Sunday, September 16, 2007

Fantasy Football

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Today is the husband's fantasy football draft. He needs to get out more with the guys so I'm supportive even though I don't totally understand the process. I'm interested so this morning while he was hole punching stacks upon stacks of important statistical documentation to put in his official black binder, I started inquiring. "So how does this thing work?" I ask. He finished binding his stuff, hugged the binder (literally) and turns around with a huge shit ass grin. "Okay....I'm all set, he says". "Okay, so tell me what happens at this draft thing", I say. His eyes light up and I swear he got a little wood at my asking this question.
I tried to pay attention, I really did. I was concentrating very hard on every word trying to piece everything together. My mind wanders however and half way through I had to remind myself to pay attention. I wasn't REALLY listening because my inner dialogue went something like this..."focus, focus,, I need to eat breakfast...12 draft pics....did the boy shit his pants?....focus....picks based on player statistics....boring....shit, focus!....I need to pee!
Basically I learned that a bunch of guys get together to play pretend. They pick a spot based on a deck of cards (1-12) and then they all sit down and watch a big dry erase board and take turns picking the players for their pretend teams based on statistics? I think. The husband says it's part skill and part luck. I think it's part crap. I mean, aren't the variables so incredibly astronomical here. Even if you have first pick and get the best player in the league, he could get his leg mangled on the very first game of the season and be completely worthless to your pretend team! I guess that's where the "luck" kicks in. He swears by getting 5th, 6th or 7th pick he has a better team and consequently a better chance of winning the pool. This from the same guy who when watching the Steelers turns his hat backwards then forwards depending on who's got the ball, rolls up his sleeves for a better kick return and looks away from the screen to give the team "extra luck" for an extra point. Whatever.
I do love football. I'm excited for the new season and look forward to those wonderful Sundays (or Mondays) full of football and food. It doesn't matter that I "get it" when it comes to fantasy football. For $120 I get him out of the house to have a playdate with his friends, I don't have to feed him dinner, he's cute as a button with his little folder and highlighter, and most makes him happy and that's all that matters to me. Plus, I owe him one for letting me have 15 women in the house for a pedicure party. I'm sure he doesn't "get" my stuff either but he always tells me to "have a good time, baby" when I'm leaving and I will do the same for him.

Because it feels so good

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I think I'm raising a pervert. Well, maybe not. Maybe I'm just raising a boy. I have been blessed by having both a son and daughters and it gives me a stunning look into the differences between boys and girls. My girls are sweet, adorable girly girls. Not that the boy isn't those things (well, at least not the girly girl part), but he is also a total pervert.

I first noticed this when he was six months old and he started humping his stuffed Bob the builder doll. Then it progressed to blankets, pillows, other toys and when he was old enough to climb he would hump his sister. When he learned to walk he would push his pelvis out and rub himself over the walls, steps, furniture and animals. One day he rubbed himself on ME! So I say to the husband, "why is he doing this, it's totally embarrassing and weird."

The husband in his all so guy wisdom says "because it feels sooo good". So that answers the question of "who did he get THAT from"! My next question was, "did you ever rub yourself back and forth on a door handle? (yes, the boy did that) and he has yet to give me a response. Yes, it does feel good to rub oneself on certain household things (so I've heard) but that doesn't mean that anyone should do it. How do I deal with this little dilema? My strategy has been to distract and redirect him. That worked for a while but now I think he understands that it embarrasses me and does it just to get under my skin.
Yesterday I went to check on him after his nap and he was standing bottomless in his shall I put this delicately......exploring himself. When I asked his pediatrician about this he said it was totally normal. Normal for boys maybe. Birdie never did that and while it still remains to be seen with Baby Bear I can bet she won't either. It's gotta be a boy thing.
There's also another little matter of the porno style kisses he gives only me. He will hunt me down, grab my face and try to tongue me. In case anyone is wondering, no he's never seen that from us. We give sweet, cute, PG kisses in this house (well, at least when the kids are around ). I love that he loves me and that he wants to show affection. I know once he turns 7 he won't want a kiss from his mom to save his life, but it does freak me out. *shutters* I suppose that he will grow out of it, so everyone tells me but man, this is going to rough in the meantime.
I will occupy myself with taking mental (and written) notes about his antics. Maybe pictures too. Then I will scheme on how I will torture, embarass and blackmail him with this information when he's a teenager. Haaaa haaaa haaaa!Aren't I just the best mom, ever!

One of those days

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I think there's a special place in heaven for mommies who have to take three or more children to a supermarket at one time. Until now, I've only ventured to the market with either one child at a time or bought no more than 5 things with all in tow.

