Celebrity Bump Watch 2008

So I was catching up on my talk shows the other day, which I like to record and watch on nights when there’s nothing on TV but terrible reality shows, like “Dancing With the Biggest Losers in Rehab” or whatever. (I mean, “Farmer Wants a Wife”? Seriously?) Almost every single show featured a segment on pregnant celebrities. Among those currently sporting “baby bumps” are Angelina Jolie, Jessica Alba, Nicole Kidman, Gwen Stefani, and Tori Spelling, in case you’re keeping track. (BTW, who knew there was an entire web site devoted to this topic? And photo galleries? And slideshows??)

I won’t lie: I like to keep up with procreating celebs, too. But I couldn’t help but notice how repetitive the coverage was. The questions were limited to: whether they were expecting a boy or a girl, cravings, and weight gain. Come on! It’s almost as if the talk show hosts learned everything they know about pregnancy from an episode of “The Simpsons.” If I were Jessica Alba, I would clock the next person who asked me how I felt about my “new figure” (a euphemism for blowing up from a size 0 to the size of an orca), or how I planned to lose the baby weight. In fact, I will SCREAM if I read one more interview that even mentions the phrase “baby weight” -- usually with any female celebrity who’s had a baby in the last decade. Get over it, people! !

And then there’s my favorite: the media referring to celebrities as “heavily pregnant” and “ready to pop” -- even if the woman in question is MONTHS from delivery. Good for Jennifer Garner, who I once saw respond to some nosy reporter who implied that she might give birth right there on the red carpet, “Bite your tongue! I’m only 7 mos. along!”

When Cate Blanchett, Nicole Kidman, and Jessica Alba showed up at the Oscars, the media had a field day. The “bump watch” coverage was incessant. They even had “best-dressed bump” categories in the fashion round-ups. And the reporters couldn’t NOT ask the actresses about their pregnancies. “When are you due?” was usually the first question out of their mouths, even before, “Who are you wearing?” (Guess they’re not interested in designer muu-muus). Um, aren’t they there to receive prestigious awards for their work?

Of course, lots of people asked me when I was due during my pregnancy, too. It’s a fair question, I suppose. (But isn’t it embarrassing when you think they said, “What do you do?” and you launch into a big explanation of your job, and they just stand there with a blank look on their face? Or maybe it's just me.)

So this is what I want to tell all of you non-celebrities who are pregnant, especially the first-timers (that’s you, L.V.C.!):

Do not go out and buy an extensive pregnancy wardrobe right off the bat. Borrow from friends and/or buy as you go. Otherwise you will end up squeezing yourself into a too-short top that you naively bought in your first trimester, a couple sizes bigger than your usual size, not having any clue just how huge your belly would become.

Do not obsess about how much weight you’re gaining. If you’re eating healthfully, you have very little control over it anyway. I laughed when a new-to-me doctor came into the exam room when I was about 8 mos. pregnant and said, not looking up from her chart, “You’ve gained 35 pounds already. You may want to keep an eye on that.” Sure. I’ll tell the baby to curb his Twinkie habit. I mean, it’s not as if I was sitting around stuffing my face with donuts (at least not every day). That’s just how much weight my body put on.

Unless you’re doing it purely for entertainment purposes, do not pay attention to pregnant celebrities. They will only make you feel bad about yourself. They can afford stylish, expensive maternity clothes and weekly spray-on tans. Dig up virtually any photo of Britney Spears’ pregnancies, or watch reruns of the first season of “Tori & Dean: Inn Love,” to see for yourself that even famous people can look not-so-fabulous when they’re expecting, just like the rest of us. If that doesn’t make you feel better, can I offer you a donut?

PIC O’ THE WEEK: If you can’t go to Preakness… Here’s Miles watching the horse race on TV atop his own fine steed.

A Play Date Primer

This is what I learned when I became a parent: kids don’t just play together anymore. They have jam-packed social calendars like the rest of us. Unless you want your baby to be an outcast, you must plan regular “play dates” for him, preferably from birth on. (Sidebar: Have you seen that Tostitos commercial where 3 moms are sitting around eating chips & salsa and they say, “We should do play dates more often. The kids love them.” Cut to 3 infants in carseats, sound asleep. I love that.)

