Friday, February 24, 2012

Okay Mrs. Judgey Pants

Holy Cow Moment #: Holy Cow and I thought teenage girls were mean, nope it turns out the mother can be worse.  We all know the mother hen that protects her children, shields them, encourages them and we all admire her but what about the overindulgent, judge judgmental witch up the street?  Frankly I can’t decide to fear or just dislike her.  She judges the crazy mom down the street, who yes wears crocks every day and pants from <gasp> target or old navy, but her children are happy and well adjusted.  She judges the mom up the road who <gasp> isn’t feeding her child organic-vegan-tofurkey.  She judges the working mom three houses down who loves her children and spends every moment she is home with them, more then I can say for Mrs. Judgey mom who is spending WAY too much time staring out her front window knowing when everyone comes and goes, who is having an affair, who isn’t fit, who eats out too often and who is or isn’t happily married. 

There is that mom in every neighborhood or playgroup, in every group of daycare parents.  She judges your child’s sippy cup or that your child isn’t walking but crawling.  Well you know what I say Judgey mom from around the block!  Mind your own cotton-pickin business because frankly my kid seems better adjusted that your three spoiled rotten kids that scare me, I can envision their faces on future wanted posters. 

For all the normal moms out there, stay-at-home, working or somewhere in between put the smack down on the mom that judges you because we are succeeding every day our child survives. And so what if I celebrate mediocrity, so what if my child ate a freaking non organic cheerio, so what if my kid likes to were her hair in an odd spiky pig-tail thing, so what if my child loves florescent stripes with a red poka-dot top, who cares that my child is eating her own sock… she is happy and healthy what is your kid doing?  Well other then reciting three dead languages and building up a physical intolerance for meat, who cares that your child in a metro-sexual at the age of 7, who cares if your child can spout off half the dictionary – tell you what no one but your kid knows what he is saying REALLY EFFECTIVE.  

Holy Cow are mom’s judgmental.  Poor girls, there is no break, you will be judged from pre-school to middle school, from middle school to college, from college to the rip old age of OLD, the good news is at some point you just don’t care anymore- I am not there yet.  

This was inspired over an incident with a graham cracker.

Have no fear mom is here,

Holy Cow Moment ?: As a mom we no longer have fear – or, actually, no wait we now have twice the fears. One night as I was rocking my child to sleep, the poor little girl has another ear infection that I almost missed, I realize my fears have changed. I still fear the mighty spider, okay so I am afraid of an eight legged hairy (and some not so hairy) freak the size of a quarter at best. This fear is valid being that small tiny thing can kill a huge giant human, so the next time some dippy person says that they are tiny and harmless I dare them to go up against a brown recluse OR even better a camel spider – those things are the size of birds. I am still afraid of someone robbing my home, not that I have anything that they want but hey, a robber doesn’t know that until they try, I am still afraid of death, losing a job, a bad hair day, severe allergic reactions, eating spoiled leftovers, losing touch with good friends, icey roads, my phone dying, being locked in a room with 'that' annoying person, you know the normal things to fear.

But now, now I am afraid of my child falling and I won’t be there, I am afraid she might get dehydrated at daycare or that i might screw her up but won't know until adulthood. I am afraid she might love the lady at daycare more then she loves me. I am afraid that i will let her down. I am afraid of loseing her, i have a mental contingency plan incase Zombies become a severe issue. I am questioning if i can live forever just incase she might need me - fountain of youth anyone? Really though, I think every mom wakes a million and one times a night asking - is her blanket on, is she too warm, is the humidifier on, are they breathing, was that a cry or a sleep noise, should i wake them to change their diaper or better yet give her something to drink. Heck my poor husband is freaking out in his sleep that our daughter was in our bed and was falling-yeah in his dream he wasn't falling she was.

I fear that fear is a constant. No one has a kid because they woke up one day an said 'gee I don't think I have enough worry in my life let's procreate' or if they do shoot them. Too bad the worry and fear are attached to the giggles and smiles.

Holy cow I understand the gray hairs that parents get. I think you succeed if you have hair at all in the end.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Marked it, nested it, MINE – Mom car Revealed

Holy Cow Moment: The mom car is not a new thing to me, or most woman as it turns out.  Even without it being a ‘Mom’ car most woman love to clutter their car.  Men do not.  I figured out why.