Well, I postponed my shopping long enough and it was either go with all 3 or have to feed them ketchup and green olive sandwiches with lima beans and soft blueberries. strategy was to feed them, change them and let them watch "Chicken Little" on the way there. But of course, nothing ever goes as planned so half way there I hear..."you said we could go to the playscape today, mommy!". I had said about a week ago that we would go to the playscape "next week" and damned if she doesn't remember. So shit, now there's a detour which will set me back at least an hour. We get there and it's about 100% humid and 95 degrees out. Then the accidents happen. Why I have the most accident prone children in the world I have no idea. Birdie can trip on air. They never watch where they are going and ergo the stumbles, falls, scrapes, bruises, blisters, splinters, bumps, and any other conceivable boo boo imaginable. Birdie gets hit in the chest with the boy's swing cause she's walking too close, he cracks up laughing which causes her to get pissed and hit him in the head. He starts screaming, jumps out of the swing to run after her and bumps Baby Bear in the process. Now they are all screaming and women with no more than one child start to cringe as their ovaries begin to clamp down. "THAT's IT" I scream. "We're leaving". So much for my "get them in a good mood before the market" strategy.
Finally I arrive and scope out the nearest cart with the little red car in front so the boy can "drive" while I shop. I plop Bear in the front, wipe down the cart and attach toys for distraction. Birdie wants to sit in the car but she's much too big which starts a complaint fest. I'm already pissy and I haven't even started shopping yet.

The shopping commences and Birdie is wandering the store, bumping into people, taking things off the shelves, putting things in the shopping cart that I would never buy. We definitely don't need 6 containers of cottage cheese! I'm like "just keep your hands to yourself and walk next to me". Then she starts taunting her brother, who up to this point has been very good. She's poking him and yelling at him, so at my next stop he sprints out of the car and starts running down the aisle. I call him but he hears nothing so I start running after him but eventually have to ditch poor Bear and chase him down 3 aisles before I catch him. DAMN kid!
I put him back in the cart only to notice that Birdie has disappeared. She's shopping for gum and again another whine fest when I tell her she can't have any. The boy is screaming cause now I've strapped him into the car, why didn't I think of that before?? Oh yeah, I left my brain in the minivan.
How am I going to get him to stop screaming? I have to put something in his mouth!!! So I get dinosaur fruit snacks. I open a bag and he's quiet. Thank god. How much more shopping do I have...shit, 3/4 of a list and we still have to stop for 10 minutes to visit the lobsters in the tank. My back hurts and my head hurts, I'm tired! I still have to finish the shopping go through the line with these kids, load the groceries and unload the groceries, then put them away while kids are! Why did I ever teach the boy to talk and why the hell is Bear talking so early! Okay, I made it out in one piece although the boy ate a WHOLE box of dinosaur fruit snacks, I caved and bought Birdie gum AND goldfish crackers and I "stole" a whole hidden box of wipies. Baby Bear meanwhile has been an angel. My sweet baby girl.
I am going to heaven. I will get a reprieve. And next time they can eat the damn ketchup and green olive sandwhiches.

