Still Learning...

As I reflect on the month of September and how quickly it passed, I feel exhuasted in every way imaginable.
The month began with a lot of tears and ended with a lot of sparkle, with retirement and anniversaries and many other events plunked in the middle.

Summer came and went without my being able to prepare myself for the giant yellow school bus coming my way that was literally and figuratively taking my daughter away. And unlike lots of other moms who were so looking forward to the start of a new school year, I spent two full hours crying uncontrollably on the night before Meg's first big day. My tears were only interrupted by my husband's sporadic warnings to not let my daughter see me in such a state the following day or he would seek professional help and question my ability to be home during the school day with my two year-old.
So, as the bus pulled away the next morning, I smiled and waved and felt a sense of pride that I have never felt before despite the other feeling of complete emptiness that was still creeping around in my heart. I realized that the previous five and a half years were mine. Mine to teach and learn and mess up and laugh and cry. But most of all, they were mine. I was the one that was responsible for all of the good and all of the bad (within reason, of course). And now all of these other people were involved, most of which I didn't even know. And all of those other people didn't love her 1/100th the amount that I love that little girl. (And so begin the tears again as I type.)
How would they know when she was upset and why? How would they know that she was nervous when she started asking a million questions? Or that she is tired when she starts to twirl her hair? And what would happen if someone was mean to her? How had I lost control of everything so quickly?

So in typical control freak manner, I did frequent and VERY slow drive-by's of the school, filled the teacher's inbox with lots of detail-oriented emails, volunteered in the classroom, chaperoned the field trip and still considered pulling her out of the school and moving her somewhere else.

And then one day at the Y, I heard myself talking about my struggles (emphasis on the MY since Meghan seemed to be managing pretty well), and what I heard got on my OWN nerves. And it was then that I realized that the teacher and school were not going to determine my daughter's success. It was those five years that were going to do that. Those years that were mine to teach and to learn and to laugh and to cry now needed to start to pay off. I needed to be confident in Meg's ability to thrive in any environment and confident in the last five years of my parenting to make her that way.

I read all of the parenting magazines about helping your child transition to school and how to let go and it all sounds so obvious and easy. But none of those prepared me for the true feeling of moving onto this new stage of both my and my family's life. But every time I start to feel that pit in my stomach, I remember what my sister in law told me the day before school started.

"We do the best we can do so they can fly. Let her fly tomorrow. She will be amazing."

And tears. Again.

It's Been A While

I had to take a little sebaticle from blogging in order to carry out my obligations as a matron of honor which included satisfying my obsessions with party planning via spreadsheets and checklists.
So as the school year came to an end and the summer took it's first breath, so did I. I was excited about the idea of not having to get up every morning and head to school. That excitement faded very, very quickly and I found myself searching desperately for a mantra that I could repeat in my head to get me through just the first hour of the morning. And then I realized something. I had my summers and my cartoons and my free time.

This is their time now and this is my job.

So there it is...my mantra...it's kind of boring and not nearly as introspective as I consider myself, but it is what it is. This is my job. When I used to work full-time, I couldn't just yell at my co-workers because they were testing my patience and getting on my nerves. I had to walk away and take a deep breath and focus my frustration elsewhere. This is my job. Add the emotional aspect of my co-workers being my children and take another deep breath. This is my job.

Now add the reality that the stress of summer may be impacting my 5 year-old substantially more. Said stress is manifesting itself in a recent and pretty prominent eye-twitch along with a consistent tendency to drop things on the floor (a full bowl of cereal this morning) and melt down within 10 minutes of getting out of bed. OTake several deep breaths. This is my job.

I lOVE my kids, I really like my job, my co-workers...DEEP BREATH :)

Car Trouble...

As many of you probably do, I spend a lot of time in the car every day. My kids are usually in tow, so I try my best to make the car as enjoyable and exciting as possible, but there are only so many games of "I Spy" that can be played. And every once in a while there is a prolonged moment of silence in which I can contemplate very important questions that I have about the universe. Those navigational deep thoughts are actually what made me want to start this blog in the first place.

Not too long ago, someone in the tri-state area had the brilliant (insert sarcasm here) idea to print personalized white stickers meant to be adhered to a portion (sometimes a rediculously large portion) of one's windshield. I have seen said stickers with anything from a cartoon peeing on a Ford emblem to a full obituary. It's the latter that I really have an issue with.

While I'm sure that all of the people who have decided to pay tribute to a loved one have the most sincere of intentions, is it really necessary to broadcast, not to mention distract, to the entire driving population that you have suffered a loss? Call me insensitive, but do you really think that the deceased is going to be truly touched that you dedicated your windshield to them. Or is it that these people haven't realized that that is precisely what they are doing.

