“So we need to run to Target to get a birthday present, and don’t let me forget to – look, guys, an excavator! Ooh, and a big crane, you see it?”
It’s like I have a strange form of Tourette’s. I’ll be in the middle of a conversation and I’ll randomly shout out things like “Police car!” “Ambulance!” “Big red dump truck!”
As the mother of 2 boys, these sightings have become par for the course. Reflexively, I point out things of interest to them wherever we go, and they do the same.
“LOOK, MOM! A cement mixer!”
“Gah-bage tuck!”
I have to admit, I was almost excited as they were the time we passed a trailer on the highway that was carrying 2 tractors with wheels the size of a VW bug. You don’t see that every day. And while I find the endless readings of books about construction vehicles and farm equipment mind-numbingly boring, it IS sort of interesting to see them in action in real life.
What’s embarrassing is when my kids are not around and I lapse into truck-spotting-lady in front of other adults. My friends look at me like I’m crazy if we’re, say, having coffee on the patio at Starbucks and I go nuts pointing and waving when a helicopter flies overhead. Unless they have small boys, too, in which case they probably don’t even notice my weird tic.
Usually my random shout-outs are limited to large vehicles, but sometimes I like to point out wildlife, too. I was beside myself yesterday when I looked over at a stop sign and there was a family of little brown rabbits munching grass right next to me. And no one was in the car to share it with!!
Really, anything is worth pointing out to small kids, especially if they’re stuck in the car on a long trip or a round of boring errands. Look, kids! Balloons at the car dealership! A giant American flag on the roof of the bank! An electronic billboard advertising Hooter’s! Well, that’s just inappropriate...
So if you ever happen to be having a conversation with me and I cut you off to point out a dog wearing a sweater or one of those SmartCars that look like something Lowly Worm might drive, just ignore me. I’ll grow out of it eventually.
4/28/11
Look, Kids, a Backhoe!
3/28/11
Tiny Tyrants
There’s a hilarious anecdote in Amy Wilson’s memoir –- “momoir,” if you prefer -- When Did I Get Like This?: The Screamer, the Worrier, the Dinosaur-Chicken-Nugget-Buyer, and Other Mothers I Swore I'd Never Be
Then there were 2 comments I read online on the same theme: one new mom said her 1yo doesn’t “allow” her to sit on the sofa. “She lets me know in no uncertain terms that she wants her mommy on the floor with her!” Another mom said her 2yo made her get up and sit on the other side of the room – and she did! (As would any mom not willing to risk a tantrum from an irrational toddler.)
Do you realize what this means, people? It means we are allowing ourselves to be ruled by the sticky iron fists of miniature dictators!! They’re despots in diapers! Bullies in bibs! Oppressors in overalls! (I could go all day; I have a thesaurus and I’m not afraid to use it.)
The sick part is, we willingly go along with this treatment to keep them happy. It’s like those mean girls in junior high you were desperate to have like you because they were popular. They’d be super-nice to your face but you were always afraid they’d go postal on you in the middle of the night at some slumber party.
Pissing off the people who determine whether you sleep through the night is NOT WORTH IT. Most parents will do anything to fend off that dinnertime tantrum, the meltdown in the candy aisle, the piercing air-raid siren that is their newborn’s wail. Even if it means risking indigestion, bad knees, or one’s own choice of seating.
Sometimes I’m ashamed that I, an intelligent, reasonably confident adult, allow myself to be bossed around by the shortest people in the house. Shouldn’t the person calling the shots at least be able to SAY “shots” without lisping?
However, what my children lack in articulation and height, they make up for in volume and stubbornness. I’m just not willing to launch World War III by taking a stand against the small stuff. So that means more often than not, when my kids say jump, I say, “Like a kangaroo or a bunny?”
3/23/11
Lowest Mom on the Totem Pole
Let’s say you saw a very pregnant woman struggling to carry a bunch of heavy grocery bags. Over her shoulder she grunts, “I’m fine, I just wanted to save myself an extra trip.” Then she vacuums her entire house, skips lunch and her prenatal appointments because she doesn’t “have time,” wouldn’t dream of taking a nap even if she’s tired, and downs a double espresso so she can stay up late filling goody bags for her preschooler’s birthday party.
Be honest: you would judge this woman, wouldn’t you? I know I would. She’s putting the health of her poor, defenseless, unborn baby at risk because she can’t be bothered to take care of herself.
