At the end of Thanksgiving today, I was without shoes and wearing someone else's pants. Did I have a momentary relapse into my college days? Nope. While this story does not show me in the best light, since I fully disclose everything about my children, it is with total transparency that I share my less-than-shining moment with you now.
The day started out fine. A quick workout and then we packed up the car to head to the first Thanksgiving meal of the day at my parents' house. The dinner was great and enjoyable. The biggest event was convincing my mom to use the "good wine" for her wine-drinking guests, ie me and my little brother.
Me: "Should we get out some wine?"
Mom: "Sure, I have some in the fridge. We can have the cheap wine or the good wine."
Me: "Pretty sure I want the good wine Mom."
Mom: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yeah, why would I want to drink crappy wine? Who are you saving it for?"
Mom: No response
Me: Wondering who the heck this better wine is supposed to be for!?
For the record, the wine was really good. And the cheap wine ended up being really cheap so I'm glad we skipped it. But this wine is not the reason for my wardrobe malfunction (before you start jumping to conclusions.)
After an epic fail at putting Rocco down for a nap, we pack up again and head to house number two, aka Pete's folks. As I am still too full to eat, I take the first shift of chasing/entertaining Rocco while Pete eats. We wander around the farm, checking for cats and tractors, and finally decide to watch the cows.
I sit down on the ground and reach for Rocco so we can watch the cows better. And that's when I see it. Dog poo.
Me: "Um, Rocco, let's be sure you sit on a dry patch of grass here buddy."
Then I look around again. Dog poo is EVERYWHERE. This seems to be the main potty area for the dogs. Uh oh. Surely it's on Rocco's shoes at this point. And then it hits me. I didn't check where I was sitting down either. I quickly stand up and sure enough, somehow I managed to perfectly position myself over a pile of dog poo and now it was all over the back of my jeans. Oh, and also on my running shoes. You know the shoes I'm talking about - the ones with really good traction, aka lots of little grooves for dog poo to get permanently stuck in.
I holler to Max to get his dad to bring me paper towels and wet wipes. Being a 7 year old, it was imperative for him to know WHY, and after some giggling, he promptly told his dad what I needed and why. Pete comes out quickly while I am doing my best not to panic. He tries to clean me up, but there's no totally cleaning this off.
I slink into the house and my very considerate in-laws try to find me something else to wear. After much searching, my MIL finds me a pair of jeans. I change clothes and stink less thankfully (something to be thankful for! bring on the turkey!).
The rest of the day is uneventful compared to basically rolling in dog poo. As the day comes to a close, I thank my MIL one more time for the jeans. She then tells me that they are Great-Grandma's jeans. I walk to the Jeep in my socked feet (those shoes are horrible!). And as we drive away, I couldn't stop laughing at the fact my day ended with me in socks wearing Great Grandma's jeans.
I told Peter I don't know the last time I felt less sexy. I thought maybe in maternity clothes. He looks at me and says "Oh no. You were much sexier in maternity clothes." Keep in mind this means I was sexier in huge tent-like clothes, 40 pounds heavier. (Side note, I actually gained 60 pounds with each pregnancy, but I still have 20 left to lose.)
And just so you know, as I am writing, I am still wearing those jeans. Meow!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Pin the Guilt on the Mommy
Just when I think I've accepted my limits as a mom, my inadequacies are pointed out yet again - this time by the website Pinterest. When I saw everyone posting about Pinterest, I thought it was either a book or a TV show and I was just out of the loop. Turns out Pinterest is where everyone posts these great ideas, from crafts to recipes to hairstyles - basically all things that I have given up on as a mom. See, I love looking at Parents magazine and reading about how these moms discovered a way to make their pasta from scratch or came up with really innovative ways to keep their kids clean when painting by using milk jugs - and feel a bit of resentment. And I get daily emails with crafts and recipes for busy moms - which I am too busy to read and promptly delete instead (time management skills - yes!) Actually, if I'm being honest, I am a bit jealous of these moms' time, creativity and patience. These are three characteristics that I often lack. In fact, I hide my children's play dough because I don't want to deal with the mess it creates.