Dogs – pee on things to mark what is theirs.  
Men - oddly enough do a similar act, they more or less do a virtual pee.  If they see a man talking to their woman they step up next to them and display some kind of territory dance, if that wasn’t enough I am sure that anyone can see the testosterone oozing off of them.  On top of that there is the engagement ring, the pregnancy (nothing says mine like a HUGE belly on their wives/ significant others).  Well woman on the other hand are much more subtle at marking what is theirs, that and we love to nest by nature.  Nesting is not just for the pregnant mommy, nesting seems to be something most women just do.  

Territory marking starts when little girls come into the world and find the first thing they like – Daddy.  How do they mark him as theirs, well it’s a lot harder to see but most likely daddy has endured some makeup, nail polish or other visual signs.  If that isn’t enough his heart is officially full, no vacancy there and mommy nor any other woman will ever get him back.  

Girls then move onto to their first boyfriend, most likely the kindergarten love. Ahhh David, yes I remember my first boyfriend, safe sex involved separate condos and playing doctor was innocent.  How did I show other girls that he was indeed mine?  Well that’s the thing, I hadn’t perfected marking my territory yet on anyone but daddy.  In kindergarten the best I could do was get his mom to like me therefore making all other girls moot.  Sure I gave him my favorite crayon and sure he held my hand behind the plastic jungle gym but the way to mark him as mine was through his mom.  

In elementary school we doodled on binders and trapper keepers.  We saw a boy we liked we added him to our collage of white out, rainbow assortments of pen markings and whatever else happened to stick to our folders, binders and trappers. Our backpacks were cluttered in key chains, more white out (thanks to the invention of the white out pen), permanent marker, puffy paint and some of those privileged girls bedazzled theirs.  In fact the bedazzle-ers had snazzy canvas Keds too.  So we nested up whatever that was ours and marked the boy as ours by adding him to the nest, sort of like a birds nest.  We carefully weave different elements into our lives and if anything gets removed it all comes crumbly down – girls always great at theatrics.

In high school, well things got more complex with marking boyfriends and our spaces.  We now have lockers on top of back packs, bedrooms, trapper keepers, lunch bags and anything else in the world that wasn’t “marked up” by someone else.  Lockers became Mecca’s of clutter, clipped photos of Zack or Slater from saved by the bell or Chris O’Donall and those ocean blue eyes were tapes and tacky doed to the door.  Locker mirrors stuck to the doors next to the photo of whoever we were claiming as the out boy that month. His photo was proof to all the other girls that he was indeed yours – he’s been woven into the next don’t touch him.  As far as marking our men we tried, I think that in the early 90’s boys would wear a necklace or “chain” -if that is more manly, his girlfriend bought, then the girlfriend would paper his locker with photos of herself.  Of course we had to spill into his space, our space was 100% nested got to move on.  We might also  subtly stop in the hall way for a quick PDA that teachers could never catch but the other girls did, this sealed the deal that he was indeed taken, of course sometimes this worked as a beacon for the school jezebel.

From highschool we move to college or a job where now we start to shack up with our guys.  Now we have to mark not only the man but his space too.  We subtly leave a toothbrush, or a wrapped tampon under the sink – who knows when emergencies hit, maybe a hair rubber band; frankly whatever he wouldn’t scream about we left behind.  What does he do when the marking of the territory becomes acceptable in his world?  Well he proposes, he has officially claimed you as his and marked the left hand which also means your entire being as his.  GREAT!!!  Girl has officially accomplished her goal.  BUT as woman we don’t stop, sure we marked his apparentment up but now Uber nesting sets in.  We must by nature move in, we must take over, we must replace boy colors with bold vibrant girl colors, we must have a thousand pillows of which half are rock hard and good for nothing but decoration.  Once we get married, have the house officially nested and marked to our liking, what else is there?  

Well most likely along the way you have been nesting in your car, your space, your room on wheels. BUT now, now that we have nothing else to mark or nest in around our man our skills go into overdrive because well, officially you’ve nested in everything else nailed down and the male in your life is only going to allow so much re-nests (ie redecorating) so you move onto your mobile space again – and what is that space called?  The MOM car.  

We are nesters by nature, we mark our territory without thinking about it - although much more subtle then men and dogs.  The mom car is inevitable.  If you are one of those woman who has a clean car - GOOD FOR YOU.  But i am sure you have your nesting stash somewhere... check your purse.  If you are battleing the man in your life over your girl car, your mom car... simply tell him that its your space and your are marking it.  He won't know what to say since in his world he mentally peed on you and your car and his car and whatever else he thinks is his. 

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Valentines day (or Single Awareness Day – whichever end of the spectrum your on.)