The first six years

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The husband and I just celebrated our 6 year wedding anniversary yesterday. We've now been together for 10 years and it's inevitable that we would reflect on our lives together.
Our first meeting was rather uneventful. We were neighbors and we passed each other as we were headed in opposite directions. I can't say that I really even thought twice about that meeting and he probably couldn't even recall the last time he scratched his ass, let alone the first time we met! We met many other times which turned into dates which turned into nights and eventually we would call in to work "sick" nearly 2 days a week cause we couldn't bear to be away from each other.
I distinctly remember the very first moment I knew that I wanted to be with him forever. We were driving back from a renaissance fair and he put on the all 80's channel on the radio. Michael Jackson's "Beat It" started blaring from the speakers and he immediately began to dance....while driving. He was jerking his head back and forth, snapping his fingers, trying to moon walk while still keeping his foot on the gas and simultaneously grabbing his balls and screaming "WHOO"!! It was hysterical. He somehow made my world and my life funnier, lighter, easier and all around happier. I was hooked.
We've always gotton along very well. Things came easy to us because we always agreed on everything. We're lucky in this regard because the normal fights that people would have about money, religion, family....aren't issues for us. We're totally on the same page and always have been. We fight about stupid stuff. We have the dumbest fights in the history of fights. Our all time knock out drag out fight was over packing! Yep, we were taking a weekend in NYC and we couldn't agree on how much to pack. I look back and think my bitchiness was due to the fact that I was 8 months pregnant and not too keen on the idea of walking around all weekend on my already swollen 3 times over feet. Anyway, this fight included name calling, clothes throwing, lots of screaming and a nearly cancelled trip. Luckily, this is only one of 2 of these kinds of fights in 10 years. We are notorious stupid fighters. The good news is that we always argue fair, never get heated in front of the kids and always find a solution that we can both agree on.
We've had a lot of obstacles and accomplised a lot in 6 years of marriage. We had 3 kids in 6 years, moved 4 times, changed jobs twice, bought a house, had his mom live with us for 7 months, dealt with the death of many loved ones and have come out very well. I'm proud of us! Marriage is not easy, but it's worth it.
I am amazed that I love him more today than I did 10 years ago. I can't imagine my life without him and think I am the luckiest woman in the world. He loves me more than I thought anyone ever could, puts up with my crap, is totally amazing with the kids, helps me more than I could ever ask for, is supportive and caring and always tries to put me and the kids first. I swear when I am out and about I think that no other woman could possibly have it as good as I do when it comes to husbands. How the hell did I get so lucky? I don't know...but I do know that I am eternally grateful.
I was watching our wedding video and the minister said something about "growing old" together. I remember thinking that growing old with someone was something that old people do. When I thought of that phrase I always pictured an old couple sitting on a porch together rocking and holding hands. What I realize now is that you start growing old with your partner the day you get married. That is the meat and potatoes of a marriage. It's seeing the husband mature and change, watching him sprout wire nose hairs and white antenae from his eyebrows, seeing the salt and pepper start in his hair and mustache. It's his seeing me nurse 3 babies and not caring that my boobies droop to the floor. It's starting to notice that you've fallen off the fashion wagon together and try to push each other up one fat butt cheek at a time to hop back on. It's watching him dance with Birdie in the kitchen and wondering if I'll be able to contain myself when he does the same on her wedding day. I feel so priviledged that he chose me to grow old with and that I get to see him turn into that guy from my building to a complete man, husband and father.
I look forward to the next 6 and hopefully many, many more of our lives together. It's wonderful to think what all we can accomplish and what memories we can compile in that time. I can't wait! Happy Anniversary baby, I love you more, I am the luckiest and you are the cutest!


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For as long as I can remember I've been totally obsessed with pimples....well, popping pimples I should say. I was fortunate when I was a teenager because I never really had any pimples so I didn't get to pop any much. I would delight when I did get one. I never liked the pain but I loved when they were ripe and ready for the pinch! A good one would explode all over the mirror I was looking into. I know....EEEEWWWW! I still think it's gross, I just love to do it.

I love the husband for many reasons but one I never tell anyone is that he is very prone to ingrown hairs. Why does this matter?? You guessed it, pimples gallore!!! Ingrown hairs have a tendency to fester if not properly cared for and he will get them in the weirdest places....places that I only I can reach!!! One time he had the HUGEST pimple in his arm pit. It started out a big bump that over the next few days turned into the biggest thing I'd ever seen! I couldn't wait to get my hands on it. I remember the adrenaline when he finally said I could pop it. I ran to the bathroom for some tissue and the tweezers, got in position and with a big grin began my business. I pulled the ingrown hair and it immediately started to ooze just a little. I knew it was going to be good but had NO idea what it had in store for me. I got a good grip with both thumbs on either side and put some pressure on and after about a second, BAM!!!! The thing shot out, sprayed my shirt and landed on the wall behind me!!!! I swear!!! It was amazing!!!!

I'm always on the look out for a good pimple harvest. The husband says it's cause I like to inflict pain on him. I'm a pimple popping masochist. He might be right cause I do enjoy making him squirm but it doesn't take much cause when it comes to pain he's a real pussy!

To be honest, it's not just's anything I can pick at....and not all my focus is totally devoted to the husband. Once my mother-in-law was wearing a tank top and I could see she had this bump on her shoulder. It clearly wasn't a pimple but I knew SOMETHING had to be in there so I told her she needed to hold still cause she had something coming out of her shoulder (she's blind so assumed everything was on the up and up). I know, I'm BAD! Anyway, I pressed it and this long stringy stuff started shooting out. I must have pressed on it for 20 minutes and it still kept coming out. Finally I gave up and forgot about it. Two years later again she's wearing the tank top and I saw my old nemesis, the never ending pimple. This time it was raised and had turned dark so I convinced her to let me give it another shot and this time the weirdest thing happened. Whatever was in there before had solidified cause it shot out and hit the floor with a "tink" sound. It was the size of a pebble and just as hard. YES!!!! I got it!!! Take that!

