A Man of Attitude, A Mom of Oblivion

Sometimes, it comes down to, going the easiest route possible. Wait. It always comes down to the easiest route possible. I just want to get through the day happy. Smiling. Easy. But if you don't give the kid some structure, he does things, like pour his milk into his jello, which spills over the bowl and onto him, and he looks at you with a "how could you let this happen to me?" face. And so the bathing and cleaning begins.

I see that there is wisdom in stopping the mess before it happens. Less cleaning for me. But I want to let him experiment. Explore this abundant universe. (Abundant in toys, not so abundant in sleep). But it also requires work on my part to stop him...

And I get so tired...

So the jello and the milk get everywhere and I'll clean it in the morning... or when he's 18. I just want to enjoy that 2 year old as much as possible! Could it be I am simply making it impossible for him to ever get married? Because there is no one in the world who would let him get away with what I let him get away with? Still, my relationships with the men in my life, continue to be challenging! More later! AMS

Child Played

This is how my children play. “Want to jump on me, Jakey?” says my four year old to my two year old. “Yes,” says the cutest wrestler there ever was. And so, to others what looks like fighting, is really playing. Because they’re boys? Perhaps. Because I want them to sit at the table and finish their ham sandwiches? For sure. Playing well with each other usually occurs when they are supposed to be doing something else: eating, leaving the house, crossing the road. And don’t think I’m just a spectator. When Jakey is down for a nap, Nathan asks me to play with him. “Let’s fight, Mommy.” I tell him no, I suggest other games, I offer him TV, my computer, chocolate, but nothing gives. He wants to spar and he wants to spar now. So, there I am, wrestling my 4 year old to the ground. I don’t know why this is so wonderful and even funny to him, but it is. And for me- it feels pretty good too. For the first 2 minutes. But he wants me to play forever. Mercifully, it usually ends soon enough with one of us crying because of an accidental finger to the eye.
I tried to outwit my boys in the backyard the other day. “Who wants to play pick up the pine cones with me?” I shouted enthusiastically. “I do!” they both yelled, and off we went, collecting about 400 to 800 pine cones (I’m guessing here… let’s say a lot) in two large pails. I felt like a hero, as smart as Tom Sawyer, when the ultimate twist came. “Yay! Let’s do it again!” And Nathan whipped those pine cones to all corners of the earth. At least, before my craftiness, the offending pine cones were under the pine tree and a bit to the left. Now, those pine cones were every freaking where.
And they always have to win. I can’t walk down the stairs first, leave the house first, or get my dessert first. Some child of mine is pushing past me to victory. It can be annoying, especially those mornings when I am almost at the bottom of the stairs, so close to my coffee, and Nathan is yelling from his top bunk “Stop Mommy! I’m coming! And I’m going to beat you!” As sleep deprived as I am, I see that he gives me a gift. The reminder that life is a game, so just have fun. And we do. Hand slapping at the table, playing with empty boxes, rolling the cork from the wine bottle at dinner. We’re always playing.(And drinking apparently..!) And I look at those little champions, demanding rematch after rematch, and I smile, knowing that I have already won.

If This Were a Comedy Club....