People purchase park benches in the favorite places of the deceased and display a lovely plaque stating the seat is in loving memory of that person that is gone. Someone even wrote a book about benches on the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk and placed images of the deceased being honored on their respective bench. Those friends and family members probably did so because of that person's love of that vacation spot.

So does that mean that the person you are dedicating your windshield to loved to sit on your car. Even if they loved to sit IN your car, isn't there something else you could do, other than support the living of some guy who figured out how easy it is to print windshield stickers?

Again, I don't mean to criticize those who may have experienced a tough time recently, I just find it strange that they actually thought that would be a good way to honor someone that they obviously cared so much about. Or is it also possible that there is a small part of the sentimental driver that wants the attention drawn to their selfless gesture. Ok, that's pretty insensitive, but it's exactly what I think everytime I see one of those stickers. And the more elaborate the more selfish I think it is.

So for all of those I love and care for, when I'm gone, please do not feel the need to immortalize me on your mode of transportation. Just spend an obnoxious amount of money on a pair of great shoes and then every time you wear them, think of me.

Balloons...Again...

I recently had the pleasure of enjoying a Dogfish Beer Dinner at the Stone Balloon Winehouse. It was the first time my husband and I had been there and while we were very excited to try it, our expectations were completely surpassed! The food was creative and carefully executed and the pairings were perfection!

Date night with my husband is always refreshing and as we looked around the restaurant, we joked about the last time I was in the Balloon and how the building has changed so much since then. In fact, it is a completely new building with ample memories of the past displayed throughout.

The old Balloon was plain and simple, stone building, sticky floors, and one beer tapped in a bucket sitting on the floor. Patrons drank fifty cent beers out of "authentic" glass mugs until they were forced to stumble home smelling of booze and cigarette smoke.

The new Balloon boasts an impressive wine list, classy decor, and impeccable service, all without pretention.

And all of a sudden, this blog post was inspired when my spouse said, "this place went through a transformation and you were part of it." Suddenly, I found myself comparing my life to a bar that was demolished and replaced by condos and a lovely restaurant that serves bacon ice cream!

Like the new Balloon, I appreciate fine wine and delicious food. I also consider myself well put-together when allowed the time, and never a fan of pretention. However, I think it is important to keep the important pieces of my past "hanging on the walls" so not to forget who I am and how I got here and what needed to change.

So the days of sticky floors and cheap drafts may be in the past, but the fact that the "old builds the new" is something we should never ignore.

Did I mention they served bacon ice cream? True inspiration.

Up, Up, and Away

While in the midst of planning events to celebrate weddings and babies (for different people, of course), I find myself reflecting back on weddings of the past and what kind of impact I personally had on said events.

One wedding, in particular, seems to stand out for a few reasons. One, it was the wedding of my best friend to her now-husband of over 10 years. Two, because I thought it would be a good idea to do my own hair for the celebration, which is still being talked about to this day. And the talk isn't good. And three, this is the doozie, is the gift that my then-boyfriend bought for me when he and another wedding guest left the reception to go to the liquor store. That should really be numbers three, four, and five. And you can read that again, but yes, it says what you thought it said.

Now, I'm sure the first thing that comes to mind is the mental picture of the type of guy who would do such a thing. Maybe a mullet, maybe a short sleeved dress shirt, the hint of illegal substance billowing from said shirt. But, no! This guy had a $500 suit on, drove a BMW, and was more clean-cut than the infamous United States Naval Aviator LT, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell.

So, as I'm fulfilling my bridesmaid duties to the best of my ability, unaware of the hushed whispers about the disaster on top of my head, all attention moves away from my frizzy, out of control locks and focuses solely on the Valentine's Day balloon that just entered the venue. The over-sized, red and silver, heart-shaped, floating debacle, ALL. FOR. ME. Now before you start to speculate, let me make something clear. The colors of the wedding had NOTHING to do with the impending holiday. I was wearing a navy blue dress and I'm pretty sure he did not buy the balloon to take attention away from my bad hair but I do have to give him props for that. And just to add fuel to the fire, his partner in crime purchased a standard sized balloon, as if to make those who didn't notice the abnormal size of the one purchased for me even more obvious.

The best part of the story is that he left me at the wedding that night and rode home with the accessory to his unforgiveable crime. So clearly, his helium filled sentiment was not sincere. And to this day, I still have no idea what the motivation was behind such and act. I can only hope that it was never repeated.

More importantly, I also learned more of the true friendship that lied between myself and both my best friend and her husband. Both were in my wedding years later and are responsible for my marriage to the non-balloon buying love of my life. Don't forget that my BFF's husband had every right to seek revenge on my big day with any sort of inflatable,it would have been Easter themed due to the season, but he didn't. He threatened of course, with a smirk on his face to leave me wondering if he would follow through. But he didn't.