So if any of you have any really ripe pimples, let me know. I'll be over in 5 minutes to help you out! But don't whine like a baby when I pinch you. Take it like a man!

My poor aching body

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Besides my normal daily exercise, I've added 5K training which together are kicking my ass. I never knew my body could ache so much. This is from a woman who gave birth without drugs so trust me, it hurts!

My eyes, ears and nose are yucky from the swimming, my neck, shoulders, arms and chest hurt from the weight lifting, my entire belly area aches from the sit hips and butt hurts from the yoga and eliptical machine....and my legs, knees, calfs and feet hurt from the jogging. I'm going to die! I swear the only thing that doesn't hurt right now is my fingers but after I type this I will have to soak them in an ice bath too!

I've been exercising for a while because I'm trying to lose weight. I've been successful to this point as of today I've lost 45 pounds! When a friend asked if I wanted to do a 5K with her I thought....well, maybe I COULD do that! What the hell was I thinking? I'm not ready for this!

Yeah, as I've said before I am going to be the last person (besides 60 year old women and men in wheelchairs) to cross the finish line. My friend Bill says that you get the most applause if you're last. "But Bill, you coached the SPECIAL olympics" I say. "Doesn't everyone get a big round of applause in the special olympics?"

I don't want the humiliation of being last so I am really trying to improve my time. Another friend told me that I should aim for 10 minute miles. I think I would be crossing the finish line in an ambulance if I attempted this. I'm lucky if I can do 14 minute miles! I'm not trying to be competetive here, I just want to finish the damn race without dying and without being last! Today I actually did improve my time by 2 minutes which makes me feel great! My goal is to alternate jogging and walking half miles. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can"!!!

I go to a track that is off the beaten path because I'm too ashamed to run through my neighborhood. Nobody wants to see my jiggling butt running through the cul-de-sac! I've even braved going to the Y. I've never been much for sharing my work out space with sweaty strangers but I needed the change of pace. I almost changed my mind the first day after I had to shower with a 70 year old naked woman who was washing crevices that I didn't know could exist on a woman! *shutters* EWWW! I didn't need to see that! I'm also a little germophobic which drives me insane at the Y. Just the idea of so many hands, so many naked sweaty bodies, blahhhaaackkk.

But, I shall press on! I will cash in my "free romantic gesture" coupon that the husband gave me for Valentines day and get a full body massage! I will use my "feel good massager" for it's actual intended purposes and work out the kinks in my neck and shoulders and then I will put my feet in a warm bath and tomorrow I will hit the track and the pool and the weights and the whatever hell else I have to do because I know I can do this! Like I've heard.....sweat + sacrifice = success!!!

The tag sale king

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"Tag sales", "garage sales", "yard sales", "take my shit, please"...whatever you call them; they are sometimes necessary to keep your house off of Oprah's "most cluttered house in America" show.

I feel about tag sales the same way I feel about the circus; I don't mind going once a year! The husband on the other hand could go every weekend (friday, saturday AND sunday). He learned a long time ago that it's not my bag so now he takes the kids with him. He's working (and succeeding) at passing on his crazy tag sale gene to our poor helpless children. I'll have to check the rule book but I'm pretty sure that is child abuse. Right up there with handing down your old member's only jackets and teaching the kids how to do the macarena.

I reluctanly support his addiction so long as he doesn't spend more than $20 dollars and brings home fewer than 5 things. I absolutely hate clutter. I hate knicknacks, papers, teeny tiny little toys and anything just laying around. I try to be interested when he brings home useless stuffed animals, empty egg crates, old tools that "just need a little tweak" and computer books he'll never read. The one time I was ecstatic about his shopping was when he managed to snag a vintage Singer sewing machine in perfect condition for only $25! I guess every once in a while his habit pays off!

So last saturday was just another tag sale saturday. With everyone out of the house I did my morning jog and came home to the never ending futile battle that is my housework! I was jamming and cleaning and the house was nearly done with only one load of laundry to go when I hear the garage doors. I think to myself, "please don't have any loud toys that will go off in the middle of night and freak the shit out of me!"

It was worse....much, much, much, much worse! I know it the second I see his face. He smiled real big showing me all his teeth and then says "I love you, baby". "What did you do?" I say. "Okay, don't get mad, but I'm going to have to leave the kids here and go back with the truck cause I didn't have enough room in the minivan." "What!!! are you kidding me?"