There is no Holy Cow with this – well I guess there is:

Holy Cow have the stores gone even more crazy this year for the Hallmark Holiday.

Shouldn’t every day be Valentines Day? Do I really need a date on a calendar to tell me to do something special or nice for the person I love?  I really do not see what all the hype is about.  My husband has always bought me something, cards every year, usually flowers or great chocolates even the occasional gift but honestly I would rather save the money and just remember that every day is Valentines Day.  Say I love you every day.  Make a date with each other just because.  I think our new tradition will be to buy our daughter a valentine’s balloon – a balloon to keep her busy so we get a few minutes to cuddle on the couch, Valentines day just seems to have a better selection then other holidays.  I don’t want to fight the crowds for dinner reservations, give me a heart shaped pizza at home any day.  Also why is it that Valentines Day is female centric?  Men deserve romance too. 

Now what is Valentines Day good for?  Great Chocolate is EVERYWHERE, cute lingerie (If you are into that kind of thing) is on sale, everywhere you look pink and red accost your senses – this actually puts me in a good mood, chick flicks are on 24/7 – I think this makes up for football season don’t you?  But really that’s all.  For those not in a relationship this is Single’s Awareness day, a day to want to toss your cookies over all the happy couples, don’t forget singles – today is a great day for everyone to think they have a good relationship, lots of relationships end on Feb 15th.  I just don’t get it.  Every day is a day to be loved and frankly if you need a day to dictate when you should take time out for your family or your significant other then maybe its time for an attitude adjustment.  Everyday is Valentines day when you have the people you love around you.

Ever wonder where the day actually came from?  Well so do most historians and the rest of the world – after reading several articles I still this it’s because of Hallmark.

wikipedia on Valentine's Day

A Love Sonnet to my blog

How do I love the, let me count the ways – I love you blog.  Why you ask – although if you are reading my blog maybe you are not asking why, you are just questioning my sanity.  Well let me tell you that at 2:00 in the morning as I blearily walk to my daughters bedside to remove child covered in throw up, hold her at arms length and try to comprehend what I do next I thank God that in approximately 10 to 20 minutes I will be able to sit down with a clean child and have something to do. 

The throw up all over the bumper, the sheet, the blanket, apparently my nightgown and most likely my bra is without doubt a downer.  The naked baby playing with her blocks on the floor giggling because she now feels great while mom tries to power through the clean up could almost seem like nails on a chalkboard at 2 am.  Oh but it doesn’t.  I love her, I do.  I repeat this to myself about, oh, ten more times.  By the tenth time it’s true again, I love her.  Now that everything is in the hamper and my daughter and I have had another wardrobe change, yet again, I can now enjoy her smile, he flailing limbs, her giggles of entertainment.  BUT even with all that in front of me and behind me I still love my escape because as I have found out that at 2 am there is no one up, no one on faceboook, nothing on TV and no one but a tiny human with minimal verbal skills to talk to.  Thank you blog, I hope someone else appreciates my sleep deprived brain. 

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Eight months later and counting

Holy Cow Moment #? My friend recently had a life changing experience and was later asked after all was said and done, "was she glad things were getting back to normal." I find normal to be...inappropriate. What’s normal anyway? How do we reach normal after life altering changes and events? I think the dippy lady meant that it must be nice to be getting back into a routine? But the 'special' person did not actually say that.
so lets look at life. If what I had pre baby was 'normal' then I will never achieve normal again. It is impossible. If what my neighbor has is normal, well, yeah. I don’t want that either; snooty, judgey lady. Now if you ask is my life routine? Well, its getting there.
I still don’t sleep through the night, I get sick all the time (I’m raising a science experiment), my gut has a forever rounded look, my feet are bigger then they were pre baby, I have a new health issue for life, insurance costs more, I don’t get anything done at night, I eat standing up more then I do sitting down-if I eat a meal at all, I have more baby items or accessories then my car or house can hold (its like we live in a maze-a carnival every day). I find that if I can go to the bathroom without being yelled at for one minute the night is relaxing, the hearing that I have currently lost in my right ear thanks to a perforated eardrum has been a vacation-it's so peaceful right now, even if someone screaming as we speak. I have yet to be able to wear one outfit a day and have it actually make it through the whole day clean, there is nothing really that resembles my life before my daughter so again i ask what is normal?