So now I hear about Pinterest and see what all these other Super Moms do, making food from scratch and making neat Thanksgiving Day decorations from yarn. And I really want to be like these moms. But I'm tired at the end of the day after working and think I'm having a pretty good night if I make a dinner that doesn't involve deli turkey, much less a diorama of the first Thanksgiving feast out of macaroni. I think back to one of my all time favorite childhood memories of walking through the park with my mom, finding the prettiest leaves and taking them home to press in between the encyclopedia pages. My kids won't even know what an encyclopedia is, much less use it to press red and orange leaves.
I hear you have to be accepted into Pinterest and think, well, let's skip the guilt and just act like I've never heard of it. I feel successful if my house is clean for 5 minutes during the week or if I serve a fruit AND a vegetable at dinner. But I really do want to be the mom that does crafts everyday and makes homemade cookies each week out of carrot juice instead of actual sugar. But then I ask why reinvent the Oreo when it already is perfect? And before my Pinterest friends say it's about more than just crafts and recipes, I know it's about fashion and hair too. And I respond by saying most days I don't take the time to blow dry my hair because even that takes too long and fashion to me right now means that my clothes are clean.
I'm working on accepting what I have the time and energy to do every day and to maximize the weekend. There's only so much I can do as a working mom, and if I can make a few childhood memories for the boys, then I will have been successful. And I know someday I'll have the time to sit down and be the crafty, Martha Stewart-type mom I want to be. I just hope my boys, who will probably be 23 and 18 by then, will still want to make pilgrim hats out of thimbles and twine. As for now, I'll just read my friends' posts about the cool mom things they do and feel admiration...and jealous.
So now I hear about Pinterest and see what all these other Super Moms do, making food from scratch and making neat Thanksgiving Day decorations from yarn. And I really want to be like these moms. But I'm tired at the end of the day after working and think I'm having a pretty good night if I make a dinner that doesn't involve deli turkey, much less a diorama of the first Thanksgiving feast out of macaroni. I think back to one of my all time favorite childhood memories of walking through the park with my mom, finding the prettiest leaves and taking them home to press in between the encyclopedia pages. My kids won't even know what an encyclopedia is, much less use it to press red and orange leaves.
I hear you have to be accepted into Pinterest and think, well, let's skip the guilt and just act like I've never heard of it. I feel successful if my house is clean for 5 minutes during the week or if I serve a fruit AND a vegetable at dinner. But I really do want to be the mom that does crafts everyday and makes homemade cookies each week out of carrot juice instead of actual sugar. But then I ask why reinvent the Oreo when it already is perfect? And before my Pinterest friends say it's about more than just crafts and recipes, I know it's about fashion and hair too. And I respond by saying most days I don't take the time to blow dry my hair because even that takes too long and fashion to me right now means that my clothes are clean.
I'm working on accepting what I have the time and energy to do every day and to maximize the weekend. There's only so much I can do as a working mom, and if I can make a few childhood memories for the boys, then I will have been successful. And I know someday I'll have the time to sit down and be the crafty, Martha Stewart-type mom I want to be. I just hope my boys, who will probably be 23 and 18 by then, will still want to make pilgrim hats out of thimbles and twine. As for now, I'll just read my friends' posts about the cool mom things they do and feel admiration...and jealous.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
A New Recipe for the Next Potluck
I dedicate this post to my mom, who couldn't stop laughing when I told her this story. And to all the other moms out there finding themselves doing things they never thought they'd do, all for their children.
It was 9 p.m. on Wednesday night and I was just starting to mix up my new recipe. As I added ingredients, the concoction got smellier and thicker. What was I doing? Making a late notice treat for Max's class? Nope. Working on a science project? Nope. I was making magic butt cream.