When he returns he explains that they happened upon a tag sale by one of our acquaintances, Cookie and Denise. They are building a new house and soon have to move so they were clearing everything out. They have a granddaughter who is Birdie's friend so there was a plethora of toys and such. I'm not happy! The truck is filled, no let me rephrase that, OVERFLOWING with crap! We got 1 huge box full of nothing more than barbies most of which are headless. He also picked up other treasures such as a bike with a slow leak, a dresser that's falling apart, boxes of torn up books, clothes that doesn't fit, toys, toys, toys,toys, toys. Like I don't have enough shit to pick up all day!

"It's not my fault", he says. "Cookie was putting stuff in the truck when I wasn't looking and he gave me everything for like $10.00". Of course he did ya knitwit, you were doing him a favor by taking this stuff off his hands. So here come the boxes of crap. "We don't have room for all that", I tell him. "That's okay, we'll just put it in the basement", he says. So let me get this straight. You just went out and spent money on stuff that we don't need just so that we can put it in the basement and do nothing with it and eventually have to take it to the dump?? "You never know when you might need it". *Pulling my hair out*, I want to slap him.

Thank god it's getting cooler out and soon winter snow days will kill any chance of a random tag sale. For now I guess I better get my ass down in the basement and start organizing all the stuff that the husband has gathered all summer so we can have our own tag sale to get rid of it all. I will lose my mind if I have to look at it all winter. God help me come next spring!

I've turned into a chicken

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I used to be brave. When I was 16 I drove from California to Oklahoma by myself. When I was 22 I moved from Oklahoma to Pennsylvania and lived by myself. I had no job, no money, I knew nobody and didn't know where I was going.

I look back now and wonder how in God's name my mother allowed her only child to move across the country without a plan, without a safety net....with nothing! I knew she was a little freaked out but she never let on exactly how much. I figured I would fly by the seat of my pants, go where the wind blew, live free or die!! I was indeed brave and not only that, I had no worries. Of course I had no idea what I was up against. I suppose it was my naiveite that made me impervious to worries.

Today I am not so naive. I know that there are a million things that could go wrong in this world. Most of my worries are of course focused on my kids and to a lesser extent, the husband. I think it's just part of being a mom. It's like I worry ahead of time, think about and plan out possible scenarios so if ever confronted with danger I can do everything in my power to save my family. Take for example my fire plan. If a fire were ever to start in my home I have plan A, plan B and plan C depending on where the fire starts and who's home. It makes me feel safe.

I guess I just feel like I have so much to lose. I need to be careful with my children because they are the most precious things in my life. I must be careful with myself as I am their mother. I look around for danger if I'm in a parking lot alone, I'm diligent about locking my doors, I'm sometimes scared to venture too far from home just because I hate being away from my family. I've turned into a total scaredy cat.

Then sometimes things happen that scare the bejeezes out of me. Like not long ago when a poor family was destroyed here in Connecticut when two crazy men randomly picked a mother and her daughter from a supermarket parking lot, followed them home, bound, tortured, raped and killed them and another daughter and then set the house on fire. The idea of that kind of danger, those kind of people being right out there, so close to me and my family, scares the hell out of me. I noticed after it happend that the husband was a little extra careful to set the alarm every night and check every door. He makes sure his truck is locked so that nobody could use his keyless entry to the garage and then he even disabled the garage doors to be opened only from the inside. It shook us all up pretty good.

We hear about stuff like that happening all the time, but never so close. It's never REAL until it's right under your nose.

In the end, bad things could happen no matter what I do so I suppose there is really no sense in worrying. It's a waste of time. I hate that the media is a huge propaganda machine for fear. We fear terrorists, bridges, pedofiles, lead poisoning, kidnappers, home invasions and so so much more. The other day I heard of a bus driver who let a kid off at a wrong stop and the kid was lost for days. Yes, this is ABSOLUTELY what I need to hear since I just started putting my baby girl on the bus for the first time in her life!! I think the media preys on our natural fears....."hey, it's school time again I bet a bunch of moms are freaked out about buses.....lets dig up some nightmare to freak 'em all out!"

I must stop watching the news, reading the newspaper, surfing the net, checking my text messages or listening to the radio. I'm completely bombarded. It's no wonder I'm a basketcase!

Can't get it till they got it

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A friend of mine from PA just had her first baby. She's naturally ecstatic and has been asking me questions over the last few months about childbirth, new babies, you name it. She is a good friend, so I've tried my very best to be as honest as possible without scaring the shit out of her!

