This is dedicated to my friend that understands my deep love for all things that allow me to stay awake.
One thing you may or may not know about me is that I have a burning desire to be perfect. Perfect at everything. Healthy? No. But it is who I am. And it has led to what might possibly be a slight obsession with coffee. It is my drug of choice.
This little habit started at a young age. I remember sitting at the breakfast table, probably at the age of 4, with a little cup of coffee (with cream of course - black is for adults!), a bowl of Rice Chex and toast with butter. (Side note parents - your children will remember EVERYTHING YOU DO.) Is this the reason I am 5'2 as an adult? I don't know, you can be the judge. I'm sure my parents thought it was cute to have their little daughter drinking coffee with them in the morning. Nowadays it would be considered a health hazard, but then again, we didn't use car seats either so coffee was probably the least of my worries.
Coffee is actually my comfort food as well. At my parents' house, I don't reach for cookies or mac and cheese. I reach for a cup of coffee - regardless of the time of day. Just the other week my mom chided me when I told her I'd already had 4 cups of coffee that day; she said that was hardly any - I caved to the pressure and poured another cup. Mother knows best, right? I drink a cup before I go out for a long run. I rehydrate with coffee after a workout (water is for sissies). And it goes without saying that you should not speak to me before I've had a cup. Or three.
As a mom, I find that drinking coffee makes me the best mom I can be. See, I made the ultimate sacrifice early on and went cold turkey on all things caffeinated the minute I found out I was pregnant - because that's what good moms do (see paragraph 1). As soon as my year of breast feeding was up, I was back on the juice. In fact, I would drink that first cup of coffee while I cried about my babies growing up. Please note that the absence of coffee AND hormones are a lethal combination.
There have been lots of people who ask me why I would go back to drinking the nectar of the gods after I had given it up for 2 years (TWICE!). And I say, why the heck wouldn't I stop stop drinking coffee?! (Triple negative if you are counting.) Do I like being a zombie? Do I ever get 8 hours of sleep? Did I LIKE not drinking coffee? No - I like being the best pregnant/breastfeeding mom around by making the sacrifice of giving up my only vice during one of the hardest times of my life in terms of sleep, stress and insanity - because I am a show off. And now that the life of my child(ren) does not depend on my diet, I fully intend on living my life aware of my surroundings again. Truly, it is the only way I can keep up with 2 boys on totally different schedules and interests and a full time job, among other personal commitments like runs and volunteering.
Max has never wanted to try coffee. Rocco on the other hand says he "yikes" coffee. Of course Rocco likes all things he's not supposed to do so I don't completely believe him yet. And a 2 year old named Rocco on coffee is just as bad as it sounds. Guess who gave him his first sip? Here's a hint - she's mentioned above and is my enabler as well. Leave it to Grandma to teach the kids to drink coffee and swear (reference to a few blogs ago - catch up if you are behind). Thanks Mom!
Now since I've been off coffee and been on it, people ask don't I feel healthier not on coffee? No. I feel like crap because I'm exhausted and worthless. My kids are lucky they aren't named Folgers and Maxwell House. Well, I guess Max is close. But that wasn't intentional. Right?
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
What the ?
Many have asked, "Why haven't you blogged lately? I'm looking forward to your next post!" Okay, well maybe not many, maybe more like 3 people. But either way, I have a really good excuse - 2 in fact.
1. I have been CRAZY BUSY at work and home.
2. I gave up swearing for Lent.
And it's the latter that is really the cause for delay because half of my vocabulary was removed for 40 days. Now, some people say that stupid people use swear words because they aren't smart enough to have a larger vocabulary. And to them I say, screw you. I have a great vocabulary. But I also enjoy swearing. In fact, I have found it to be very useful. Let me explain.
1. Swearing makes you NOT sound stupid. During Lent I tried many alternatives such as "good heavens", "good gracious", and "my word." And I sounded stupid. Finally I reverted back to my standard "what the hell?!" I justified this by remembering that hell is actually a location, not necessarily a swear word. I also say it quickly like "whatthehell" and that isn't even a word in the first place. Either way during my little verbal fast, I learned that I sound a little less dumb if I just say what I mean. What the hell does Good Gracious mean anyway? Seriously.
2. Swearing helps me know when my children are lying. It is no secret that I might swear in front of my children. Not YOUR children if they are visiting, just mine. I feel that if they are going to say a swear word, they better use it correctly and who better to learn that from than your mother. A while ago Max came home upset because at school he got in trouble. The teacher thought he said "shit." He told me he said "the chair shifted" and everyone thought he said "shit." Well, obviously my son is telling the truth and I can tell because I know he would never say "the chair shitted" - it doesn't make any sense at all. And trust me, the Moose knows how to drop a well placed cuss word if necessary.