Yes, the term “play date” is cringe-worthy. It makes me picture a toddler in a low-cut shirt and gold chain sauntering up to a bar and saying, “Hey, baby, what’s your sign?” In fact, play dates ARE sort of like dating -- double-dating, where you have to pick out your date’s clothes, drive, and carry most of the conversation.

As a new mom, I wasn’t sure how the whole play date thing worked. Did I wait for someone to ask me? Did I proposition a potential mom at the gym daycare? Should I have a card made up with my phone number on it? I flubbed the first couple attempts. I think a woman in my Mommy & me yoga class wanted to play date, but I just said, “Sure, that sounds good,” and never closed the deal. I didn’t want to appear too desperate. The class ended and I never saw her again.

I also went on a couple of play dates with moms who had kids much younger or older than mine. That didn’t work out so well. While I was picking leaves out of my baby’s mouth, the other mom was chasing her kid across the playground. Or, the other mom was peacefully cradling her sleeping infant while I kept excusing myself to protect her wedding china from my toddler’s grasp.

Having been on the play dating scene now for almost 2 years, I’ve got a few tips:

1. Start out easy. Instead of launching headfirst into play dates with strangers, get together with your friends who have kids. It’s much less stressful if you already know the other mom and can be yourself. Also, friends aren’t as inclined to get annoyed if your baby has a diaper blowout on their couch, or if you’re so tired from nursing that you doze off mid-conversation.

2. Play dates come in different types. There’s the standard, pre-arranged play date, usually at someone’s house. Then there’s the destination play date, which might involve meeting at the park or playground. There’s also the impromptu play date, my favorite. This is when you call someone and say, “Junior woke up early from his nap and it’s 4 hours till my husband gets home. Wanna come over?” There’s even the drive-by play date. That’s when your neighbor drives by and sees you in the yard and says, “Can Timmy come over and play for awhile?”

3. Set limits. An hour or two is a good amount of time for a play date. Unless you plan to serve a meal, don’t schedule it during lunch- or dinner-time. If you want the kids to stay in the backyard or playroom, say so, but don’t think they will abide by that. In fact, you should probably make your bed and clean the other bathroom just in case.

4. Don’t stress. It’s practically a given that your child will unleash a foul deposit in his diaper the minute you arrive at your new friends’ house. Or spill his juice all over the new carpet. Or that your normally easy-going offspring will attack like a mother bear in heat when the other kid makes a move for his favorite firetruck. Laugh it off. Then get the hell out of there and don’t go back. (Just kidding.)

Play dates can be a minefield for new moms. Just remember the goal is to find a couple of playmates for your child, and some adult interaction for you (though don’t expect to be able to have an uninterrupted conversation). Go ahead. Brush your hair and put on a nice top. Then get out there. You’ll be fine.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: For more tips, visit this site on “play date etiquette.”

The Hardest Job You’ll Ever Love

I once read a comment on a blog where a debate was raging about working versus stay-at-home moms. The commenter claimed that being a mom was not that hard. Tedious maybe, but not hard. This stuck with me for some reason. Perhaps because my own husband had just claimed that spending 3 straight days with our insanely active toddler was not as stressful as his desk job. Maybe I was just being a whiner, I thought. Maybe I’m exaggerating the physical and emotional toll of motherhood. I mean, is reading books and changing diapers and playing with blocks all day really that tough? I almost had myself convinced that the person who wrote that comment was right. AND THEN I WOKE UP.

Literally. About 7 times in one night, because Miles was coughing and miserable and I couldn’t do a thing for him except run the humidifier, rub his back, and listen to the phlegm rattle around in his tiny chest. And then, delirious and exhausted, I had to get up with the sun and function.

First I had to switch over the wet laundry from the washer -- where it had been sitting forgotten for days -- because Miles had no clean socks. Then I washed his bottles by hand (because the dishwasher was full of dirty dishes), made the oatmeal, cooled the oatmeal, fed the oatmeal to my son, and then spent 25 minutes cleaning the oatmeal off of everything in sight.

While I was doing this, Miles wandered into the family room and managed to topple off the toy box and collide with the edge of the brick fireplace. So then I had to fetch the Boo-Boo Bunny from the freezer, soothe my child, and duct-tape some foam to the fireplace, which I had been meaning to do since Miles started crawling. This reminded me that I needed to make his next appointment with the pediatrician, so I spent the next 15 minutes on the phone.