Funny Mummy Musings.
Track pants.
You know those track pants? The pair that someone gave you in a bag of maternity clothes? They’re grey and comfy, size XL, maternity pants and you held them against you in your first trimester and made some joke about having the whole family wear them at the same time? You tossed them aside, just in case that baby got really really big in the 39th week, and they fit you perfectly… now… that your bundle of joy… has just started grade one? Yah. Those track pants. I love mine too!
Weaning.
I’m issuing a press release. I finally weaned my son! He’s two! He’s speaking! He was saying sentences like “more milk mommy” so it was clear that it was time! I’m free! I can wear a dress again for the first time in forever! I don’t have to worry about hiking a dress over my head because Jakey wants to nurse! I can tuck my shirts in again! I don’t have to wear bras that open at the front with emergency exits for my nipples! I don’t have to stick to wearing the sweater with the slits on the front, so I can reach in and pull out a drink or two for my son! I’m free! To be fashionable! I no longer have to dress in a way that makes my boobs accessible. Of course, now, I’m back in my push up bra and low neck sweaters. What are you gonna do?
Character Names.
I’m raising a genius, just like you are. I can’t fool my son with the wrong names… like I’m reading Arthur to him one time. Nathan’s four, so he can’t read… yet. I’m tired, so I just want to whip through the book. Instead of actually reading the words on the page, I’m looking at the picture and paraphrasing. Nathan immediately catches on. “You mean Arthur and D.W. were looking for Muffy. And who’s Blinky?” You really can’t just make up crap. The kids are experts, and if it’s a kid’s TV show or a movie- those marketing people are geniuses. I’m pretty sure Jake’s first words were “Cars!” “Doc!” One time, I was reading a Disney Pixar Cars book to Jake, who’s barely two, and I tried the old paraphrasing method, and I called Mater the Tow Truck, Rusty. Jake just started screaming. Character names are sacred. If I’m really tired, I’ll just skimp on house cleaning, or preparing nutritious meals. Don’t mess with the character names. Now where’s that box of macaroni and cheese?
What Mommy is Really Thinking About When Watching Treehouse TV.
Anthony. Of the Wiggles. Enough said.
Other People’s Kids.I was picking my son up from JK when one of his cute little classmates asked me if I was going to have another baby? No, I said. I immediately decided to retire the lumpy sweater I was wearing. I took Nathan from school to a drop in. I removed the offending sweater, wearing a slim fitting turtle neck underneath. Another little girl approached me and asked “Are you having a baby?””Why do you ask?” “Because it looks like you have a baby in there.” You know, they just don’t make turtle necks well these days.

All the world's a petri dish

It’s been four years and two babies but I’m getting back on stage with my show. It’s a comedy, very Sex and The City, one woman, lots of lines, gotta look good, do a really good job, can’t phone it in show. I have 9 days until I go on, and my kids have been sick. I was going to spend all this extra time working on my lines, and of course, going to yoga every single day until the show to show the world “I still got it!” Ah, but I’ll be lucky if I shave my legs.
I guess it’s the weather. Or the fact that Nathan is in JK, and I’ve taken Jake to a couple of drop ins, and now both children have a fever. I haven’t been sleeping well, because I’m up with Jake. His nose is snotty and when he has trouble breathing he wakes up crying for me. So I slip myself into his bottom bunk and lay with him until he falls asleep. And then I spend a few torturous moments devising my escape- how to squeeze out of the bottom bunk without waking up either boy. And it just re-enforces my need to get to yoga. Sleek like a cat. Dave brought home some photos today. He took a roll of film out of his camera and wanted to see what was on it. Pictures from the summer. My birthday on the beach. I had quite the shock. I have a vision of me in my head- and what I must look like in a bikini. And then there’s the photos. I look like a nice barbeque chicken with a lot of extra meat. I’m not fat. I’m healthy. I’d be a good meal.
But back to my illustrious acting career. When Nathan was born, I was booking all my auditions. I think I walked into the audition room different from “before baby.” When I was just a regular person (ha!) I’d walk into that audition all ready and willing to please. When I became a new mom, I’d walk into that audition room with a real sense of purpose. Like “I have to go breast feed, did you want to hire me, yes or no?” It was like I flipped a switch, and became important, and had somewhere more important to be (with my newborn) and so everyone thought I was important too and wanted to hire me.
So, really, having children hasn’t stopped me from being a working mother. It has made me appreciate working more. Like a little vacation from my children. But I don’t want to have an understudy for my real role- as mommy. As I lay beside Jake and his snuffly nose, I realize that he is one of my greatest creations. He’s my audience. He’s my director. He’s my playwright. He’s my real work of art. And that snotty nose? Just a hack trying to crash an audition...

Take the "me" out of Bedtime!