I've given her advice about preparations. The basic how to's of organization mommy style and weaning the husband from his football draft and xbox addictions. I've tried (in vain) very hard to get her to take a load off and relax...sleep...sleep...sleep. She was much too excited and said she couldn't do that. I rolled my eyes at her but totally understood what she meant. Before Birdie was born everyone under the sun told me to rest as much as possible "cause I wouldn't rest for the next 18 years of my life". They always smiled and laughed when they said that, like they were taking joy in my soon to be 18 years of no rest torture. "Whatever,'re just trying to scare me!" was what I thought. I had lots of energy and much too much to do. Plus I was the most "with it" pregnant woman that ever existed. I wasn't going to get sucked into the traditional thinking of everyone else. I was going to beat this thing and call it my bitch!!

Now I know better. The first baby is the only pregancy in which you have the luxury of relaxing. With my other 2 I was lugging around one kid on the inside, another (or 2) on the outside not to mention a diaper bag, three lovey toys and a sippie cup tucked into my bra! So I say to her, "please just trust me on this. Take a nap." I've been totally honest about everything, named details and answered any question under the sun...even the disgusting ones. So, I wasn't prepared when she called me 2 weeks after the birth and was like "you totally lied to me, ya bitch! You said this was do-able, that I would be fine!"

Yep, I told her those things. I also told her the first 2 weeks would be a blurry, sleepy, achy learning curve! Must've missed that. I give her props for being honest and telling me what a hard time she's having. At least she's not one of those women you see 3 days after delivery who are putting on a brave face and telling you that "everything is gloriously wonderful" even though their teeth have cracks from the gritting, their nuckles are white and the bags can still be seen through 18 layers of concealer.

"You said I would be tired but I didn't really believe you", she says. I tried my best to explain it to her but she thought I was trying to scare her. "Why didn't you really make me understand?". I'm having flashbacks. Back to when I accused one of my friends of exactly the same offense! I realize now that she really did try to inform me but I was too giddy with excitement, too busy with my "that won't be me" fantasy and just simply not able to comprehend what she was trying to tell me because my pre-mommy brain couldn't register it. It's like I could probably tell you what it would feel like to get hit by a truck...I could speculate but unless it happend to me I couldn't possibly be able to grasp the full impact of it.

While I was lucky to have one friend willing to spill the beans about motherhood details, I still have to admit that most women were very stingy with the info. Nobody told me how hard it would be to breastfeed or how I would feel like my breasts were going to pop when they were full. Nobody told me the extent of my soreness not only down in vajayjay but all over my entire body. Nobody told me how it would change my relationship with the husband and how the adjustment of it all would send us into a little tailspin. They also never told me how hard it would be to give up my pre-child life and dedicate myself to be a mom.

The truth is that you DO get your grove back. You find happiness in motherhood that far surpasses anything you EVER had before and you look back and laugh at yourself for being so naive. I have no idea what I did with my time before the kids came along. It seems like even though I'm running at 100mph most days, I feel accomplished. Instead of having a perfectly clean house or pressed jeans I now get partiall gummy smiles from baby bear when I wink at her. I get random "I love you's" or "you're the best mom, ever's" from Birdie as I'm driving her to dance class and 10 minute hugs from the boy.

I think the problem is two fold. Mother's have a hard time admitting when things are tough because we look around and see other moms who seem to have it all together and are afraid if we reveal our weakness we will be outfitted with a big scarlet letter "L" for loser mom. We don't want to be the only one who seems to be struggling. We also don't want to be one upped by another mom and we're already wise to the fact that there are other moms out there who are definitely better than us but we just don't want to meet you face to face.

The flip side is that pregnant for the first time women are seeing things through rosy colored goggles. They think they know it all.....those amateurs! They think, much like I did, that they will beat the system. Nobody can really "get it" until they've been there. There's just no explaining's too big....too overwhelming.

So what do you think?? Were any of you REALLY prepared for what motherhood had in store for you?? Did you feel like people told you the truth and you had a good idea or did you feel surprised?

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

It's a bird...It's a plane....It's...SUPER MOM!

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I just returned from visiting a friend.

I took the two smallest monkeys after having taken Birdie to the bus stop for school. So we're there and I already feel bad having the kids there because she doesn't have kids yet and her house is modern, clean and offers endless opportunities for something to get broken. I don't want my kids to mess up her nice house or break any of their things. Plus, I don't want her to think "I wish she wouldn't bring those crazy kids with her." I'm sure she wouldn't think that, she's sweet, but I don't want to impose.