Writing his appointment on the calendar, I noticed that my mother’s birthday was in 2 days. So it’s off to the card shop we go, after loading child, stroller, sippy cup, and diaper bag into the car. Note: child weighs roughly the same as a bag of wet cement. But first we needed gas and, oh, right, I forgot to go to the bank and we’re out of stamps, too. By the third errand, Miles had lost patience and refused to get back into the car seat. When I FINALLY got him back in and decided to leave him in the car for 5 seconds while I returned an overdue library book, a stranger berated me for negligent parenting.

When we got home, I discovered the dog had chewed up a pair of sunglasses and thrown up on the floor. Miles immediately began splashing in the dog puke. Into the bath we go. After wrestling him and his 17 bath toys into and out of the tub, it was time for lunch. The mealtime sequence was repeated.

During Miles’ nap, I attempted to get some work done, but the phone kept ringing. Then the UPS guy rang the doorbell, which made the dog bark, which woke up the baby. Naptime was cut short. The afternoon passed ever so slowly in a fog of snacks, Play-Doh, crayons, time-outs for improper use of Play-Doh and crayons, and various other activities.

After Miles got soaked splashing in the dog’s water bowl, I decided to change him into his PJs early. The last clean pair. Less than half an hour later, he had a diaper blowout that rendered both him and the PJs filthy. I cleaned him up with some wipes (I couldn’t face another bath) and went to check the dryer for clean PJs. The dryer had stopped working and I was met with a wad of wet clothes. By this time, Miles was hungry for dinner, so the mealtime sequence is repeated AGAIN. Also, we were out of milk, and my husband was working late. Who the f*&%?! said this job wasn’t hard?!?!

And yet, even as I’m complaining and combining weeks’ worth of awfulness into one fictitious day to make a point, I realize things could be WAY harder. I could be sitting helplessly by my baby’s side in the NICU, for instance. Or taking him to specialist after specialist to figure out what’s wrong with him. Or even going it alone without any help or support at all.

I still don’t know what the heck that person was smoking when she wrote that being a mom is not hard. Maybe her kids are inert and silent. Maybe she sticks them in front of the TV all day while she does her nails. Maybe in her spare time she enjoys breaking rocks in the hot sun while chained to a bunch of prisoners. Whatever. All I know is, I’m no longer afraid to admit that being a mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And also, the best.

SHOUT OUT: To all you moms out there, new or not, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!!!

Month 24: Full Price From Here On Out

Miles is going to be 2 in just over one month. TWO YEARS OLD!! If you ask him how old he is, he says, “I’m two June.” A lot of moms I know get choked up on their child’s first birthday, but Miles still seemed like a baby then. But this 2 business is hitting me hard. It’s like all of a sudden, he’s a full-fledged BOY, not a baby. It made me feel better somehow when I could conclude every anecdote with, “… and he’s not even 2 yet!” Now, he’s grown out of his footy pajamas, gets regular haircuts, and has to pay full fare on airplanes. It’s sad times, people.

Not that he’s choked up about it. On the contrary, he’s Mr. Independent lately, even more than usual. He wants to put on his shoes “by self!” and has opinions on what he will or won’t wear. Most times he trots off to the sitter’s with barely a backward glance. In fact, the only time he seems to want Mom is going down the slide at the playground. Thanks, buddy. I’ll be nursing my broken heart over in the corner while you go climb the jungle gym “by self.”

He’s exerting his independence in other ways, too. He insists on being the one to turn off the TV. If I get impatient with him resting his finger on the button for 5 minutes and turn it off myself, he cries until I turn it back on -- just so HE can turn it off. He refuses to hold my hand, but likes to “pull Mama” down the street by her finger. (Hey, if that’s the only thing that keeps him from being flattened by a Mack truck, I’ll take it.) He sometimes refuses to eat until I swipe a bite of his food. THEN he gobbles it right up. Oh, the games we parents play…

I had thought we were out of the woods on the crib conundrum for the time being. After climbing out a couple of times, he seemed to lose interest or forget he could. Whew! We could put off the big-boy bed a while longer. Then today at naptime I hear, “Click, slam! Click, slam!” He had escaped from his crib and was opening and shutting his bedroom door. And instead of acting guilty, he put up a fight when I put him back in bed. What now? Do we gate his door? Get a baby-proof doorknob? Give up and get a toddler bed? Suggestions welcome.