3. Swearing makes me a better mother. Two months ago Rocco learned how to lock the back door in the car with his foot. He also learned that it is really funny to lock it when I'm trying to get him out of the car. One afternoon I spent 5 minutes unlocking the door, only to see Rocco through the car window, looking me straight in the eye, tapping the lock button with his foot. In fact, he kept his foot positioned in place so that as soon as he heard the door unlock, he could tap the lock as quickly as possible so that I still couldn't open his door. He is talented and gifted and has the reflexes of a sprinter so despite my keeping one hand on the door handle and one hand on the unlock button, he beat me everytime. And I turned my head and loudly whispered "Motherfucker!" A few attempts later I actually beat him at his game. And we both went into the house. Now, without the "motherfucker" I'm sure I would have totally lost it on him and screamed my fool-head off. But the release of the F-bomb brought me just a little peace and calm. And thus, it made me a better mother.
So now that I have all of my swear words at my full disposal again, I'm sure I'll be back to blogging. Unless things become a clusterfuck again. Ahh, it felt really good to say that.
1. I have been CRAZY BUSY at work and home.
2. I gave up swearing for Lent.
And it's the latter that is really the cause for delay because half of my vocabulary was removed for 40 days. Now, some people say that stupid people use swear words because they aren't smart enough to have a larger vocabulary. And to them I say, screw you. I have a great vocabulary. But I also enjoy swearing. In fact, I have found it to be very useful. Let me explain.
1. Swearing makes you NOT sound stupid. During Lent I tried many alternatives such as "good heavens", "good gracious", and "my word." And I sounded stupid. Finally I reverted back to my standard "what the hell?!" I justified this by remembering that hell is actually a location, not necessarily a swear word. I also say it quickly like "whatthehell" and that isn't even a word in the first place. Either way during my little verbal fast, I learned that I sound a little less dumb if I just say what I mean. What the hell does Good Gracious mean anyway? Seriously.
2. Swearing helps me know when my children are lying. It is no secret that I might swear in front of my children. Not YOUR children if they are visiting, just mine. I feel that if they are going to say a swear word, they better use it correctly and who better to learn that from than your mother. A while ago Max came home upset because at school he got in trouble. The teacher thought he said "shit." He told me he said "the chair shifted" and everyone thought he said "shit." Well, obviously my son is telling the truth and I can tell because I know he would never say "the chair shitted" - it doesn't make any sense at all. And trust me, the Moose knows how to drop a well placed cuss word if necessary.
3. Swearing makes me a better mother. Two months ago Rocco learned how to lock the back door in the car with his foot. He also learned that it is really funny to lock it when I'm trying to get him out of the car. One afternoon I spent 5 minutes unlocking the door, only to see Rocco through the car window, looking me straight in the eye, tapping the lock button with his foot. In fact, he kept his foot positioned in place so that as soon as he heard the door unlock, he could tap the lock as quickly as possible so that I still couldn't open his door. He is talented and gifted and has the reflexes of a sprinter so despite my keeping one hand on the door handle and one hand on the unlock button, he beat me everytime. And I turned my head and loudly whispered "Motherfucker!" A few attempts later I actually beat him at his game. And we both went into the house. Now, without the "motherfucker" I'm sure I would have totally lost it on him and screamed my fool-head off. But the release of the F-bomb brought me just a little peace and calm. And thus, it made me a better mother.
So now that I have all of my swear words at my full disposal again, I'm sure I'll be back to blogging. Unless things become a clusterfuck again. Ahh, it felt really good to say that.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
How Does Heidi Klum Do It or Mom Jeans and Barf in your Hair
I find that it is difficult to blend the practical fashions of being a mom with the fashion my husband would like for me. My husband is awesome and would never say anything disparaging about my looks or body, but occasionally he has mentioned that I could dress a little sexier and I know without him saying so that he prefers long hair. But last night it occurred to me how much these two roles I play conflict - that of being a wife and being a mom - well, at least in terms of fashion.
Mom Jeans: I am proud to say that I do not own a pair of mom jeans, nor do I ever plan on purchasing a pair (can you even still buy them?) But I do see the allure of a high waist pair of jeans. It makes me crazy to sit down at library storytime, knowing that there is a good probability that someone behind me can check out what color my Victoria Secret hipsters are. Mom jeans would prevent this. But then again, if I was wearing mom jeans, no one would probably care what color my panties are. Ew.
Low cut shirts: Listen, I don't know what it is about children and men but neither population can seem to keep their hands off a mom's chest. At least my husband saves that for private situations (really hoping my parents aren't reading this one...) but my boys have no such worries. Both of my boys, when they were little, would reach down my shirt in church or at a restaurant. Whoa kiddos! The day you stopped nursing was the day that area became off limits. I guess they didn't read the memo - of course at that age, they weren't reading yet so maybe this was my fault. Anyway, a button down shirt or sweatshirt or t-shirt all seem to alleviate this problem, but don't fall into the fashionable category. Practical, yes, sexy, no.
Nighties: I worked at Victoria's Secret during college and collected a lot of knowledge and bought a lot of items while I was there. I have a whole drawer full of super cute pajamas that are wonderful if I'm going to stay warm under the covers all night long. But I have learned a rule since I've had kids: the less material in my pajamas, the more I will be up with the kids during the night. Seriously, this hardly ever fails. I will throw on a full pair of pants and long sleeve shirt to go to bed. Pete will look at me like I'm crazy, but really, I just want a full night of sleep. And you know what? I'll get it. The one night I put on satin, I will be up 6 times, freezing as I rock whoever is awake.