Let's rewind 3 hours.
A little background information: whenever the Rock is on an antibiotic, he has HORRIBLE diaper rashes. The kind that blister regardless of creams, potions and rapid diaper changes. As if nothing could make changing a poopy diaper worse, a toddler screaming in pain as you clean him actually makes the experience even crappier (ooh! a pun!). So in desperation, I call the nurse. Now I've seen my fair share of diaper rashes and I consider myself to be a relatively level-headed mom. So for me to call the nurse means this was a Code Red diaper rash. She finally calls me back around 6 p.m.
Me: "I've got this awful diaper rash that I can't get rid of. We've used vasoline, Butt Paste, anti-fungal cream, and hydrocortizone cream, but nothing works. What can we do?"
Nurse: *speaks confidentially as though she is telling me the world's largest secret* "Do you have a piece of paper and a pen? I have a recipe for you that one of the doctors is giving out. It should work."
Me: "Shoot anytime you are ready."
Nurse: "Mix together half a tube of Desitin, half a tube of A&D ointment, add 1 big tablespoon of Bacitracin and 1 tablespoon of Malox."
Me: "Did you say Malox?" *how dare I question the secret recipe!*
Nurse: *laughs at my naive question* "Yes, Malox. It soothes. Call if that doesn't work, but I think it will."
I take the Moose to religious education class and run to Walgreens afterwards with my recipe in hand. I fill my basket with the ingredients, double checking my notes as I shop. Max looks questioningly at me but at this point, I am willing to try anything and am blindly trusting this nurse and her secret magic butt cream. It was not lost on me that when I was younger, my late night trips to the store did not involve getting things for butt cream. But then again, when I was younger, 8:30 p.m. wasn't late.
Twenty-six dollars later I drive home and gather up the tupperware and measuring spoons. I'm pretty sure the people who invented Tupperware never thought their expensive containers would be used for butt cream. I start mixing together the foul smelling stuff, with Pete looking over my shoulder with a questioning expression. It doesn't take long to mix it up and now we wait to use it the next morning. I make a few comments that this is the most expensive butt cream I've ever bought and I had to mix it all together to boot. Please understand that I am the type of person who is more than willing to buy something pre-made than make it myself so mixing up butt cream is not something I signed up to do.
The next morning is the moment of truth. We slather on this noxious cream and wait. And what do you know. The stuff actually works. And I am ecstatic. And here's a bit of truth about motherhood. When it comes to your kid, you will do anything for them and try anything to make them feel better. I've held a puking boy just to comfort him while he feels awful. And I will make a late night shopping trip to buy a bunch of random stuff and mix up a crazy recipe just because a nurse I've never met tells me it will work. And I feel like I am on top of the world to have found something that actually works against the Diaper Rash from Hell. I am as excited about this as I would be if I found a cream that REALLY did take away cellulite.
This Secret Magic Butt Paste recipe is posted on my fridge now so I can whip up a batch whenever I need it. And the next time you ask me for a recipe to include in a cookbook, I'm going to consider this one. And you know what? Chances are you'll want the butt paste recipe rather than another chocolate cake recipe. Because you are a mom.
It was 9 p.m. on Wednesday night and I was just starting to mix up my new recipe. As I added ingredients, the concoction got smellier and thicker. What was I doing? Making a late notice treat for Max's class? Nope. Working on a science project? Nope. I was making magic butt cream.
Let's rewind 3 hours.
A little background information: whenever the Rock is on an antibiotic, he has HORRIBLE diaper rashes. The kind that blister regardless of creams, potions and rapid diaper changes. As if nothing could make changing a poopy diaper worse, a toddler screaming in pain as you clean him actually makes the experience even crappier (ooh! a pun!). So in desperation, I call the nurse. Now I've seen my fair share of diaper rashes and I consider myself to be a relatively level-headed mom. So for me to call the nurse means this was a Code Red diaper rash. She finally calls me back around 6 p.m.