Only here’s the thing: except for the part about being pregnant, this (hypothetical) woman is me. And probably some of you. How many of us have powered through our days with barely enough nutrition to sustain a gnat, telling ourselves we don’t have time to eat a real meal? Or fueled our bodies primarily with junk food and caffeine because we “need it to get through the day”?
But this is not a rant about poor eating habits. It’s about – cliché alert – moms’ habit of making themselves the lowest person on the totem pole. Putting everyone else’s needs first. Putting ourselves last. Not even realizing we’re doing it.
You know how sometimes you hear the same advice over and over and one day for some reason it suddenly sinks in? That happened to me while reading “The Naked Mom.” Author Brooke Burke asks: “What if you applied even a fraction of the attention you pay to your child’s health and well-being to yourself?”
Being a fairly health-conscious person (Mini Egg and Starbucks binges notwithstanding), it’s shocking for me to consider this. I bend over backwards to make sure both my boys have some form of protein, a fruit or vegetable, and not too much sugar at every meal. Even if that means going to the grocery store for the third time that week to buy kiwi. (Which the baby calls “fiwi.” Adorable.)
I worry about them getting enough sleep, exercise, and fresh air, to the point where I will sit in a parked car to ensure they finish their nap, and force myself to kick a soccer ball in the mud when I would rather be sitting inside where it’s warm and dry.
But do I extend the same care and concern to my own health? No, I do not. I regularly skip breakfast (because I’m too busy being a short-order cook), miss spinning class (because I decide to throw in just one more load of laundry before I head to the gym), and forget to schedule my own doctors’ appointments. (Who has TIME for another appointment?!)
Burke writes, “Becoming a mother gave me a whole new respect for my body… it felt good to nurture myself in order to nurture that tiny life growing inside me. …Once you’ve left the delivery room, it’s a shame to discard the self-awareness that pregnancy provides.”
It’s true. I grew A PERSON inside my body. Two, in fact! I did prenatal yoga, forced myself to take vitamins the size of hub caps, and got plenty of rest. Don’t I deserve to treat myself better than a pack mule? (I bet even pack mules take regular water and snack breaks.)
Tell me: what do you do to take care of yourself? And when? For God’s sake, WHEN?!
3/13/11
The Naked Mom
That savvy Brooke Burke. How could a book by a gorgeous celebrity and former bikini model with “naked” in the title NOT be a hit? Sorry to disappoint, fellas, but here naked refers to being your authentic, true self as a woman and mother. Although Brooke does appear sans clothes on the cover.
It would be easy to write off Brooke Burke as just another perky, brunette celebrity. You might know her as the glamorous co-host of “Dancing with the Stars” (and Season 7 winner). She first got on my radar when she hosted “Rock Star: INXS,” a show about finding a new lead singer for one of C.’s and my favorite ‘80s bands. (RIP, Michael Hutchence.)
I didn’t give Brooke much thought, though, until she launched ModernMom.com and her own blog on the site. I read a few posts and darned if BB wasn’t just like the rest of us (except WAY better-looking, obviously). She’s sleep-deprived, pulled in a million different directions, wanting what’s best for her kids, struggling to find some me-time. Plus, she’s down-to-earth and pretty funny. For “Wordless Wednesday” one time she posted a pic of herself covered with baby spit-up. She's my people!
Her book is equally relatable and enjoyable. I found myself LOL’ing in recognition when she described the dinnertime craziness at her house, getting kung-fu kicked by squirmy little ones who’ve taken over your bed, and getting locked in a stairwell with a baby and a bloody foot. (Flip-flops and metal doors are a bad combo; I can attest to that.)
The book is best when it’s describing her day-to-day life as a working mom of 4 kids. She freely admits that her days are messy, chaotic, and far from perfect. She forgets her shoes, forgets her baby in the car, and falls on her butt during DWTS rehearsal. (BTW, she practiced the quickstep with her newborn son strapped to her chest.) My favorite quote is when she’s talking about how she’s always asked how she “balances it all.” Her answer: She doesn’t. “Balance is bullshit. End of story.”
Less successful are Brooke’s attempts to give advice on such topics as beauty and nutrition. I guess it’s interesting in a voyeuristic way to read about how she fits into those tiny costumes, but personally I flipped past her recipe for “Cleansing Veggie Soup” while plowing my way through a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. In fact, those chapters made me thank my lucky stars I don’t live in Hollywood, where implants rule, carbs drool, and there’s paparazzi on every corner waiting to snap a pic of “stars without makeup.” Nightmare!