When it comes to language, Miles is 2 going on 30. He often says, a propos nothing, “I’m a guy.” Alrighty, then! He has to label everything he sees: “Dere’s a truck. Oh, a bus! A baby. What’s dat baby doin’, mama?” He keeps a running commentary of the day’s events. I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t require constant validation. “Dere’s a doggie, mama. Dere’s a doggie. A DOGGIE, Mama!” This continues until I say, “YES!! I hear you. You’re right, it IS a doggie.”

Sometimes he makes mistakes, which I love. A fire hydrant is a fire “hundred.” Lemonade is “lem-lade.” And he still says “I carry you” when he wants to be carried. This morning in the kitchen he asked, “What me got, Mama?” “That’s a spatula,” I replied. “Umbrella!” he shouted, wielding the spatula. Close enough. It reminds me that he’s not all grown up JUST yet.

READ O’ THE MONTH: Coming out later this month is “The Belated Baby,” by fellow writer mama Kelly James Enger & Jill S. Browning. Says Kelly, “It’s for moms who have become parents ‘the hard way,’ whether through fertility treatments, adoption, or trying for years to have a child before they were successful."

Kids Are Bad for the Environment

Boy, this whole “going green” movement couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’d love to help save the planet, but then I had a baby. Sorry, Mother Earth, but kids and eco-friendliness don’t go hand in hand.

First, there’s the diaper issue. I admit I never seriously considered using cloth diapers, but these statistics I found gave me pause: “…roughly 5 million tons of untreated waste and 2 billion tons of urine, feces, plastic and paper are added to landfills annually. It takes around 80,000 pounds of plastic and over 200,000 trees a year to manufacture the disposable diapers for American babies alone.”

Damn. But then I’ve also heard the argument that the extra water used to wash cloth diapers is just as bad for the environment as disposable diapers. Anyway, for me it comes down to 1) cost, and 2) how well they work. I can buy Huggies in bulk at Costco. And my one friend who tried cloth diapers shelled out a couple hundred dollars only to find they leaked constantly.

So I’ve failed miserably at the first of the 3 R’s of environmentalism, “reduce.” How about “reuse” and “recycle?” Well, around the time my son was 1, the media hype about plastic bottles and BPAs reached a frenzied pitch. I considered trading our Avent bottles for glass ones for about half a second. Then I thought, in Miles’ hands, a glass bottle is as safe as a chainsaw. It would be shattered to bits in seconds. Some moms I know bought the BornFree (BPA free) bottles. I, however, abandoned the cause when I found out how much they cost, like so many of my good intentions. So now I use disposable plastic cancer-causing sippy cups.

I have tried to reduce waste by buying big bags of snacks or cereal and divvying them up into reusable containers instead of buying individually packed snacks. But you know what? Those individually packed snacks are damn handy when you’re in a rush. As are disposable plastic placemats, bibs, and any and all kinds of wipes. Heck, Miles can go through a stack of napkins and half a box of wipes after a messy meal. He kills a forest every time he eats a tuna sandwich at Panera. And when he brushes his teeth or washes his hands (really just an excuse to play in the sink), he uses more water than a small African village.

Let’s move on to recycling, shall we? We do a little better with that R. The piles of plastic and cardboard that every toy is packaged in these days go straight into the recycling bin. Ditto the stacks of baby catalogs we now get in the mail every day. And when I’m done with the cancerous sippy cups, I try to recycle those, too. A lot of Miles’ clothes come from consignment shops and we give them away when he’s outgrown them, so that counts as recycling, right?

Look, I’d love to drive a hybrid, buy eco-friendly diapers and organic cotton onesies like the celebrities, and grow all my own pesticide-free food in the backyard. (OK, I’m lying about that last one.) But it ain’t happening. Al Gore can take it up with me once my kid’s out of diapers.

FACT O’ THE WEEK: Women feel “green guilt” nearly twice as much as men. Guess that explains why my husband leaves the water running when he shaves.

PLEA O' THE WEEK: Vote for my photo of Miles "walking" a St. Bernard so I can win $2500!

Is This a Good Time?

I admit it. Pre-motherhood, I used to get annoyed when I’d call my friends who had kids and the conversation would go like this:

Me: “Hi, how are you?”

