first time by ourselves that I took pictures of her all dressed up and strapped in her car seat.

I dedicate this post to all the new motherwomen who are boldly venturing out with  their new baby at their side.

Look out world, because here they come!

Keepsakes

A while back, my daughter blindsided me with one of the most profound questions I have ever been asked.

With all of the innocence of a six-year old, she sincerely asked me in her typical wide-eyed fashion:

                   "What are you going to leave me when you die?”

Huh? Crickets chirped as I tried to wrap my brain around the question.

Think, MOMA, Think...

What kind of question is that!?

Why in the world would she even be thinking about that?

Before I could even think of answering her question, I needed to find out where this question was coming from. Why was my six year old daughter concerned with what I was going to leave her when I die?

Upon digging deeper, my daughter explained that a conversation with a friend had sparked her interest months ago. On a recent trip, we had visited a friend who had lost her mother in death. My daughter was fiddling with all trinkets she could possibly get her hands on while exploring her house. My friend stopped her when she reached one trinket in particular, a beautiful glass bowl, and explained to her that that one was very special to her because it was from her mother. She gave it to her before she died. Ever since, my daughter has been fascinated with the idea of inheriting something special from me before I die.

Yikes! Talk about pressure. I did not see that one coming, and I have not thought that far ahead yet.

Not that I am not a planner. I LOVE planning.

I plan lots of things…dinner…parties…vacations. But…death? Hmm…No, not for me. I really would rather plan something else. Thinking about what to leave my daughter before I die means coming to terms with my own mortality. I mean, I know "unforeseen occurrences" can befall us all at any time, but I'm not ready. We are just not designed with death in mind.

Coming back to my daughter’s question, I did what any skilled public speaker would do to deflect a question and bide some time—I answered her question with a question...

"What if I never die at all?"

Ahah! Chew on that! Although not entirely satisfied with my question, my daughter did not pursue the topic any further.

But the question lingered. It haunted me.

I felt all the pressure of a Jeopardy contestant during final jeopardy-the hushed audience hanging on my answer in anxious anticipation. The Jeopardy theme song endlessly replayed in the back of my mind as I mulled over the question.

Well, after many hours, days, months of pondering and sleepless nights, I realized that there are so many things I want to bestow upon my daughter as an inheritance, although none of them are, in fact, “things” so much as they are intangible, precious truths and ideas I hold dear to my heart.

I decided to take my daughter to the library to share one of those things with her. I admit I was a lot more excited to go there than she was. Compared to the glamour of Barnes and Nobles, the drab exterior of the public library did not impress her at all. Unbeknown to her, that trip to the library was more than just a mere day trip. Oh, this was so much more than just a trip to the library. I was sharing a legacy with her.

As I entered that public library, I was firmly convinced of what one of those "things" would be that I would give to her before I die—a passion for learning, an unreserved openness to life, a never-ending hunger for more.

I want her to walk into a library or a bookstore and find the smell of books irresistibly tantalizing. I want her to look upon the endless shelves of books with the same lust a foodie would have for a gourmet buffet. I want her to never lose her God-given curiosity and maintain an insatiable desire to learn everything about everything.

We ended up spending over an hour at the library, reading various stories as well as sharing our own stories. By the way, if you have never read “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus", it’s a must read, I don’t care how old you are—it’s hilarious.

I hope someday she fondly remembers how we giggled deliriously while we shared that book together.

As we exited the library hand-in-hand, I told my daughter that when I was little, I walked those very same steps with my father, and that the library was special to me because he used to take me there. I was reminded of him by a whale sculpture that sits just outside of the library.

I remember my father asking me if I knew what kind of whale it was. Of course, I did not know the answer, but he wanted me to think about it a little before he gave me the answer. It's strange how that memory just popped into my head out of nowhere. I was so surprised to re-discover that little shared moment with him that, at the time, meant absolutely nothing to me, but now, has so much meaning it brings tears to my eyes. I didn't know it then, but my father was sharing his gift with me, and now I have the privilege of passing that legacy along to my daughter. It's not a pretty glass bowl to remember me by, but I hope she treasures it forever.

Use Only As Directed

I experienced such a rude awakening this morning. My son woke me up in the usual fashion by rattling his baby gate like a trapped convict and begging me to open the door. As I stumbled up the stairs in a Benadryl stupor (I'm getting over a sinus infection), I heard him say something fear-inspiring: "I got lotion mommy," he proudly declared.

Instantly, I was awake. My feet hastened up the stairs as the adrenalin rushed through my body. It was worst than I could have imagined. The "lotion" that my son had generously lathered onto his face and hair was in fact, diaper rash cream, one of the hardest substances on earth to remove, as by design, it is supposed to be difficult to remove. There were goopy globs of Desitin everywhere.