Long hair: Do all men love long hair? I kind of think so. After I had the Moose, I cut ALL of my hair off and went with the spiked look. I was postpartum and about all I could manage was incredibly short hair. Actually, it was kind of cute. But one day I decided to grow my hair long again. And right now, it is really long. And it takes forever to dry in the morning - you know, that time of day when you have tons of time to get ready for work and get the kids out of bed and to their respective schools. And your kids will accidently pull it, usually every time you are watching a movie with them and finally sitting down to relax for the day. Or, as I found out last night, they will puke on it when their children's grape motrin makes them gag. I think the last time my hair was puked on at 2 a.m. was when I did it and the circumstances were WAY more fun. If I had had short hair, I would have just gotten puke on my shoulder, which oddly feels way more tolerable.
You always see those celebrity moms walking around in heels with their kids (there's no way I could sprint in a pair of heels), wearing super low cut jeans, with their hair blowing in the wind. Heidi Klum has 3 or 4 kids and just gave up modeling for Victoria's Secret. Is she wearing sexy jammas to bed or does she have a pair of flannel pjs too? For now, I'll continue to wear normal jeans and long hair. And sometimes I wear something less than a full sweatsuit to bed or unbutton an extra button on my flannel shirt. I guess trying to maintain some semblence of youth is worth a little groping by a 2-year old in McDonald's and the occasional barf in your hair. And I bet Heidi Klum wears sweats and pulls her hair up when she's with her kids all weekend too.
Mom Jeans: I am proud to say that I do not own a pair of mom jeans, nor do I ever plan on purchasing a pair (can you even still buy them?) But I do see the allure of a high waist pair of jeans. It makes me crazy to sit down at library storytime, knowing that there is a good probability that someone behind me can check out what color my Victoria Secret hipsters are. Mom jeans would prevent this. But then again, if I was wearing mom jeans, no one would probably care what color my panties are. Ew.
Low cut shirts: Listen, I don't know what it is about children and men but neither population can seem to keep their hands off a mom's chest. At least my husband saves that for private situations (really hoping my parents aren't reading this one...) but my boys have no such worries. Both of my boys, when they were little, would reach down my shirt in church or at a restaurant. Whoa kiddos! The day you stopped nursing was the day that area became off limits. I guess they didn't read the memo - of course at that age, they weren't reading yet so maybe this was my fault. Anyway, a button down shirt or sweatshirt or t-shirt all seem to alleviate this problem, but don't fall into the fashionable category. Practical, yes, sexy, no.
Nighties: I worked at Victoria's Secret during college and collected a lot of knowledge and bought a lot of items while I was there. I have a whole drawer full of super cute pajamas that are wonderful if I'm going to stay warm under the covers all night long. But I have learned a rule since I've had kids: the less material in my pajamas, the more I will be up with the kids during the night. Seriously, this hardly ever fails. I will throw on a full pair of pants and long sleeve shirt to go to bed. Pete will look at me like I'm crazy, but really, I just want a full night of sleep. And you know what? I'll get it. The one night I put on satin, I will be up 6 times, freezing as I rock whoever is awake.
Long hair: Do all men love long hair? I kind of think so. After I had the Moose, I cut ALL of my hair off and went with the spiked look. I was postpartum and about all I could manage was incredibly short hair. Actually, it was kind of cute. But one day I decided to grow my hair long again. And right now, it is really long. And it takes forever to dry in the morning - you know, that time of day when you have tons of time to get ready for work and get the kids out of bed and to their respective schools. And your kids will accidently pull it, usually every time you are watching a movie with them and finally sitting down to relax for the day. Or, as I found out last night, they will puke on it when their children's grape motrin makes them gag. I think the last time my hair was puked on at 2 a.m. was when I did it and the circumstances were WAY more fun. If I had had short hair, I would have just gotten puke on my shoulder, which oddly feels way more tolerable.
You always see those celebrity moms walking around in heels with their kids (there's no way I could sprint in a pair of heels), wearing super low cut jeans, with their hair blowing in the wind. Heidi Klum has 3 or 4 kids and just gave up modeling for Victoria's Secret. Is she wearing sexy jammas to bed or does she have a pair of flannel pjs too? For now, I'll continue to wear normal jeans and long hair. And sometimes I wear something less than a full sweatsuit to bed or unbutton an extra button on my flannel shirt. I guess trying to maintain some semblence of youth is worth a little groping by a 2-year old in McDonald's and the occasional barf in your hair. And I bet Heidi Klum wears sweats and pulls her hair up when she's with her kids all weekend too.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Osteoporosis and Children or Why I Need To Start Body Building
Wow, it's been a while! Where have I been you ask? Well, I went to Florida to run a marathon with my best friend...no, really, I did. But lately I've been curled up in the fetal position in the corner of my kitchen, drinking Kool Aid, wishing it were wine and waiting for the insanity in my living room to stop.