I finished the book wishing that a) Brooke Burke was my real-life mommy friend (even though I’d never be able to borrow her clothes), and barring that, b) she’ll hire me to write for her website. (It's on my bucket list!) ‘Cause I’ve got some things to say about motherhood, chaos, me-time, and even being naked. Call me, Brooke!
LINK O' THE WEEK: You can buy her book here: The Naked Mom: A Modern Mom's Fearless Revelations, Savvy Advice, and Soulful Reflections
9/15/10
You're a Good Mom. And You and You, Too
Among the moms I know, it’s common practice to make fun of yourself for being a bad mom. “That’s me -- Mom of the Year!” we might joke after sending our kid to school with their shirt on inside out. Baby has a diaper blowout and you forgot to pack a spare outfit? Bad Mommy!
I get it. It’s self-deprecating. It’s funny. Lord knows I’m guilty of it. (PROUD of it, even!) But do we really believe deep down that we’re not good mothers? I sometimes wonder.
So I’ve decided to highlight a few good moms I know. And there’s not a woman among them whose kids are always perfectly dressed and eat all their vegetables.
One mom I know is great about taking time for herself. A busy working mom with the same time and budget constraints as the rest of us, she’s not immune to guilt or blessed with live-in help. She simply recognizes that she’s a better mom when she takes time for herself and so she makes it happen, whether it’s a manicure or a weekend away with girlfriends.
Another mom I know is great about letting her kids get dirty. Even if she’s just bathed them, even if they’re wearing nice clothes, she will let them jump in puddles, dig in the mud, and eat cherry Popsicles. She lets her kids be kids. As someone whose heart clenches each time my child uncaps a marker (even if it’s washable), I really admire that.
Then there’s the woman who has rejected the notion of mom as cruise director. She engages with her kids, but she does not make herself responsible for their happiness. If she wants to read a book or do some gardening, she does. It’s up to her kids to find something to do on their own. And if they complain they’re bored, she lets them be bored. But you know what? They rarely are.
Lastly, props to the mom who gave me the idea for this post, E.M. She’s a devoted stay-at-home mom to 3 who knows exactly how hard this gig is. So she makes a point of telling her friends they’re good moms. (And dads, too. She’s an equal opportunity praise-giver.) If you explain the lengths you went to to put together the perfect Halloween costume or birthday party, she says, “You’re such a good mom.” If you notice your child has a boogie and wipe it away before he snurfs it back in, she says, “You’re a good mom.”
It’s nice to hear, but I don’t always need someone to tell me. I KNOW I’m a good mom. Even though I forget to sign up my kid for soccer and count sweet potato chips as a vegetable. I love my kids to death and they know it. And I’ll bet yours do, too.
READ O’ THE WEEK: My perennial fave, Alisa Bowman of Project Happily Ever After, on “9 Ways I’m a Normal Mom and Wife.”
5/9/10
Being a Mom is...
Can you believe I almost didn’t write a Mother’s Day post? I know! For one thing, I was too busy being a mom. For instance, on Friday I woke up with a jolt at 6:53 a.m. and realized I’d forgotten to bake 2 dozen blueberry muffins for my son’s preschool class. :(
Also, I was stuck. Half of me wanted to make jokes about spit-up and sleep deprivation, and the other half was leaning towards sappy, sentimental musings. Bleh. But after several days of reflection and a writing prompt on another blog, this is what I came up with:
Being a mom is... an adjustment. Even though the number of people in your family increases overnight, wrapping your head around that fact takes longer. My favorite way to illustrate this point is with an anecdote my parents like to tell. In grad school, they were visiting the first of their friends to have a baby. Someone suggested going out for pizza. They were halfway out the door before one of them said, “Wait -- what about the baby?”
Being a mom is... hard. Loving that tiny new person is the easy part. But growing them, birthing them, feeding and caring for them, and worrying about them for the rest of your life? It’s hard on your body, your bank account, your marriage, and your friendships. It’s especially hard on your furniture. I don’t always like to admit this -– to myself, to other moms, and especially to moms-to-be. But I’d be lying if I said motherhood wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Being a mom is... not for everyone. When my first son was tiny, a single acquaintance stopped by. She looked at him bouncing and giggling in his jumper and said, “Aww, I want one.” It was like someone toying with the idea of getting a puppy. Then she asked me if I’d read any good novels lately – obviously missing the huge dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. “You don’t get it AT ALL!” I wanted to scream.