My friend: “Exhausted. The baby was up at -- No, you can’t have another Go-Gurt! -- 2 a.m. and 4:30 a.m. for no apparent reason and then -- We do NOT sit on our brother’s head!! -- I had to take the car into the shop but -- Hey! Can’t you guys SEE that I am on the PHONE?! The next person who talks gets a time out!… Sorry. You there? Now what was I saying?”

Me: “Um, I’ll let you go. Bye!”

Now I am that annoying, distracted person on the other end. And I’ve learned to start conversations with, “Can you talk?” I used to say, “Are you busy?” But come on, when is a mom NOT busy? If her kids aren’t bleeding and she can chat while she changes a diaper, that’ll do.

BTW, have you noticed that “busy” has replaced “fine” as the default answer to “How are you?” Some people say it as if it’s a badge of honor. “Oh, I’m just SO busy with work and planning my parents’ 30th anniversary party, and plus I’m chairing the committee to ban cupcakes at school and did I mention I’m training for a 10K? I never even have a moment to sit down!” I hate those people. I go out of my way to avoid being busy. Ever. It’s just too stressful.

Unfortunately, stress is unavoidable when you’re a mom. And anyway, the challenge of finding time for a phone call is not really a matter of being busy, but rather, available. It’s not that I’m too busy doing something productive -- like, say, unloading the dishwasher -- when somebody calls. It’s that I’m preoccupied by my son who’s trying to float his Legos in the dog’s water bowl. Or that I can’t talk because he’s just launched himself off the coffee table.

Often, Miles waits until I’m on the phone to do something bad. He knows I’m distracted and will probably let it go. Like, say, if he dumps an entire cup of water on the floor. Or crushes his crackers into the carpet with his truck. When I was away last weekend I called C. at home and heard him yelling, “Miles, stop that!” While C. was on the phone our son had gone into the pantry, grabbed a box of spaghetti, and had thrown it on the floor and was stomping on it.

So if you call me and our conversation is interrupted 7 times in the first 3 minutes, I apologize. If I seem distracted, it doesn’t mean I’m not listening. I can fish a spatula out of the toilet and talk at the same time. Don’t bother asking if it’s a good time to talk because there’s never going to BE a good time. Now, what were you saying again?

TIP O’ THE WEEK: If you don’t have caller I.D., get it. It’s worth the extra $5 a month. My in-laws even have the kind where an automated voice tells you who’s calling. Then you don’t break your neck dashing for the phone in case it’s an emergency, only to get a telemarketer asking how you’re doing this evening.

And also, this came as a shock to me, but YOU DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER EVERY CALL WHEN IT COMES THROUGH. You can call people back at a better time. They’ll never know. Honest.

READ O' THE WEEK: 5 Reasons Why Mom Blogs Are the Blogs to Watch. But we already knew that, right? ;)

Into the Wild, With Child

There are mountain lions in Yosemite National Park. Also, bears. Bears so aggressive that visitors are not only warned, but FINED for not removing all food, toiletries, and even car seats from their vehicles. So, let’s see, that means the bears are not only unafraid of humans, but hungry enough to rip apart a car for a snack of toothpaste and stale Cheerios? And why did no one tell me this before I brought my baby into this savage wilderness?

To be fair, we saw no bears on our trip. But we met plenty of people who had, and were more than happy to describe their near-death bear encounters. We did see lots of deer, birds, squirrels, and a chipmunk. And also, bugs. Miles was psyched about those. But initially, the first morning we stepped out into this incredibly beautiful natural wonderland, you know what excited him the most? A fire hydrant. And the shuttle bus. That’s my city kid.

Once we got away from the parking lot, he did start to appreciate nature more. He learned to say “waterfall,” “mountains,” and “pinecone.” We stayed at the lodge right near Yosemite Falls, the largest waterfall in North America. We were told it was an easy 15-min. walk to the base of the falls. Unless you’re walking with a toddler. Then it’s a half-day ordeal. One step forward, two steps back is Miles’ m.o. Walk, walk, climb a rock. Walk, walk, jump off a log. Walk, sit down and admire an ant. Go back and pick up a pinecone. Whine to ride on Dad’s shoulders. Good thing there was plenty of scenery to admire along the way.