Basically, I've been busy being a mom.
Why is it that there are days that being a mom is the most wonderful thing in the world? I have days where I get the kids involved in art projects, I make a creative lunch that everyone eats, we snuggle, read, watch a movie and everyone is happy. And I think, "Yes, this is what being a mom is all about. My boys love me and I love them. It's too bad I'm not a stay-at-home mom." THEN I have days (that have been a bit frequent lately) where I realize that the boys are trying to kill me, at least mentally and emotionally. And I really am huddled in the kitchen, hiding, counting down to bedtime. That's when I realized that being a mom is a bit like having osteoporosis. There are times that kids will just suck you dry and leave you a brittle, fragile (at least mentally) person.
One of the great things about being a parent is that you get to relive all of that kid-stuff, like Halloween (G-rated), Disney movies and trips to the zoo. You get to see things through their eyes again (cue cliche). It's also times like these when you notice other details, like how the tigers that pace in front of their cages at the zoo actually have a crazed look about them, and you realize that you too sometimes have that same mad-look when stuck inside your house all day with your kids because it's too cold to go outside.
But wait my friends, there is hope! Much like osteoporosis, there are things we can do to stop our children from breaking us down, sucking out our energy and leaving us in a pile of dust on the floor.
Here is my list of prevention against osteoporosis and kiddoporosis (sorry - it's the only name I could come up with - see proof of kiddoporosis - this was my best and it is pathetic):
1. Gender
It pays not to be female when it comes to osteoporosis. It is definitely a disease that strikes women more than men. It also appears to pay not to be female to prevent kiddoporosis because if you weren't a female, you wouldn't be a mom. Um, not much you can do about this one. Sorry.
2. Age
Being old is a risk factor to osteoporosis and there's nothing you can do about it. See above. Sorry.
3. Drink Milk
Finally! Something you have some control over. Calcium is supposed to help prevent osteoporosis. But I don't think drinking milk helps with the decline of kiddoporosis, although it is still good behavior to model. I would like to tweek this piece of advice a bit and recommend drinking alcohol. It definitely helps me when I have a beer and then hear the kids scream at each other, jump on each other and throw soccer balls at my new TV. I feel a little less insane and my voice sounds a little less loud (in my head) as I yell at them that for the last time, NO MORE THROWING BALLS IN THE HOUSE!
4. Exercise
Weight bearing exercise is a great prevention tool against osteoporosis. And I fully throw my support behind this for kiddoporosis. Why? Because my friends, you are either going to be running after your children or running away from them (did I mention the marathon earlier?). And I have a personal motto that I always want to be stronger than my kids because it's important that they always know that Mom is the Boss. The problem is that I'm 5'2 and I have two boys. In fact, Moose, at the ripe old age of 7, only weighs 50 pounds less than I do, which tells you 1) I don't have much time to seriously start lifting weights and 2) I really need to get to work losing the baby weight from the Rock. Either way, I'm going to have to become a body builder, but hey, anything for the kids, right?
So good luck everyone! Pray for the days when parenting is a blast. And drink wine and run (away) when parenting sucks. Or at least hide in your kitchen with a pitcher of Kool Aid until the kids pass out from exhaustion.
Basically, I've been busy being a mom.
Why is it that there are days that being a mom is the most wonderful thing in the world? I have days where I get the kids involved in art projects, I make a creative lunch that everyone eats, we snuggle, read, watch a movie and everyone is happy. And I think, "Yes, this is what being a mom is all about. My boys love me and I love them. It's too bad I'm not a stay-at-home mom." THEN I have days (that have been a bit frequent lately) where I realize that the boys are trying to kill me, at least mentally and emotionally. And I really am huddled in the kitchen, hiding, counting down to bedtime. That's when I realized that being a mom is a bit like having osteoporosis. There are times that kids will just suck you dry and leave you a brittle, fragile (at least mentally) person.
One of the great things about being a parent is that you get to relive all of that kid-stuff, like Halloween (G-rated), Disney movies and trips to the zoo. You get to see things through their eyes again (cue cliche). It's also times like these when you notice other details, like how the tigers that pace in front of their cages at the zoo actually have a crazed look about them, and you realize that you too sometimes have that same mad-look when stuck inside your house all day with your kids because it's too cold to go outside.
But wait my friends, there is hope! Much like osteoporosis, there are things we can do to stop our children from breaking us down, sucking out our energy and leaving us in a pile of dust on the floor.
Here is my list of prevention against osteoporosis and kiddoporosis (sorry - it's the only name I could come up with - see proof of kiddoporosis - this was my best and it is pathetic):
1. Gender
It pays not to be female when it comes to osteoporosis. It is definitely a disease that strikes women more than men. It also appears to pay not to be female to prevent kiddoporosis because if you weren't a female, you wouldn't be a mom. Um, not much you can do about this one. Sorry.
2. Age
Being old is a risk factor to osteoporosis and there's nothing you can do about it. See above. Sorry.