On the door. On the floor.
In a book. In a nook.

Oh, Dr Seuss could have had a field day with this one. Only I think it would be more of a horror story than a children's book.

I realized that he must have used his new play table and chair set to reach up to the bin where I keep the Desitin hidden away to prevent something like this from happening. My eyes finally focused onto the completely empty tube of Desitin, and then wandered back to my son, who was so thoroughly covered in the sticky white substance that even his eyelashes were white. All I could think of was Casper the friendly ghost.

I immediately plucked Casper out of his room and swiftly ran into the shower. I had to jump in with him to hold him under the shower head. No matter how hard I rubbed and scrubbed, the Desitin was not budging. I poured handful after handful of expensive Burt's Bees baby wash into his hair and rinsed and repeated in vain. The only thing I seemed to accomplish with every scrub was to convince my son that I was trying to drown him.

I scrubbed. He screamed.

I scrubbed harder. He screamed louder.

I could not remove all of the cream from his hair, but at least I managed to get it off his face and eyes. I surrendered and dressed him, and retreated to the kitchen to get breakfast.

As I sat helplessly in my chair, my son tried to eat his cheese and crackers through choked-up sobs. He finally completely broke down from the traumatic shower experience and wailed ,"I need a 'ug!"

I need a hug too, I thought to myself. I opened up my arms and he climbed into my lap, and we just embraced quietly. I gently caressed and kissed his face, which distinctly smelled like a clean baby's bottom. I tried to run my fingers through his hair, but I kept getting caught in the matted clumps of diaper rash cream.

In that moment, we both silently resolved to put the whole "baby-butt-cream-drowning-in-the-shower-fiasco" behind us and move on with our day. In was in that very  moment that my clueless husband woke up and entered the kitchen to observe the quiet embrace...diaper cream-scented Casper the friendly ghost snuggled under a wet raccoon-my sopping wet hair dripping down my back, last night's mascara in streaky half moons under my eyes.

"Wow,  it sure is a quiet morning," he remarked in ignorant bliss.  Then he proceeded to ask me what I put in Casper's hair.

After seconds of steely silence and death-glares, I snapped...

"It's baby butt cream...AND I DID NOT PUT IT IN HIS HAIR!!! I tried to wash it out, but..."

I didn't even bother finishing the sentence. Just one look at the plastered white locks of hair on Casper's head and it was obvious that I could not wash it out.

"Do you think we should shave his head?" my husband asks in a matter-of-fact fashion.

Although I think the situation may have merited such extreme action, I didn't think my son could handle any further drama.

I still have not finished my coffee, so I'll decide how to handle the situation later.  In the meantime, diaper- cream scented Casper is going about his day as if nothing is wrong, and I am quite tempted to do the same.

Got Floss?

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, and I'm sooo nervous, but not for the usual reasons people are afraid of the dentist. Not for legitimate reasons like being scared of a painful root canal or extraction.

No, my reasons are far more neurotic than that.


I'm scared...that I'll be found out...exposed as a fraud. Gulp!

You see, I haven't kept up with flossing, and I haven't worn my retainer like I'm supposed to every night, and I know that they will know, and I dread that terribly awkward moment when I'll be sitting in the chair and the hygienist will ask me if I've flossed (as if she didn't already know) and I mumble something unintelligible because I can't lie but I don't want to answer the question. Just the thought of it is already making me squirm in discomfort.

Besides the embarrassment of having your hygiene habits scrutinized, it can be a little intimidating to deflect questions while you are sitting in a chair elevated high off the ground with a flood light in your face and sharp objects being pointed at you. They want you to believe the chair is elevated so that it is easier to look into your mouth, but I believe the real reason is to make it harder for people to slide out of the chair and run away.

Frankly, it can feel like an interrogation.

On top of that, my daughter is coming with me. What will she think of me when she finds out I've been living a lie? Respect is a very delicate thing-hard to win, but easy to lose. She may never look at me the same way again. Six is a very, very impressionable age.

What if she never gets over the disappointment? What if this scars her for life?

I can picture it now...She's talking to her therapist about where our relationship went wrong, and this is the moment she will refer to as the defining moment where I shattered her faith in me.

How will I recover from this fall from grace?

Oh, things are not looking good. It's worse than I thought. Now I'm even more nervous.

I should probably be flossing right now, but I'm eating a chocolate bar instead to soothe my nerves. Come to think of it, I couldn't floss right now even if I wanted to. I'm out of floss, and to tell the truth, I don't remember when I ran out...did I ever have any to begin with?

I'm probably the only woman in the world right now who would rather have a pap smear. I do have soap and a washcloth, so I'm all set in that department.