There are so many reasons that I love my friends but those who have experienced the wrath of my own bad decisions and chose not to pay me back are the ones that hold that much more of my heart!!!!

Orange You Glad I Gave You the Flu?

Today was much like a normal day. Drop 5 year old off at pre-school and head to the Y for a much needed workout after a weekend of too much wine and too little water.

Fortunately for me, our YMCA has free childcare for up to two hours while you work out. To use the service, you have to sign your child in and tell the attendant at the desk where you will be. Given our frequent visits to the Y and my frequent use of this service, I am friendly with the attendant at the desk. Really nice guy who has worked at the Y for a while, not too talkative, which I make up for with my ability to talk aimlessly to anyone about anything.

Today, as I'm signing my son out of the childcare, the attendant, who we can call "Bob", was eating an orange. This orange was so tasty that he not only wanted to tell me how good it was and that it was a "Honeybell" orange, he also shared that he orders these oranges every year around this time since its the only time they are truly in season. Now you must know that I am the type of person that seeks to make everyone feel like they are appreciated and that what is important to them is important to me. So, naturally, I tell him that I will have to look them up and keep an eye out for them because I never pick the right oranges and I so love a tasty orange! I wanted to convey my appreciation for him solving the years of orange disappointment I had experienced in the past!

And then he says...

"Here, taste." and hands me the last orange wedge of the one that he had just peeled. With his hands. That were not washed. And kind of looked a little dirty.

I tried not to look stunned and completely taken off-guard, but I was totally stunned and taken off-guard. By an orange slice!

Given my over-appreciation of everyone's contributions to society, I am also usually prepared for the path that a conversation is going to take, ready and willing to fire with compliments and verbal appreciation. However, never prepared for dirty orange offerings.

So...I ate it.

Then I stuck my hand under the sanitizer dispenser and licked the alcohol filled solution off of my hand. It totally ruined the delightful taste of the bacteria laden orange wedge but it was worth it.

Actually, that last part is fictitious, but its what I wanted to do. It's not that I think that "Bob" is not clean or that I was not appreciative of his Vitamin C filled offering. I just feel like he put his hand in my mouth. The same hand that he is constantly touching the scanner that he checks YMCA badges with, the same hand that he touches the pens for people to sign in, and the same hands that were, in some capacity, utilized in the bathroom within the last 2 hours.

The good news is that he did use hand sanitizer after he gave me the orange so he's got that going for him...which is nice.

And while I don't feel like I experienced anything that is truly detrimental to my health, I feel kinda weird. I wasn't ready to start that kind of relationship with "Bob" and I certainly do not plan to continue it with regardless of the season, or the fruit!

Lesson learned though. Don't talk produce with someone that you aren't close to. Apparently, it's a very intimate topic that opens doors that I didn't even know existed.

Gettin' Your Coup On...

During another mind-blowing trip to find mysterious things like diapers and chocolate for melting, I managed to print coupons for the craft store. Fully aware I could only use one for my purchase, I printed two anyway. At the check-out, I saved about $6..yay! But the bonus was giving my extra coupon to the mom next to me. She was so excited to save such a small amount of money. But for me, it was like giving the gift of a surprise sale item at the register. One of the surprises of the universe that I deeply cherish.

So following my trip to the craft store, I continued on my danger-filled mission to Target. With my 22 month-old in tow (who dislikes shopping carts more than vaccinations), I knew we were going to be less than efficient and noisier than a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerine plant (love that movie).

You would have thought that the electronics department was giving away samples of Paxil and free day-planners with the amount of needy women that were waiting for help. The employees were more than a little overwhelmed but trying to please everyone nonetheless, as should any smart man surrounded by that much estrogen. I decided to wait patiently after I asked a helpless "team member" if he could unlock a Wii game for me. He explained that he didn't have keys but he would go to the stock room, where I'm pretty sure he hid in a box and had a snack since when he came back he looked at me and asked very politely if I had been helped yet. Enter Super Manager. I wish I would have gotten his name because he was more than helpful, totally in control and very short. I had my game within minutes and he offered to ring up my purchases in his department so I was not forced to walk to the front of the store. Being that I was going to walk to the front of the store anyway in order to exit the building and that there were about six evil stares waiting for me at the electronics register (from my fellow estrogen posse), I felt it to be a smarter decision to make my way to the front of the store. He was more than thankful and even followed me to the front to give me a $5 gift card/coupon to use with my purchase!

So, the moral of the my story is simple. Even when the odds are against you, sometimes things work out if you are just nice.