We did not have high expectations going into this trip. In fact, you might say some of us (me) were dreading it. I was so stressed in the days prior that I developed a tic in my left eye. Not pretty. Still, I wanted to go to my cousin’s wedding and see all my California relatives, most of whom I haven’t seen since my wedding and who have never met Miles. It’s too hard to visit everyone separately. You get more bang for your buck at weddings and funerals, you know? Then you can see everybody in one place.

My two biggest fears were the long flight and whether Miles would sleep when we got there, especially given the 3-hour time difference. People, the heavens were smiling upon us last week. Except for a seat-kicking incident, Miles was fine on the plane. Only one guy gave us dirty looks. Thank God no one sat next to us with an expensive laptop and a large beverage. (C. did get a lap full of Diet Coke setting up the DVD player, however.) That actually wasn’t quite the miracle cure we’d hoped for. We didn’t have headphones and Miles lost interest when he couldn’t hear the video. So instead, we went through a few dozen snacks and all the stuff I’d purchased from the Target $1 section. Go, Mom!

As for sleeping, it was shockingly a non-issue. I think Miles was so worn out from all the fresh air and exercise every day that he didn’t notice the time change and simply collapsed each night. He even took naps! Of course, one thing about traveling with a baby is that you’re stuck in the hotel once they’re asleep. So all evening activities were out except for one night when C. hung back so I could have a drink with my cousins. And anyway, we were so tired we went to bed early every night. The other wedding guests may have exhausted themselves on 7-mile hikes and late-night parties; we got tuckered out carrying our 34-lb. son around the visitors’ center.

They say weddings are a good place to meet people, and that proved true for my boy. He found himself a girlfriend! Nora, an adorable 2 ½-year-old in ladybug boots, grabbed his hand at the rehearsal dinner picnic and took him on a romantic stroll. At the wedding, they danced together all night. It was too cute for words. While this little romance was developing, C. and I bonded with Nora’s parents over the trials of traveling with a small child.

Millions of people visit Yosemite each year to backpack, hike, camp, and maybe see bears. As for us? We rode the shuttle bus, threw rocks in the river, and spent hours watching ants and ducks. The only bears we saw were the stuffed animals in the gift shop. Yep, we put the “wild” in wildlife, people!

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Dum-Dums lollipops are a mom’s best friend. One tiny piece of candy on a stick ensures silence for at least 15 min. I shoved one in Miles’ mouth to ward off an in-flight meltdown, and another during the wedding ceremony.

SONG O’ THE WEEK: If last week had a theme song, it would be one of my favorite Lemonheads tunes, “The Outdoor Type.” Best lyrics ever.

SHOUT OUT: To all my friendly recent commenters. I haven’t had a chance to respond, but I do read and appreciate them all!

Whatever It Takes

There are a number of things I swore I would never do when I had a child. I most certainly would never, ever sniff my baby’s butt in public. I would never talk to my infant in an annoying, sing-songy voice, nor would I speak to him as if he were an adult. I’d see people at the grocery store with their barely conscious newborns asking, "What do you think, sweetums? The broccoli or the asparagus for dinner?" I longed to shake them and say, "Dude, it’s a BABY. He has no idea what you’re talking about. Nor has he mastered language, necessary to form a response. And he doesn’t even eat solid food yet!!"

Well, I don’t have to tell you what happened. I had a baby, and everything changed. Sure, it took me a while to warm up to talking to him in public. I felt like an idiot, worse than someone making an obnoxiously loud personal call on their cell phone on a crowded train. (Those people seem to lack self-awareness, and the “I sound like an idiot” gene.)

Now, I not only talk to Miles about things he can’t possibly understand, I also sing nursery rhymes loudly and poorly in public, make airplane noises when I’m feeding him, talk about myself in the third person (“Mommy said no eating dog food”), do that ridiculous counting thing (“Mommy’s going to count to 3…), and use embarrassing words like fussy, silly, potty, poopy, pee-pee and boo-boo. And I feel absolutely no qualms whatsoever about sniffing my son’s butt anytime, anywhere. What’s HAPPENED to me, people?!?!