I hope my dentist is not reading this. Just in case he is...

Note to self: stock up on floss.

Shades of Dirty

My two-year old son is finally talking and I am amazed at all of the new things that come out of his mouth, but I am not sure that even he understands everything that he is saying.

I was resting in bed the other day when he wandered into my bedroom to find me and jumped onto the bed with a cup full of cheerios. One fell onto the covers, and he immediately condemned it as ungodly filth that should not be touched, no, not even looked at:

"EEEWWW!"

"YUCKYYYYY!"

"DIRTY...Dat's a dirty cheerio, Mommy, DIRTY CHEERIO!"

My sense of pride over his ability to make good judgements about what to put in his mouth faded as instantly as it came. Just as quickly as he declared his disgust for the fallen cheerio, he snatched it up...and ate it. I was rather confused by the dramatic upheaval, and realized that he and I are just not on the same page as to what "dirty" actually means.

A Dream Deferred

                               Photo: Flikr/HOGNE

I never realized how unusual my children’s collection was until I had to dig something out of my trunk for a friend. As I dug through the mass of forgotten items I meant to put away long ago, she stared, puzzled, at the contents of my trunk.

“What, what is it?” I asked, as I could no longer ignore the look of curiosity on her face.

“Well…why do you have rocks in your trunk?”

“Oh...that...” I said awkwardly acknowledging the fact that not everyone has such a bizarre collection.

I guess it would make sense to have a random collection of rocks in my trunk if I was a geologist, but the real reason is that my children are huge rock fans. They like to collect them and decorate them with glittery nail polishes and colorful markers to commemorate, well, pretty much anything—a trip to the park, a stroll around the neighborhood, a hike through the woods, a walk through a parking lot. Like I said, anything.

A few outstanding ones will live the dream of being transformed from humble earth to glorified childhood memorabilia. But sadly, most never make it beyond the confines of the trunk to fulfill their rock dreams. So there they lay…waiting patiently in hopes that they too will have their glory day in the hot sun. I slammed the trunk door tightly shut and realized that today was not that day. Then, as I walked away from the vehicle and reflected on that thought, I felt a tinge of a sadness, not just for the lonely collection of rocks, but for myself, as I realized they are not the only ones with dreams deferred.

To all the dreamers with their dreams deferred…a glimmer of hope…

The Last Sanctuary

Every motherwoman needs her sanctuary; a place where she can escape the chaos and be alone with her thoughts. For me, that place is the shower. I find that by burying my head under the roaring shower head really drowns out all the background noise. The other day, my sanctuary was violated. While I was showering, two small children violently whipped the shower curtain open from both ends of the shower, instantly releasing all of the soothing warm air.

"Oh, no," I groaned to myself. "They found me."

"What are you doing, Mommy?"

"What are you doing!" I retorted, desperate to continue my shower. "You know you are not supposed to interrupt Mommy during her shower."

"Can we come in?"

"NO!" I shouted like a small child who's just been asked to relinquish their favorite toy. "This is Mommy's quiet time and.."

There was no point in finishing the sentence. Before I could even finish objecting, two naked little bodies jumped into the shower. How come it takes them forever to get dressed but only a blink of the eye for them to get undressed? My private retreat had now become a family waterpalooza adventure. My son played with the water settings while my daughter hogged the shower head. I imagined myself busting through the shower curtain like a football player and running out of the bathroom screaming in a melodramatic display of defiance, but the fact that I may draw unwanted attention from the neighbors quickly stopped me.

As I contemplated my exit strategy, my daughter entertained herself by playing hacky sack with "the girls". Words failed me. I gave her THE LOOK, which could only be interpreted as "on what planet is that acceptable?" She grinned shamelessly from ear to ear.

"Don't worry," she reassured me.

"When I get my own, I'll stop."

What?! I don't know which prospect I found more disturbing- the fact that I may be subjected to this cruel and unusual torture for years to come, or that some day she'll have her own?

Sigh. I stepped out of the shower, cold, wet, and defeated. "Great, there is no towel!" As I stumbled out of the bathroom in search of a dry towel,  I contemplated how much it would cost to get a bodyguard to stand outside my bathroom while I shower. If there are any bouncers who would like a small gig on the side, please contact me.

Lost and found

I did what every parent hopes they never do. I forgot my daughter. I got a phone call at work from my husband asking me why no one had picked my daughter up from school, and I realized that I had never made any arrangements for her to be picked up. My client overheard the conversation and burst into laughter. Who forgets their own kids? Well, I am pretty sure this will disqualify me from winning the parent-of-the-year award. Thankfully, my mother was able to pick her up for me, and my daughter didn't harbor any resentment for it.