The boy sprints through the house, checking everything out. He hurries up the stairs and starts searching each room. She gives me a tour of the newly painted house which looks great and I'm trying to make conversation but I'm thinking to myself "where's the boy, where's the boy, what's he touching, what's he doing?" I picked the worst time to take him anywhere because it's his nap time and he didn't eat hardly anything for lunch and he's starving, plus he's bored. Man, this stinks. I can't keep my thoughts in one place and I wish I could just have a normal conversation with my friend without constant interruptions and distractions. After she shows me a bathroom we head to the kitchen and as we turn our backs the boy starts to scream. I know this scream. It's the "I'm not getting my way, life sucks, I'll just throw myself on the floor and eat flies" scream. I roll my eyes and turn around slowly and notice her sprinting in the direction of the bathroom to make sure he's okay. I'm like "he's fine...just being a pain in the butt."

It's at this moment I realize how adept I am at reading my children and how it's true that a mother can distinguish the different squeaks, screams, cries and grunts their child makes. In my case times three! I'm the bomb mom. If I hear a child screaming from the other room I can stop, turn my head to listen closely and tell you right off that the problem is that she can't get her overalls unhooked and she's getting frustrated cause she really needs to pee. I can also distinctly tell the sound of pain. It's like their screams reach a certain pitch which when heard by my ears trigger an alarm that starts my body moving in their direction before my brain even registers anything. That scream instantly and simutaneously makes my heart race, my body sweat and shake and my voice start muttering baby talk. "ooooh, my sweet, beebeee, are you okay, oh....honey....... ."

It's not just screams. Silence can be just as terrifying. If I pop out of the shower and don't hear fighting and babbling my blood pressure immediately rises. I know that they are into something bad. During these silent times Birdie tried to microwave a metal picture frame, strapped herself into an old car seat in our basement where it took me forever to find her, and the silence also gave her enough cover to paint my bathroom walls with fingernail polish AND destroy my make-up. The boy gets quiet when he's stuffing things down the toilet, trying to eat dog food or tear all of the dirt out of my houseplants. With baby bear the silence brings fears of choking on a random piece of anything. So even though sometimes I would like a moment of silence to gather my thoughts, the noisiness at least gives me the comfort of knowing they are close by and still alive.

I've learned that I can't watch them EVERY second of the day. I've had to learn to rely on my hears to tell me some things. I'm even developing eyes in the back of my head. The other day I told Birdie to pick up her toys and wash her hands for dinner. She argued briefly but I gave her "the look" and said "CLEAN....NOW!" I turned away from her and from my newly but still blurry back head vision could tell that she was giving me the stink eye and sticking her tongue out at me. I said "don't look at me that way." When I turned to look at her she was bug eyed with amazement. I'm now a super hero, complete with super vision, super hearing and able to magically heal boo boos with a single kiss. Does that mean I'm now a super mom?? So that's what that means.......

A Sexual Peak

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I vaguely remember hearing once when I was younger that women hit their sexual peaks in their 30's. I forgot about this back when I heard it cause I was 19 years old and thought that my 30's were ages away.

Well, I have 30's. It's time to pull that tidbit of information out of my mental rolodex and re-evaluate. My conclusion?? It's absofuckinglutely right! I also suspect that the trailer to that sexual fact, you know...the one about men peaking at 18 and going down hill after also correct! I didn't worry about that when I was younger because even though I was interested in boys/men, I wasn't really worried or concerned with sex.

Now, it's a different story. This shit is so unfair! Why, GOD, Why?? I'm just now finished having kids, my boobies are officially off duty and back into playtime mode, I'm losing weight and feeling womanly again, and my sex drive is in full gear. The husband is...while still interested in sex....mostly interested in xbox and sleepy time.

It wasn't that long ago that I was either pretending to be asleep when he seemed frisky or I pushed him away cause my nursing bra reeked of curdled breast milk and I didn't want him to see I was still wearing my maternity panties. Now it seems like I'm trying to beat him to bed and when I give him a naughty smile he looks at me like "are you fing serious?"! Usually he can be easily persuaded but I still feel like I'm constantly seducing him out of his "so tired" funk. I feel like a deviant. I'm not used to the new friskier me yet!

The other day as I was walking through my neighborhood I had a desperate housewives kind of experience. I'm usually so entranced by my ipod that I wouldn't notice if a bomb went off beside me but that night I happened to look up and see this young guy, couldn't have been more than 18 running down the street. He smiled...a gorgeous sexy smile. He was wearing long baggy shorts and a muscle shirt with his hat turned backwards. God I love that! I actually checked him out! What the heck is wrong with me?? EWWWW...He's like.....barely legal! Two years ago I wouldn't have even noticed him but that night I couldn't resist.That is so not like me!