3. Drink Milk
Finally! Something you have some control over. Calcium is supposed to help prevent osteoporosis. But I don't think drinking milk helps with the decline of kiddoporosis, although it is still good behavior to model. I would like to tweek this piece of advice a bit and recommend drinking alcohol. It definitely helps me when I have a beer and then hear the kids scream at each other, jump on each other and throw soccer balls at my new TV. I feel a little less insane and my voice sounds a little less loud (in my head) as I yell at them that for the last time, NO MORE THROWING BALLS IN THE HOUSE!
4. Exercise
Weight bearing exercise is a great prevention tool against osteoporosis. And I fully throw my support behind this for kiddoporosis. Why? Because my friends, you are either going to be running after your children or running away from them (did I mention the marathon earlier?). And I have a personal motto that I always want to be stronger than my kids because it's important that they always know that Mom is the Boss. The problem is that I'm 5'2 and I have two boys. In fact, Moose, at the ripe old age of 7, only weighs 50 pounds less than I do, which tells you 1) I don't have much time to seriously start lifting weights and 2) I really need to get to work losing the baby weight from the Rock. Either way, I'm going to have to become a body builder, but hey, anything for the kids, right?
So good luck everyone! Pray for the days when parenting is a blast. And drink wine and run (away) when parenting sucks. Or at least hide in your kitchen with a pitcher of Kool Aid until the kids pass out from exhaustion.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
A Pink Gladiator and a Hair Stylist Boxer
My sons' names are Maximus and Rocco; rather tough names for little boys. They came about them innocently enough - I didn't start out trying to name my kids to be future gangsters or bounty hunters. I always liked the name Max, but felt we needed a "full" name. I hated Maxwell and Peter couldn't stand Maximilian (my first choice). So Maximus it was. I associate Maximus with Gluteus Maximus (probably my fitness background) but later we learned everyone thought we named him after the Russell Crowe Gladiator movie (including the priest that baptized him). Nope. We just liked the name Maximus over all other versions.
Rocco came about his macho name a little differently. We aren't crazy enough to name him after a boxer. He was supposed to be a Jaxson but after a very rough entry into the world, we named him to be strong like a rock, a fighter. He needed every bit of moxy we could give him and it turns out he lives up to his name and wears us out constantly.
But I'm not writing this about why my boys have really masculine names. I'm writing about the color pink and hair dryers. See, for as macho as my boys sound, they have a softer side.
It started with Maximus. Every since he was little, his favorite color has been pink. It was so cute we thought and didn't think much of it. We are cool, enlightened parents after all and are perfectly fine having a little boy whose favorite color is pink. That is until kindergarten. Wasn't he supposed to grow out of this by now? The moment of truth came at the kindergarten open house when we were sent home with a questionnaire. Benign question number 3: What is Max's favorite color? Max piped up with "Pink!" and we asked (not a proud moment) "Don't you have other favorite colors too?" Max looked puzzled and said, "Well, I like blue and red too I guess." "Great!" we said and enthusiastically wrote down blue and red. Because, what would the other kids say to Max when they learned his favorite color is pink? Then Pete and I looked at each other and asked, why are we trying to make our kid someone he's not. So what if his favorite color is pink? We'll teach him that it's okay to be a little different and to be proud of who you are. So reluctantly, we wrote down pink next to blue and red. Sure enough, Max came home and told us that boys aren't supposed to like pink and was it okay if he did. By now I was mad enough at myself for trying to push some stupid cultural bias on him that I said "Your favorite color is pink and that's perfectly fine. Everyone has a different favorite color. And yes, there are lots of girls who like pink, but there are also girls that like blue, like me. So pink is your favorite color and that's just great." And we've never since questioned his favorite color, which to this day, is still pink. Maximus will probably be one of the few NFL players that is excited when they break out the pink breast cancer awareness gloves for October.
Little did I know that Max's pink would break me in for Rocco. Not built like his linebacker big brother, Rocco is a thin little boy, which will help him when he is sneaking out of my house at night and stealing cars. Rocco is wiry, good at climbing and absolutely fearless (to a fault). He's going to be the individual sport type of kid: wrestling, track, BMX biking, and skateboarding. He's also going to be a hair dresser. There is nothing that gets Rocco more excited than my hair dryer and curling iron. He loves plugging anything into an outlet, which scares the crap out of me. Before you roll your eyes at my lack of parental safety awareness, I'll cut right to the chase and let you know that he can remove the safety caps on the outlets. So there, I'm more on top of it than you think. It's just that Rocco is smarter. Anyway...Rocco has always been obsessed with my hair and insists on it being worn down (ie, not in a ponytail or headband). Every night I have to take my hair down if I have it up and then he plays with it while we read, rock, sing, etc. He regularly looks at people and comments on their hair cuts. And when we spent a recent night at a girlfriend's house, his favorite part of the visit was watching her fix her hair in the morning. She and I looked at each other and agreed that he would probably be a hair stylist - to the stars. And you know what, I'm totally fine with that. I went through the phase of thinking my boys could only do "boy things". I bought him a comb and brush for Christmas so he'd stop swiping mine. When it comes to Rocco's future, I only have two conditions. The first being that he goes to college, preferably for an electrical engineering degree, because he shows an affinity to electricity and engineers make good money. Second, when he is rich and famous for being the stylist to the stars, he has to do my hair (and Summer's hair) for free because we discovered him first.