Pure Imagination

Check out this commercial...it reminds me of all of the wonderful art my daughter makes for me. It's just so sweet! I think it really captures the imagination of a small child. If only life were really whatever we could imagine it to be...

Eavesdropping

What is it like to have a telephone conversation with a motherwoman, especially one with small children? Well, here are a few of the off-the-wall phrases you are likely to hear abruptly interjected into the conversation at random moments:

What did I tell you about keeping your clothes on?

Don't stick your finger in there!

How did you get up there?

I said NOT RIGHT NOW!!!

Get out of the fridge!

Stop trying to lock your brother in the closet.

Put that down!

Don't hit your sister.

Get that out of your mouth!

If you can still manage to follow the conversation despite all of the interruptions, you are a true friend! Be patient and hang in there! It gets better (or so I hear :) )

School's Out!

The month of June is fast approaching, and for those with school-age children, it means schools out! Aghhh!...I know, I'm scared too.

There are some wonderful events coming up in the month of June that you can enjoy if you are looking for something to do locally...

June 12

Connecticut Open House Day

Many local museums and tourism destinations will be offering free admission or discounts for service to encourage tourims, so take advantage!You can ctvisit.com for a complete listing of participating venues.

June 12-26

International Festival of Arts & Ideas--New Haven

This is an 18-day event with many free venues that feature music, dancing, food, and various cultural events. There is so much to choose from! Learn more at artidea.org

June-various dates

Elizabeth Park--West Hartford

Elizabeth Park has various festivals in the month of June that include music and even pony rides- who doesn't love a pony?  To view their calendar, click here.

Enjoy the month of June and please share your adventures with me!

Origins of a MotherWoman

Recently, a friend was sharing the details of a conversation she was having with her two-year old daughter with me. Now, if you have not yet had the experience of engaging a toddler in conversation, I can tell you firsthand, you are missing out on a mind-blowing opportunity to glean the deepest insights into truths about humanity in its most purest and honest form.

That being said, my friend was trying to explain the concept of "woman" to her daughter, who only understood the world in terms of moms and dads. In an effort to illustrate the idea in more concrete terms, she used me as an example of a woman. Her daughter quickly rejected that idea and adamantly declared,

"She's NOT a woman!"

 I shuddered in anticipation of what was about to come next. Not a woman! What could I possibly be if I am not a woman?

My friend's daughter proceeded to pointedly clarify that I was not a woman, no, in fact, I was a motherwoman.

Oh? Hmm...a motherwoman...After a moment of reflection, I had to agree with her and acknowledge the depths of her wisdom.

What exactly does it mean to be a motherwoman? Well, in a nutshell, everything. Think of the expression, "For you, I will..." It aptly summarizes how being a motherwoman means striving to become everything your child needs you to be in order to care for them and love them in the best way possible for the rest of their lives. My friend's conversation with her daughter made me think back to the time when I first became a motherwoman.

When I learned that I was pregnant with my first child, the unplanned pregnancy was, truthfully, not the most welcome news. I felt completely unprepared and unqualified to fulfill the role of motherhood, to say the least. Even after laboring for hours and finally giving birth to a baby girl, the reality of becoming a mother had not yet become my reality.

I remember awkwardly embracing my daughter against my chest as she was immediately thrust into my arms by an overzealous nurse who wanted her to breastfeed  right after birth. My mind swirled with insecurities.

"Whatever you do, just don't drop her," I thought to myself, as I tried to keep a firm but gentle grip on her slippery little body. I questioned myself. Was I holding her tight enough? Too tight? Where exactly is the fine line between firm and gentle?

Just then, her eye caught mine. I mean "eye", not eyes, because she stared at me with one eye shut, a little hesitant and unsure about her new surroundings, as if it were all too much to take in. Strangely, I felt reassured by the realization that I wasn't the only one feeling a little intimidated and uneasy about being "the new guy". We were in this together.

I didn't know it then, but that was the moment I had embraced my journey into motherwomanhood. I didn't yet feel like a mom, but I did feel like I could become one, that I wanted to be the best mom I could possibly be for that little girl staring back at me with one eye open in wonderment and amazement.

A year into becoming a motherwoman, a friend asked me what I enjoyed most about being a mom. I beamed, not just because I knew the answer, but because I didn't doubt myself.

It's about seeing the world anew, through eyes of wonder and discovery. It's about noticing the wonder beneath the surface of what can appear to be mundane and ordinary. It's also about discovering yourself too, and finding confidence and meaning in your role as a motherwoman.

For all those women who are about to enter this special place, welcome to Motherwomanhood! Welcome to the adventure and the wonder of it all!

For all of the seasoned mothers, in the spirit of embracing Motherwomanhood, I'd love to hear your stories about that first moment when you realized you were a mom.