Fast forward a few weeks to last night. I was sitting in the dance studio waiting for Birdie's class to be over when the new ballroom instructor walks in. All I can say is ....hubba...hubba...hubba! WOW! Picture this...the textbook tall, dark and handsome with dancers legs and amazingly sexy arms, curly dark hair....oh damn, I might need to change my underpants. I think my mouth actually dropped open and my tongue fell out a little bit when he walked by. Yep..that's why my mouth went dry. I think....I might have a flare for ballroom dancing! I'm going to have to start taking cold showers after dance practice nights.

So there it is. I've officially peaked, I suppose. I feel liberated but also a little dirty. Like I said, I'm not used to this so I'm in unchartered territory here. Am I alone here? Are any of you feeling the 30's peak? If so, what's your thoughts?

Wednesday Morning

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5:15am: *Buzz* There goes the alarm clock, that stupid thing! I hate it! Time to head for the gym. I wonder if anyone will notice if I go in my pajamas?

5:16am: I fart on the way to brush my teeth. I'm such a delicate lady. I'm glad I packed my backpack and laid out my clothes last night.

5:18am: Backpack in hand I head out the door sure that the alarm system is off so I don't wake up everyone in the neighborhood with the blaring siren that is our system.

5:20am: On the way there listening to NPR. I don't have the energy to change the station. Damn! I think I forgot my Y card. I'm gonna get the scowl from the front desk lady! She has a mustache.

5:28am: Arrive and parallel park. It's too early for that shit!

5:33am: Unload my stuff in my locker, put on my sneaks and head for the cardio room.

5:35am: I begin the stationary bike. I think I made the pedal straps too tight cause my toes go numb in 5 minutes. The televisions are on closed captioning but my eyes are still blurry so I can't read anything. The music isn't on yet so I people watch. The gym is a great place for this. People crack me up! There's an older woman who's running on the treadmill. She looks goofy because her knees are pressed together and her feet are flying all over the place. He he. There's a college guy trying to lift weights and study for a test at the same time. Should've studied instead of hitting the cantina last night buckaroo. My body is starting to wake up a bit, my blood is pumping and I'm starting to sweat a little. Please wake up feet, I need to move.

6:00am: I head for the eliptical machine. I am IN LOVE with the eliptical machine. Someone please tell the husband that I want one for xmas. The only one open is between two people. I hate being so close to other sweaty people! I input my age, weight and duration, I hope nobody saw that! I begin and am enjoying myself for a few minutes when out of nowhere the guy next to me, a man in his early to mid 50's starts jamming to his ipod. He's singing Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend". He knows no one else can hear the song right? He's pumping his arms pretty fast and tossing his head back and forth. How stupid is he??? OOoohh the music just kicked on! YES!! Timbalands "The way I are". I start pumping my arms, bouncing my head back and forth and biting my lip. I'm such a loser! Uh oh, I have to fart *squeezing my butt cheeks together*, what the hell did I eat last night? Spinach salad! Didn't realize that would make me gassy. 30 minutes later I'm down 400 calories, SCORE!

6:30am: Heading to the locker room to change into my bathing suit and head for the pool. Damn, all the lap lanes are full. There's an old man flirting it up with a woman. "Yo!....old man, the lane's for swimming not foreplay with grandma."

6:35am: The water feels wonderful! I begin my laps. This is my favorite part of the Y. Swimming is relaxing, soothing and invigorating. I notice a swarm of old men sitting on the tile bench next to the pool. They're checking out any woman withing eye shot (by eye shot I mean 2 feet). I know they're checking out women cause one shouts in the other's ear "I said, she's got a great, ass!" Dirty old men. I guess the Y is to senior men what the clubs are to college guys....a mean market.

7:00am: Has anyone noticed that everyone looks ridiculous in goggles? Almost done with laps, I'm completely out of breath and my nose is burning cause I've had a few shots of chlorine water up my nostrils.

7:15am: Out of the pool. Man, I hate this part. I'm so self conscious about getting out of the pool. I hold on to the bars, start to climb out and wonder if everyone in the place is looking at my big ass saying "gross". Swim suits are the devil.7:18am: I pull back the curtain to the women's locker room and there's a woman showering naked. I immediately look away but still noticed the amazon bush. Trim that shit back woman! I must be extremely modest cause I DO NOT shower naked with complete strangers. I shower behind a curtain like nature intended! It's all hot and humid in the shower room and I can't get my jeans up my legs cause they're stuck to my ankles.

7:25am: All dressed and headed out. A blast of autum air hits me as I open the door. I breathe a huge gulp of air. AAAAHhhhh my body feels wonderful.

7:35am: I'm back at home now and ready to start the day. The house is buzzing. T.V. on, kids running and screaming, toys and cheerios littering the floor. It's good to be home.Hope ya'll have a great day! Happy hump day :-)