Me: "I've got this awful diaper rash that I can't get rid of. We've used vasoline, Butt Paste, anti-fungal cream, and hydrocortizone cream, but nothing works. What can we do?"
Nurse: *speaks confidentially as though she is telling me the world's largest secret* "Do you have a piece of paper and a pen? I have a recipe for you that one of the doctors is giving out. It should work."
Me: "Shoot anytime you are ready."
Nurse: "Mix together half a tube of Desitin, half a tube of A&D ointment, add 1 big tablespoon of Bacitracin and 1 tablespoon of Malox."
Me: "Did you say Malox?" *how dare I question the secret recipe!*
Nurse: *laughs at my naive question* "Yes, Malox. It soothes. Call if that doesn't work, but I think it will."
I take the Moose to religious education class and run to Walgreens afterwards with my recipe in hand. I fill my basket with the ingredients, double checking my notes as I shop. Max looks questioningly at me but at this point, I am willing to try anything and am blindly trusting this nurse and her secret magic butt cream. It was not lost on me that when I was younger, my late night trips to the store did not involve getting things for butt cream. But then again, when I was younger, 8:30 p.m. wasn't late.
Twenty-six dollars later I drive home and gather up the tupperware and measuring spoons. I'm pretty sure the people who invented Tupperware never thought their expensive containers would be used for butt cream. I start mixing together the foul smelling stuff, with Pete looking over my shoulder with a questioning expression. It doesn't take long to mix it up and now we wait to use it the next morning. I make a few comments that this is the most expensive butt cream I've ever bought and I had to mix it all together to boot. Please understand that I am the type of person who is more than willing to buy something pre-made than make it myself so mixing up butt cream is not something I signed up to do.
The next morning is the moment of truth. We slather on this noxious cream and wait. And what do you know. The stuff actually works. And I am ecstatic. And here's a bit of truth about motherhood. When it comes to your kid, you will do anything for them and try anything to make them feel better. I've held a puking boy just to comfort him while he feels awful. And I will make a late night shopping trip to buy a bunch of random stuff and mix up a crazy recipe just because a nurse I've never met tells me it will work. And I feel like I am on top of the world to have found something that actually works against the Diaper Rash from Hell. I am as excited about this as I would be if I found a cream that REALLY did take away cellulite.
This Secret Magic Butt Paste recipe is posted on my fridge now so I can whip up a batch whenever I need it. And the next time you ask me for a recipe to include in a cookbook, I'm going to consider this one. And you know what? Chances are you'll want the butt paste recipe rather than another chocolate cake recipe. Because you are a mom.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Mommy Quiet Time
I'm supposed to be checking my bank account online right now but somehow stumbled onto this page instead. See, I'm currently having "Mommy Quiet Time." It's a typical Sunday. We skipped church since Rocco barfed last night and that was a place we didn't want to be if we discovered his stomach bug was still visiting. Instead we decided we needed to run to about 4 different stores to do some last minute shopping before an afternoon birthday party. Oh, and we decided to pick up a sofa too (I know I just blogged about never replacing my crappy furniture, but I did finally find a sofa that I liked that came with a 5 year warrant against stains and tears - ha! I'm testing that one...). Pete took off to work after the furniture store and I took the little boys on the rest of the trips, getting home in time for lunch and a quick nap for Rocco before the party.
Well, that was the plan. Rocco has decided that he doesn't need naps anymore and was giving me hell for having the audacity of putting him in his crib. Basically he screamed and cried at me for 45 minutes while I (being a good mom) worked on Max's spelling words from hell and read to him, all the while ignoring Rocco's tantrum. Pete called to check in and I gave him the status report of what we were doing and how a nap didn't look like it was going to happen...again. Pete swung home to take Max to the party, hoping that Rocco would have given up the fight by then - fat chance! So Pete goes upstairs and rocks Rocco. And then quiet. Seriously? I'm on my second weekend of Rocco refusing to nap and Pete goes up there for 5 minutes and the kid is out. But I am just grateful for the peace. Pete drives Max to the party and tells me that the hosts will drive Max home - the magic words every parent wants to hear! And then Pete says "Now you can have a little quiet time." The thing is, and moms, you probably know what I'm talking about, there is a tone. A tone that implies I need quiet time. That I can't hack it and it's showing. He sounds like Mick Jagger singing "Mother's Little Helper."