I’ll tell you what’s happened: I’ve realized you’ve got to do what it takes to get stuff done. WHATEVER it takes. And there’s a reason why parents do all those silly and/or gross things I mentioned above: because they work. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been locked in combat with my stubborn toddler, struggling to force him into his pajamas while he fights to escape to run naked around the room. Both of us sweaty, out of breath, and covered with diaper rash cream. There is seemingly no answer to this predicament, until … I collect myself and warble out the first few notes of “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”

Suddenly, Miles turns into a different baby. His tiny voice joins with mine, his rigid body softens enough to allow me to insert him into his PJs, and both of our heartrates return to normal. It’s amazing, I tell you. Except for the times when he’s so grumpy he pushes me away and yells, “No song! No song, Mama!”

I have come to embrace doing whatever it takes to get the job done in other areas of my life, as well. I conducted a conference call from Panera the other day, my new home-away-from-home as long as our DSL’s down and Miles is at the sitter. It was loud -- the espresso machine hissed, business meetings (apparently between the hearing-impaired) were conducted at top volume around me, and the guy next to me nearly elbowed his latte into my laptop. And still, I persisted. I finished my call, got my work done, and consumed a pecan pastry or two in the process.

Now, all I have to do before we leave for a week’s vacation out west is: finish the laundry, pack for Miles, find the Pack ‘n’ Play sheet, find Miles’ missing stuffed doggy and backup blankie, locate his birth certificate, remind my husband to check in for our flight online, get my watch fixed, turn in an assignment, mail a birthday card, drop off the dog at the kennel, and consume large quantities of carbs and caffeine to deal with the stress of it all. Whatever it takes, right?

PICK O’ THE WEEK: If you haven’t heard, my new obsession is “Jon and Kate Plus 8” on TLC. Last night I watched the episode where they travel to Utah and their flight gets redirected and stuck on the runway for hours. If those parents can travel with twins and toddler sextuplets, by God I can do it with one kid!! That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway….

(BTW, who knew there was backlash about this show? Reading this, I have to wonder if the writer has ever been married or had children. I mean, what wife and mom DOESN’T berate their husband constantly?! j/k :) Love ya, C!

Too Good to be True

People, you had to know this day would come. I’ve been merrily going about my business, blithely blogging about shopping trips and celebrity babies and C.’s fabulous new job which, after an arduous but temporary training period in another state, will allow him to work from home, thereby making life easier for all of us. Right? All together now: WRONG.

Look, I know we’re currently living in an era of positive thinking and the law of attraction and living your Best! Life! Ever! Oprah and Dr. Phil and Joel Osteen and any number of self-help gurus would have us believe that if we’re not 100% fulfilled and happy and financially stable with our dream jobs and perfect families, well, we’re just not focusing enough on the positive, darn it. We Negative Nellies are bringing our bad fortune upon ourselves, and we need only think happy thoughts and the blessings will rain down upon us – Money! Great sex! Good looks! Well-behaved children! The respect of our colleagues and communities!

Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Look, I love me some Tony Robbins as much as the next gal. But as much as I try to fight my naturally pessimistic tendencies, I just can’t help but think that sometimes, crap happens for no good reason. And you have to take the bad with the good. And you reap the best rewards from working hard. And if something seems too good to be true, it is. That has certainly proven to be true with this work-from-home thing.

Now, before you say “I told you so” (you know who you are!), let me assure you that I am no stranger to the challenges of working from home. I have been doing it for years. I know you don’t just shuffle on over to your desk in your bunny slippers whenever you feel like it, turn on your computer and rake in a six-figure paycheck. I am fairly sure that C. knew this as well. Especially since he has the benefit of my firsthand experience, working outside the land of on-call tech support and free coffee in the break room.

So, anyway, well over a month ago, C. started getting the basement set up as his home office. He called our phone company, Verizon, to get another phone line installed at the house that he would use for work. Apparently, Verizon understood “install new phone line” to mean “disconnect DSL.” An easy mistake to make, right? I mean, there’s so much room for confusion.

The thing is, when you work from home, you are completely and utterly dependent on your phone and Internet connection. They are your lifeblood, if you will. Your sole connection to the outside world. If you work in an office and e-mail’s down, you better believe a whole team of tech guys are ON it, ASAP. Whereas if you work from home, you ARE the tech support guy. So you’re the one on hold with the phone company for a bajillion hours, explaining to one minimum-wage employee after another that you ARE in fact a Verizon account holder and have been for years, and that NO your credit card hasn’t expired, and NO you most certainly did NOT mean “disconnect DSL” when you said “install additional phone line.”