My boys are perfect just the way they are. They may not always act perfect, they think farting is funny and like to belch at the table. But if one looks like a football player that loves pink and the other sounds like an Italian gangster but does hair, then so be it. At least my hair will look good.
Rocco came about his macho name a little differently. We aren't crazy enough to name him after a boxer. He was supposed to be a Jaxson but after a very rough entry into the world, we named him to be strong like a rock, a fighter. He needed every bit of moxy we could give him and it turns out he lives up to his name and wears us out constantly.
But I'm not writing this about why my boys have really masculine names. I'm writing about the color pink and hair dryers. See, for as macho as my boys sound, they have a softer side.
It started with Maximus. Every since he was little, his favorite color has been pink. It was so cute we thought and didn't think much of it. We are cool, enlightened parents after all and are perfectly fine having a little boy whose favorite color is pink. That is until kindergarten. Wasn't he supposed to grow out of this by now? The moment of truth came at the kindergarten open house when we were sent home with a questionnaire. Benign question number 3: What is Max's favorite color? Max piped up with "Pink!" and we asked (not a proud moment) "Don't you have other favorite colors too?" Max looked puzzled and said, "Well, I like blue and red too I guess." "Great!" we said and enthusiastically wrote down blue and red. Because, what would the other kids say to Max when they learned his favorite color is pink? Then Pete and I looked at each other and asked, why are we trying to make our kid someone he's not. So what if his favorite color is pink? We'll teach him that it's okay to be a little different and to be proud of who you are. So reluctantly, we wrote down pink next to blue and red. Sure enough, Max came home and told us that boys aren't supposed to like pink and was it okay if he did. By now I was mad enough at myself for trying to push some stupid cultural bias on him that I said "Your favorite color is pink and that's perfectly fine. Everyone has a different favorite color. And yes, there are lots of girls who like pink, but there are also girls that like blue, like me. So pink is your favorite color and that's just great." And we've never since questioned his favorite color, which to this day, is still pink. Maximus will probably be one of the few NFL players that is excited when they break out the pink breast cancer awareness gloves for October.
Little did I know that Max's pink would break me in for Rocco. Not built like his linebacker big brother, Rocco is a thin little boy, which will help him when he is sneaking out of my house at night and stealing cars. Rocco is wiry, good at climbing and absolutely fearless (to a fault). He's going to be the individual sport type of kid: wrestling, track, BMX biking, and skateboarding. He's also going to be a hair dresser. There is nothing that gets Rocco more excited than my hair dryer and curling iron. He loves plugging anything into an outlet, which scares the crap out of me. Before you roll your eyes at my lack of parental safety awareness, I'll cut right to the chase and let you know that he can remove the safety caps on the outlets. So there, I'm more on top of it than you think. It's just that Rocco is smarter. Anyway...Rocco has always been obsessed with my hair and insists on it being worn down (ie, not in a ponytail or headband). Every night I have to take my hair down if I have it up and then he plays with it while we read, rock, sing, etc. He regularly looks at people and comments on their hair cuts. And when we spent a recent night at a girlfriend's house, his favorite part of the visit was watching her fix her hair in the morning. She and I looked at each other and agreed that he would probably be a hair stylist - to the stars. And you know what, I'm totally fine with that. I went through the phase of thinking my boys could only do "boy things". I bought him a comb and brush for Christmas so he'd stop swiping mine. When it comes to Rocco's future, I only have two conditions. The first being that he goes to college, preferably for an electrical engineering degree, because he shows an affinity to electricity and engineers make good money. Second, when he is rich and famous for being the stylist to the stars, he has to do my hair (and Summer's hair) for free because we discovered him first.
My boys are perfect just the way they are. They may not always act perfect, they think farting is funny and like to belch at the table. But if one looks like a football player that loves pink and the other sounds like an Italian gangster but does hair, then so be it. At least my hair will look good.
Monday, December 12, 2011
THE TALK or For Once, I'm Speechless
I knew this day was coming. I had just hoped it would come later versus sooner. I'm talking about THE TALK.
When I was in college (and was the ripe old age of 20), I took Human Sexuality, which preached teaching sexual health at all ages. I whole heartedly agreed - We Should Teach Our Children About Something So Natural! Oh, the days of being young and naive. Little did I realize how difficult explaining this stuff would be when confronted with questions at 5:30 in the morning. And what better time to bring up this subject I ask? Actually, I did ask. Why the heck does my eldest son ask me this crap at the crack of dawn? But I digress...