I'm not sure what Pete pictures when he says I now have quiet time. Maybe he thinks I sit around painting my nails or maybe I'm taking a bath. Instead my mind instantly jumps to The List. That list you always have in the back of your head of crap you need to do but never have time to get done. The list of things that you can't do with the kids around or that would go faster without them around. I run upstairs and put laundry away. Rocco stays asleep. I put on a pot of water to make noodles for lasagna. Rocco is still quiet. I iron that stack of clothes that's been sitting in my room for 4 weeks. Quiet. I actually make the lasagna for Tuesday night. Quiet. I fold towels AND put them away - all in the same time frame. Quiet. And now here I sit, about to pay bills but hesitant because my time is fleeting. Any minute that kid is going to wake up and we will be going from 0 - 60 mph in 3 seconds. But I am refreshed, despite not sitting down this whole "quiet time." Because I actually got stuff done that needed doing. I now have the energy to make Thanksgiving decorations with Max when he comes home and will be able to run after Rocco again.
I'm not sure what Pete thinks I do during quiet time, but I'm pretty sure this isn't what he intended. Either way, I'm relatively satisfied. And maybe I'll wait to pay the bills until tonight and enjoy just a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Well, that was the plan. Rocco has decided that he doesn't need naps anymore and was giving me hell for having the audacity of putting him in his crib. Basically he screamed and cried at me for 45 minutes while I (being a good mom) worked on Max's spelling words from hell and read to him, all the while ignoring Rocco's tantrum. Pete called to check in and I gave him the status report of what we were doing and how a nap didn't look like it was going to happen...again. Pete swung home to take Max to the party, hoping that Rocco would have given up the fight by then - fat chance! So Pete goes upstairs and rocks Rocco. And then quiet. Seriously? I'm on my second weekend of Rocco refusing to nap and Pete goes up there for 5 minutes and the kid is out. But I am just grateful for the peace. Pete drives Max to the party and tells me that the hosts will drive Max home - the magic words every parent wants to hear! And then Pete says "Now you can have a little quiet time." The thing is, and moms, you probably know what I'm talking about, there is a tone. A tone that implies I need quiet time. That I can't hack it and it's showing. He sounds like Mick Jagger singing "Mother's Little Helper."
I'm not sure what Pete pictures when he says I now have quiet time. Maybe he thinks I sit around painting my nails or maybe I'm taking a bath. Instead my mind instantly jumps to The List. That list you always have in the back of your head of crap you need to do but never have time to get done. The list of things that you can't do with the kids around or that would go faster without them around. I run upstairs and put laundry away. Rocco stays asleep. I put on a pot of water to make noodles for lasagna. Rocco is still quiet. I iron that stack of clothes that's been sitting in my room for 4 weeks. Quiet. I actually make the lasagna for Tuesday night. Quiet. I fold towels AND put them away - all in the same time frame. Quiet. And now here I sit, about to pay bills but hesitant because my time is fleeting. Any minute that kid is going to wake up and we will be going from 0 - 60 mph in 3 seconds. But I am refreshed, despite not sitting down this whole "quiet time." Because I actually got stuff done that needed doing. I now have the energy to make Thanksgiving decorations with Max when he comes home and will be able to run after Rocco again.
I'm not sure what Pete thinks I do during quiet time, but I'm pretty sure this isn't what he intended. Either way, I'm relatively satisfied. And maybe I'll wait to pay the bills until tonight and enjoy just a few minutes of peace and quiet.
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