Do you know where I am right now? I don’t want to tell you. I’m at a bar. It’s 6 30pm and I finished my corporate acting gig at 6, and instead of going home, I came here to a bar. And I’m drinking a beer. And I ordered a hamburger. Rare.
This is not like me. Listen, it’s not like the kids are home alone. Dave had to go to work for 5pm so we got the fabulous, amazing 25 year old babysitter to come for 4:30. And if I got home at 6 30, that would barely be worth her while. I want her to make a bit of money, so I figured I’d come here and write and get some me time. Okay, there’s a bigger reason. I want Maryjoy to put the kids to bed.
It takes soooooo long for me to put the kids to bed. Dave can do it in 30 minutes or less. A babysitter? They take one look at her and put themselves to bed. Me? It’s like a crime that they should be forced to sleep at all. It’s like I’m asking them to go to jail. Without a phone call. I’d like to take the "time" out of bedtime. And, actually, take the "me" out of it, too. 'Bedtime boys, say goodnight to me… me who is going downstairs to watch 30 Rock, finish the dishes (okay, we don’t have a dishwasher… yet.. what?!) and get at least two hours of doing whatever the hell I want and need to do'. But no. Bedtime with me and the boys starts at 7pm and ends somewhere between 10 and 10:30pm when they have finally given in and fallen asleep after about 2 hours of manipulating me from the bottom bunk to the top bunk to sleep beside one or the other.
I know I am an enabler. I was the one who had them in the bed when they were babies, respectively. And I am still the enabler, because I will lay down with Jake, then Nathan, then Jake, then Nathan, up and down the bunk like a servant. If they were my employers, I'd quit. Which I felt like I did tonight. I may be in a bar, but don’t think my Catholic guilt isn’t killing me. I might need another beer to keep me from going home before they have fallen asleep. Go Maryjoy!

Yummy Mummy Club

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Mommy Loves The Boys

So, I'm married with kids now. My Sex and The City lifestyle days are behind me. No more bad relationships with immature guys. Wait. Did I mention I have two sons? Did you know that my two year old Jake and my 4 year old Nathan aren't that different from some guys I've dated? It's so unfair, because I did the whole "please a man and lose myself" thing and I thought I learned from it. But here I am, repeating old, self-sabotaging patterns with my boys. Well, the first step is recognizing I have a problem. Er, problems…

Here’s one problem I have. I tend to give in to my boys, because I want them to like me. What? I know! I'm their mom! They'll like me even if I make them do chores every day of their life. But I'm such a sucker for a cute guy, I'm all "Alright, have another cookie" because I don't want to be the heavy. Then Nathan has too much sugar, then he crashes, then he’s miserable and cranky. And I’m reminded of the time I lent my Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams to that cute guy and never got the book back. That “I should have known better” feeling. Note to self number 1. Have a back bone, even if it means some guy won’t like it.

Here’s another problem: I tend to put them first all, all, all the time. I need to go to yoga. I must go to yoga. Nathan and Jake want me all the time. I tell them the sitter is coming so Mommy can go to yoga. They cry. I don't call the sitter. I don't go to yoga. I burn out. I yell at the kids. If they were my boyfriend, I'd break up with them. Note to self number 2. Put myself first. At least some of the time. Like at yoga time.

My worst problem: I tend to change myself for the man. Why do I do this? When I was dating and it never worked. I would morph into the supergirl I thought the guy wanted me to be. Which I couldn’t keep up for very long, so we’d break up. Now with my little guys, I love them so much, so I am this supermom who never says no. And then I can’t take it anymore and I snap. Things like sleeping beside Nathan until he falls asleep, which I am convinced makes him stay awake longer. It only makes me more anxious because I have things to do. Or my never ending nursing of Jake. If I left it up to him, he’d be weaned after graduation. No! Mommy has to go to yoga! Get your hands out of my shirt! I love you but I love me more! (Quote from Samantha in Sex and The City). So yes, I admit I’m still relationship challenged. But with a little bit of backbone, and a lot of yoga (which is all about strengthening the spine… I see the connection), I am sure I can keep the bad boys addiction behind me… and raise good boys who treat women really,really well.