In the wise words of the talented musician and actor, Ice Cube..."Today I didn't even have to use my A.K., I gotta say it was a good day."

Rents...

I recently read an article in Real Simple magazine that was written by a woman who grew up in foster care and she described her journey as a parent and how it was influenced by her own childhood. I found myself unable to stop reading, amazed by her self-awareness and determination to avoid repeating the past. Through her struggles she realized that the expectations she had of herself were too high.

While reading, I realized that maybe my expectations of myself were a little too high as well. I did not grow up in foster care and did not suffer from any abuse, thank God. While my parents did make their mistakes, I learned from most of them and suffered from few. I started to think about how easy it was for them to parent. There were no websites telling them how their child should be progressing, no "apps" for being a better mom. The only "apps" they were familiar with were the ones on the table when their friends showed up for happy hour. Friends whose kids were probably asleep at home, alone, blocks away. Their old-school pediatrician was their only source of direction, and based on what I know about my pediatrician, that direction couldn't guide them out of a wet paper bag.

As a new parent I found myself constantly being focused on not doing what my parents did and after a few years of parental experience, I realized something.
DUH.
Of course I'm not going to do what they did! As parents of young children, there was no need for them to save for college because it really wasn't necessary, there was no need to avoid over-stimulation because that term didn't exist, and the only risk of your child playing in the neighborhood alone was the creepy guy that lived next door that was later accused of being a molester. OK, in good conscience, I can't really let that one go. But overall, they did what they new how to do as parents, which was pretty much nothing. The direction they got from their parents was to put food on the table and force your kids to play outside as much as possible. That was it.

So, I've realized that all of my effort to parent in the opposite way that my parents did, needs to be re-focused. Our parents way of parenting was simple. Keep your kids alive and the rest was icing on the cake. And while I would like to greatly exceed those expectations as a mom, maybe keeping it simple is something that needs more focus. I want to make sure my kids laugh a lot every day. I want to hug and kiss them every chance I get. And I want to make sure they believe in themselves, whether they are opening a jar of peanut butter or doing ballet for the first time. I'm pretty sure if I can accomplish those things, then everything else, at least for now, will be icing on the cake.

Now, I'm sure that parenting professionals all over the country would scoff at my philosophy criticizing my lack of structure, lack of focus on intellectual development and lack of obsessing over when my children will be able to do calculus. But let's be honest, I'll be lucky if anyone at all reads this blog, let alone a parenting professional! So, for now, I'm going to stick with simple and look forward to spring when we can go outside and dig in the dirt and quietly thank my "rents" for teaching me how to do that.

Faking It...

I found my 22 month old son "fake" reading an Elmo book today. He sat with the book on his lap and page by page "read" with the same inflection that I would use to read to him. It made me smile and remember countless instances when I would "fake" it myself.
Now before you start thinking dirty, let me clarify...
According to a 2005 Gallup poll, 72% of men between the ages of 18 and 29 are sports fans. Also, according to a very inaccurate U.S. Census bureau in 2000 about 95% of the U.S. population is heterosexual. So, even if you lower that number to 90%, it's pretty safe to say that most men love sports and most men love women, therefore a woman who loves sports could be the ultimate male desire both professionally and socially.
So, what does this have to do with Elmo? My son simply reminded me of all of the times that I faked it for my own personal gain. Walking into meetings while my male cohorts were mid-conversation focused on the World Series became very easy to join with a mere 5 minutes of attention paid to SportsCenter on ESPN. You take one sportscaster's opionion and voice it and nothing else needs to be said. You just need a few disapproving looks on your face as the guys immediately engage in debate and you are now the official "chick in the office that's into sports"...Score!
Same strategy can be used for dating, followed by relationship with sports fan, followed by true involvement in the sports community and before you know it you are following spring training and the ERA's of the best pitchers. It's a beautiful harmony of things that are just meant to be.
So, ladies, I dare you to fake it and see what happens, because the odds are in your favor to turn heads and there's only a slight chance that you might mess it up. If that happens, just roll your eyes and admit that you just caught a minute of SportsCenter. The fact that you said that word out loud will set you on the right path to Awesomeness.
Don't hate the game...just play it!
Now, I need to get back to Elmo.

Introducing....

Me! I'm a 33 year old stay at home mom with two kids ages 22 months and 5. While experiencing the mind-blowing excitement of my day to day life from school to the grocery store to the YMCA, I find myself re-writing my experiences in my head with humor and sometimes perplexity. Sort of my own collection of magazine articles in my head inclusive of quotes of the day, lessons learned, and what not to wear! So, lucky you (that is if this blog ever gets any readers), for getting to read my award winning, inspiring, and entertaining new publication! In all seriousness, I hope at least one person gets a good laugh from this, even if its just me!