I won’t bore you with the rest of the gritty details. Suffice it to say, C. has gotten no work done for days. Tensions are running high in our house. Did I mention I also work from home and am dependent on the phone and Internet? (I’m posting this from Panera, BTW.) And that we’re going on our first cross-country trip with the baby next week? And that I have a project due before that? And that our car was struck by a hit-and-run driver the other night? Which requires filling out a police report in person? (With a toddler in tow? Yeah, right.) And that Miles has a new habit of sprinting headfirst into traffic? (He doesn’t understand that a cul-de-sac is still a street.)

Tony … Joel … Dr. Phil … ANYONE. Tell me how the HELL we’re supposed to “positive think” ourselves out of THIS situation!! And, people, the next time you catch me proclaiming just how wonderful life is? Please smack some sense into me. It only means there’s a surly, underpaid customer service rep waiting in the wings to wreak havoc.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: So after I wrote this, I watched Primetime with Diane Sawyer about a guy with terminal pancreatic cancer who’s using his remaining days to encourage and inspire others. Check out his “Last Lecture” on YouTube. Kinda puts things in perspective, huh?

TIP O’ THE WEEK: By eavesdropping on another mom at Barnes & Noble, I discovered Trader Joe’s Snapea Crisps. They have the texture of Cheetos and a pleasantly salty, mildly pea-like flavor. Miles snaps them up (pun intended). Since they contain some protein, I figure they’re better than potato chips.

Fashion Challenged

Yesterday my sister-in-law and I met at an outlet mall and spent the day shopping. For ourselves (supposedly). Without the kids. This rare and exciting treat was sparked by my SIL’s discovery, while going through several months worth of photos, that she was wearing the exact same sweater in every shot. Her baby, on the other hand, is rarely seen in the same outfit twice. Sound familiar?

You may recall my recent shopping frenzy over Miles’ Easter outfit. Whereas I wore a sweater I bought on clearance 3 or 4 years ago. I tend to only buy myself new clothes for special occasions. For instance, I purchased a couple of business-y outfits before a work conference last spring. And in February, I spent several crazed evenings and weekends looking for the perfect thing to wear to a black-tie event for my husband’s new job.

I OBSESSED over this, people. I was determined to find the perfect hip yet classy, elegant yet unfrumpy dress, shoes and bag so that I could stride confidently into this room full of successful professionals and hold my own. Even if I had nothing to talk about besides naps and Bob the Builder. Turns out, I looked just fine in my blue satin cocktail dress. I saw everything from floor-length ball gowns to sequined mini dresses with leggings. (Even *I* know better than that!)

So, in preparation for my shopping excursion with my SIL, I took inventory of my wardrobe. I discovered I own 23 cardigans. 23!!! The rest of my closet is filled with:
• special-occasion clothes I will probably never wear again (see above)
• work/church clothes which I rarely wear
• jeans and cargo pants
• T-shirts
The T-shirts are divided into categories: long-sleeve shirts, short-sleeve shirts, shirts I wear to the gym, shirts I can only wear under things (hence all the cardigans), and shirts I can wear on their own. My wardrobe is one sorry state of affairs, people.

So I set off to buy some cute, everyday outfits. Stuff I could wear, say, to lunch with friends, but also to the playground with Miles. And also, something to wear to a wedding at a national park where temperatures could range from the 30s to the 60s, and heels are out since the ceremony is in the middle of a meadow. Is that a fashion challenge or what?

After 4 hours of shopping, here’s what I left with: 2 pairs of khakis, a shirt, and an umbrella for myself; 4 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, a sweatshirt, and a pair of pajamas for Miles. I barely bought myself one whole outfit, let alone anything cute or wedding-worthy!

Even so, it was a fun day. We got to take our time, try stuff on, have some adult conversation, even eat lunch sitting down. (Even though my SIL said, “When I don’t have the baby with me, I hate to waste time eating!”) Mission Mommy’s Day Out: Accomplished. Mission Fashion Overhaul: Failed Miserably. Oh, well, there’s always next weekend!

TIP O’ THE WEEK: For a day of shopping sans children, carry as little as possible (wallet, lip balm, water) and dress in layers so you won’t get overheated and weighed down halfway through the mall. And for Baltimore/DC area moms, the Children’s Place, Carter’s, and Oshkosh outlets at Arundel Mills are well worth the trip. I wore out before we got to Gymboree, so I can’t vouch for that.