It all started when I was pregnant with Rocco. I knew the question was coming because Max was 5 and inquisitive. "How is that baby coming out??" I knew what he was feeling because I asked myself that very question in terror when I was pregnant with Max. But the difficulty with having a son comes down to a physical issue. In case you didn't know this yet, penises are very obvious and vaginas...well, they aren't. Hmmm...how to approach this? For some reason Max always would ask this question early in the morning when I was getting ready for work and always caught me unprepared. It took 5 months, but I finally figured out what to tell him. I didn't want to go the easy route and say that babies come out of the tummy, because 1) that's not true and 2) I heard this would freak him out. I went with "Mommies have special places under their underwear and that's where babies come out of." Max of course followed up with confusion and wanted more details. After 2 more months of figuring out my next response, I went with "Well, you have private parts and so do Mommies and that's where babies come out." I thought that cleared things up, since I basically said the same thing twice. Of course Rocco ended up being an unplanned c-section, so I went through all this pain for nothing - I could have gone with "Babies come out of tummies." Ugh.
I thought the first "sex" conversation went relatively well. And I also thought it was done for another 10 years. Ha! It all came back up when taking our new kitten to the vet to be neutered. First, I think I've mentioned before that my children are geniuses so I should have seen this coming, but I was totally blindsided. Max asked why we were taking Skippy the Kitten to be neutered. Summoning up my best Bob Barker, I gave a brief summary why we don't want to overpopulate the world with homeless kittens. And Max follows up with "Then why do we neuter boy cats? Girl cats are the ones that have the babies." Oh, he is so smart. Crap! What I wanted to say is that "It's both the boy's and girl's responsibility when it comes to babies!" Instead I stammered and said something about how it takes boys AND girls to make babies. Stop talking - Stop! But too late. Max asks "Why does it take a boy and a girl? How do you make babies?" I cowardly responded "Um, you are almost at school and I just won't have time to explain it right now." And I've been holding my breath that he doesn't bring this up again for 8 more years.
Where is my 20 year old self that thought that educating my kids about sexuality would be easy? One of my four cardinal rules for my boys is that they always practice safe sex - and now I don't even know how to explain body parts to them! How stupid! Instead I'm speechless. What to say and how to say it appropriately? Because he should have some kind of concept of how babies are made. On a 7 year old level though? Go with the "It's a special hug between Mommies and Daddies"? Or maybe "It's like two lego pieces that fit together"? Or do I just set a bowl of condoms on the kitchen counter when he turns 16 and hope he figures it out? I'm pretty sure the last option is totally lame and negligent - because I don't want a lot of homeless kittens (or children) roaming around. So for now I've bought some time simply by stalling, knowing that my time is short and I'll need to come up with a decent response really soon. I'm hoping whatever I do next, it doesn't mean therapy for Max later. Unfortunately he's the guinea pig - I'll have this all figured out when Rocco surprises me with these questions as I'm putting on my mascara, first thing in the morning. That is unless Rocco gets all of his education from Max, which means I'm back to making sure I really don't screw this up any more than I already have.
Wish me luck.
When I was in college (and was the ripe old age of 20), I took Human Sexuality, which preached teaching sexual health at all ages. I whole heartedly agreed - We Should Teach Our Children About Something So Natural! Oh, the days of being young and naive. Little did I realize how difficult explaining this stuff would be when confronted with questions at 5:30 in the morning. And what better time to bring up this subject I ask? Actually, I did ask. Why the heck does my eldest son ask me this crap at the crack of dawn? But I digress...
It all started when I was pregnant with Rocco. I knew the question was coming because Max was 5 and inquisitive. "How is that baby coming out??" I knew what he was feeling because I asked myself that very question in terror when I was pregnant with Max. But the difficulty with having a son comes down to a physical issue. In case you didn't know this yet, penises are very obvious and vaginas...well, they aren't. Hmmm...how to approach this? For some reason Max always would ask this question early in the morning when I was getting ready for work and always caught me unprepared. It took 5 months, but I finally figured out what to tell him. I didn't want to go the easy route and say that babies come out of the tummy, because 1) that's not true and 2) I heard this would freak him out. I went with "Mommies have special places under their underwear and that's where babies come out of." Max of course followed up with confusion and wanted more details. After 2 more months of figuring out my next response, I went with "Well, you have private parts and so do Mommies and that's where babies come out." I thought that cleared things up, since I basically said the same thing twice. Of course Rocco ended up being an unplanned c-section, so I went through all this pain for nothing - I could have gone with "Babies come out of tummies." Ugh.
I thought the first "sex" conversation went relatively well. And I also thought it was done for another 10 years. Ha! It all came back up when taking our new kitten to the vet to be neutered. First, I think I've mentioned before that my children are geniuses so I should have seen this coming, but I was totally blindsided. Max asked why we were taking Skippy the Kitten to be neutered. Summoning up my best Bob Barker, I gave a brief summary why we don't want to overpopulate the world with homeless kittens. And Max follows up with "Then why do we neuter boy cats? Girl cats are the ones that have the babies." Oh, he is so smart. Crap! What I wanted to say is that "It's both the boy's and girl's responsibility when it comes to babies!" Instead I stammered and said something about how it takes boys AND girls to make babies. Stop talking - Stop! But too late. Max asks "Why does it take a boy and a girl? How do you make babies?" I cowardly responded "Um, you are almost at school and I just won't have time to explain it right now." And I've been holding my breath that he doesn't bring this up again for 8 more years.