Holy Cow there are some inconsiderate people out there-or maybe dense is a better word for it. Don't ask anything with the word "normal" in it if something large just happened unless you can define 'normal'. A slide show proving that maybe my life wasn't normal before would help and therefor showing the chaos i now thrive in is normal.

Are you normal?

Friday, February 3, 2012

The walk of Shame

Holy Cow Moment ?: Remember what the walk of shame used to mean? Waking from somewhere strange, mouth imitating the smell of a sewage treatment plant, wearing the same clothes you wore the night before to do the 'walk of shame' or at least thats what my Sorority sisters called the glorious stroll from the fraternities. Being dropped off by a car never had it's own name- Drive of Shame? Not the same ring. Every woman knows this walk though, be it college, post college, Pre college and post menopausal -I work with a woman who is over 50 and walks the walk a lot. Who knew that her prime would be in her 50's.

The walk of shame has a new meaning today. Now it's the walk through the grocery store with hair you havnt brushed yet and sweatpants with carrots smeared on the butt,. The walk of shame is the walk you make after you child has just run through the house buck naked trailing TP like a streamer. The walk of shame is chasing you pants-less wonder (no not you poor husband) running and screaming from you after you placed them on the floor opened a diaper that should have it's own name and turned to get a wipe or seven. This child has super powers-they've rolled over, Smearing poop on themselves even more and some how jetted off in less time then it took you to pop the wipes top. The walk of shame is going to work only to discover that look you've been getting all day was not because you boobs look great in your top, but theres a glob of spitup on you lapel. The walk of shame is knowing you are wearing yesterdays pants and knowing they are the cleanest you have even with a few boogers and a swipe of sweet-potato-God created baby wipes for a reason right?

The walk of shame is what you pretty much do every day now. The difference from then and now? No one is judging you. No one is looking at you with eyes that clearly don't approve; now everyone has pity filling their gaze or a look of understanding, glazed over with exhaustion. Motherhood is pretty good, you now have an excuse for being unkempt and disheveled. You now have a reason to live in sweat pants on the weekends and shower at 5pm on Saturday If you shower at all. I love my Dogs but even they didn't do this good of a job at validating those lazy days-too bad your lazy days have turned to chaos and aren't lazy anymore. Your now busy 24/7 and barely surviving, there is simply no energy to care anymore.

Holy cow, the walk of Shame has morphed into the walk of 'oh dear God please let no one see the squash that looks more like poop on my pants that's a little to close to a certain area not to be embarrassing.'

Is it weird to take a photo of your beloved munchkin and tape it to your back so everyone immediately knows what happened?

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Mom's do not get sick - Revisited

No new comments? Apparently I am the only one going though this contrary to popular belief :-)
Holy Cow Moment ?:  My child is a cold remedy...

As I lay on my daughters bedroom floor analyzing how I need to clean her carpet I realize that sometimes the worst situation really isn’t that bad.  I’m sick, I feel like I might toss my cookies and my ears hurt like someone is taking a ice pick to my Eustachian tube – yes I learned some medical terms.  I had to crawl from my room to answer the dire call of my eight month year old.  Her world is ending no doubt at 3am in the morning.  

As I gently and not very gracefully pull her tiny squirmy body from her crib and gently yet quickly set her on the floor with her nauseated mommy it occurs to me that this sort of sucks.  But does it?  She doesn’t see me as sick, she sees this as playtime and freedom.  Mommy is her favorite jungle gym, sour tummy or not.  Her sweet little hugs almost make you feel less sick.  It still doesn’t stop me from calling my husband and making him panic – no he isn’t a bum he is working a swing shift so he wasn’t home at the ripe hour of 3am.  This goes back to earlier posts of making sure the husband pays even if it really isn’t his fault. 

My adorable daughter who has worn her self out and is now ready for her back to sleep nursing oddly enough cooperates and snuggles next to me on the floor that needs to be cleaned badly, how has it gotten so bad?  I should lay on the floor more often for perspective.  Anyway – she falls asleep and now we wait for daddy, who is panicked and feeling terrible, to come home and place sleeping infant into her bed and rescue mommy from her prison on the carpet. The carpet I can’t get past that I need to clean and if I weren’t sick I would be washing it at 3am.  

Holy Cow, remember when you used to be the baby when you were sick?  Now you feel like Hercules.  Illness what illness – except as soon as your child is back to sleep out comes the sick feelings again.  Who knew Children were sort of like Tylenol Cold or Dayquil or whatever your choice of cold remedy is.  They work for 4 hours and if you don’t take some more – or if your child is back to being stress free- you feel like crud again.