Where is my 20 year old self that thought that educating my kids about sexuality would be easy? One of my four cardinal rules for my boys is that they always practice safe sex - and now I don't even know how to explain body parts to them! How stupid! Instead I'm speechless. What to say and how to say it appropriately? Because he should have some kind of concept of how babies are made. On a 7 year old level though? Go with the "It's a special hug between Mommies and Daddies"? Or maybe "It's like two lego pieces that fit together"? Or do I just set a bowl of condoms on the kitchen counter when he turns 16 and hope he figures it out? I'm pretty sure the last option is totally lame and negligent - because I don't want a lot of homeless kittens (or children) roaming around. So for now I've bought some time simply by stalling, knowing that my time is short and I'll need to come up with a decent response really soon. I'm hoping whatever I do next, it doesn't mean therapy for Max later. Unfortunately he's the guinea pig - I'll have this all figured out when Rocco surprises me with these questions as I'm putting on my mascara, first thing in the morning. That is unless Rocco gets all of his education from Max, which means I'm back to making sure I really don't screw this up any more than I already have.
Wish me luck.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Tonight's Lesson: Cups Don't Poo or My Boys Will Always Be Single
What is it about the dinner meal that we hold sacred? We all make a point of sitting down together, serving a majority of the food groups and holding our conversations to a higher standard. I accept that I live in a house of three boys, which brings with it a lower level of conversation topics. I can sort of deal with that. But I try to keep the conversation at the dinner table a little more respectable. But tonight's meal was like Charlie Sheen after his Goddesses left - an epic fail.
It all started with a Winnie the Pooh cup. This cup has been used a total of one time and was hidden deep in the recesses of the cupboard. Somehow Rocco remembered this glass which proves that toddlers are scary smart. He asked for the Pooh cup and after a few moments of asking for clarification, I got him the said goblet, unknowingly destroying any chances of having a dignified dinner.
We are sitting at the table, eating and discussing our days. Rocco looks up and says "Pooh poos!"
Me: "What?"
Rocco: "Pooh poos!" giggle giggle
Me: "Did he just say Pooh poos??"
Rest of the table: giggle giggle
Me: "Who taught him that?" *looking at Peter and Max*
Rest of table: stronger giggles as they share glances
Rocco: "Pooh Cup Poos!"
Rest of table: total laughter
Me: "Rocco, cups don't poo."
Rocco: belches
Me: "Rocco, say excuse me!"
Rocco: "I burped!"
Rest of table: belly laughing
Me: "We are starting a rule - no burping at the table!"
Max: "The same as the farting rule?"
I am not the only adult in this house, but I am the only one with estrogen. It would appear that proper dinner conversation is something only girls are taught. Why do I even need to have a rule about farting at the table? And because you are smart readers, you can surely figure out what circumstances brought about the no farting rule.
What is going on when I am not at home? I walk in to find Curious George on TV, not some Two and a Half Men rerun. Is this type of humor taught or something that is ingrained in boys? Nature versus nurture? I am at a loss. All I know is that it would seem I need to add burping to my no farting rule. That and my boys are not going to have serious girlfriends until they are 30. Stop. Considering that my husband is 34 and still finds this stuff hilarious, let's push that back to 37. We need a bodily function intervention.
It all started with a Winnie the Pooh cup. This cup has been used a total of one time and was hidden deep in the recesses of the cupboard. Somehow Rocco remembered this glass which proves that toddlers are scary smart. He asked for the Pooh cup and after a few moments of asking for clarification, I got him the said goblet, unknowingly destroying any chances of having a dignified dinner.
We are sitting at the table, eating and discussing our days. Rocco looks up and says "Pooh poos!"
Me: "What?"
Rocco: "Pooh poos!" giggle giggle
Me: "Did he just say Pooh poos??"
Rest of the table: giggle giggle
Me: "Who taught him that?" *looking at Peter and Max*
Rest of table: stronger giggles as they share glances
Rocco: "Pooh Cup Poos!"
Rest of table: total laughter
Me: "Rocco, cups don't poo."
Rocco: belches
Me: "Rocco, say excuse me!"
Rocco: "I burped!"
Rest of table: belly laughing
Me: "We are starting a rule - no burping at the table!"
Max: "The same as the farting rule?"
I am not the only adult in this house, but I am the only one with estrogen. It would appear that proper dinner conversation is something only girls are taught. Why do I even need to have a rule about farting at the table? And because you are smart readers, you can surely figure out what circumstances brought about the no farting rule.
What is going on when I am not at home? I walk in to find Curious George on TV, not some Two and a Half Men rerun. Is this type of humor taught or something that is ingrained in boys? Nature versus nurture? I am at a loss. All I know is that it would seem I need to add burping to my no farting rule. That and my boys are not going to have serious girlfriends until they are 30. Stop. Considering that my husband is 34 and still finds this stuff hilarious, let's push that back to 37. We need a bodily function intervention.
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