Being a mom is... rewarding. You know the satisfaction you feel when you’ve done a job well? Multiply that by a trillion and that comes close to how I feel when my kids smile or laugh, run to me and give me a hug, tell me they love me, or learn to say a new word or put on their shoes. (BTW, Miles gave me a Mother’s Day card he’d made. “Aw, is that a picture of you and me?” I asked. Him: “No, that’s a candy machine.” Oh.)
Being a mom is... different for everybody. I’ve met moms who loved being pregnant and ones who loathed every minute. (I’m somewhere in between.) I know moms who’d never held a baby before their own, and moms who don’t like kids – except their own. I know moms who’d kill to stay home with their kids and others who were counting down the minutes of their maternity leave until they could go back to work. I don’t know ANY moms who would trade the gig for anything in the world.
Happy Mother’s Day to all!
VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: I love author and funny mama Jen Singer’s take on motherhood. Watch her cute video, “Trust Your Gut, Mom. Really.”
3/24/10
In the Thick of It
The other week I met a mom. We started chatting about our kids, as moms tend to do, and she asked how old mine were. When I told her 3 and 1, she gave me a look that was part pity and part relief. Her kids were 5 and 7, I believe. “Wow, you’re really in the thick of it, aren’t you?” she said.
I suddenly remembered a friend telling me about a very similar conversation she had with another mother when HER kids were 3 and I. Except I believe that woman’s exact response was, “You’re in hell, huh?”
If complete strangers are widening their eyes and oozing sympathy, there’s gotta be something to it, right?
And yes, I’m sticking with that word: GRUELING. Rail at me all you want about how motherhood is nowhere near as hard as picking beans in a field and I will tell you you’re WRONG. It’s harder.
In a single day, you can find yourself rushing to the pediatrician because of some weird rash, racing to the ER because someone did a faceplant at the playground, saving one kid from drowning when his brother gets too rowdy in the bathtub, fishing the other one out of a duck pond, and changing a wet kid in a crowded locker room after swimming lessons while the other screams in the stroller. And yes, these are all real-life examples.
In a single night, you can find yourself comforting a child who’s coughing and another who’s having nightmares. You could be chasing away monsters, singing lullabies, fetching cups of water, and changing diapers and sheets. You might sleep from 11 p.m. straight through till 7 a.m., or you could be woken at 2 a.m., 4 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. You never know.
Some days I wonder if I will ever again wake up without a small, damp person clawing at my face and kicking me in the stomach. Will we ever get through a meal without tears and threats? Will I ever get to finish a cup of coffee without reheating it 7 times? Will I ever get to shampoo AND blow-dry my hair on the same day? Or wash, dry, fold, and put away a load of laundry in the same week?
So why the heck do people do this kid thing, then? Because all the stress and struggles are interspersed with moments of real joy.
I’ll be yelling at Miles to take his hands off his brother when I notice Riley is laughing harder than I’ve ever seen him laugh. Riley will be wailing in the car and I’ll hear Miles say, “Don’t cry, buddy. When you get bigger we’re going to have bunk-beds, isn’t that exciting?” The tears and scrapes are offset by hugs and silly songs we make up. A day may start with spilled milk and slammed fingers, and end up with a picnic and feeding the ducks. And then one kid slips and falls into the pond and it’s back to tears and laundry.
So, yeah. I’d say we’re in the thick of it. But at least I know from these other moms that there’s life on the other side of 3 and 1. Man, 5 and 7 must be a walk in the park... without a change of clothes.
- When he uses half a bottle of soap to wash his hands, he’s “make suring” they’re really clean.
- “Mom, when you’re done take caring of Riley, can you get me a snack?”
- He likes “lawn mowering” the grass with his toy lawnmower.
4/7/09
Moms in the Media
I tend to become consumed by whatever is going on in my life at the time. And since I’m in the throes of second-time new motherhood right now, that’s my obsession du jour. As much as I want to care about what’s going on in the world or who’s going to win “Dancing With the Stars,” I can’t. I can only focus on what’s relevant to my life right now—and that’s sleep, poop, and breastfeeding.
If there was a 24-hour parenting channel, I’d watch it. Instead, I have to cobble together my own version: “A Baby Story,” “Bringing Home Baby,” and “Jon & Kate Plus 8” on TLC, Tori Spelling’s reality show on Oxygen, and the new sitcom “In the Motherhood” on ABC, based on the popular web series. The web version starred Jenny McCarthy and Chelsea Handler, but I’ll accept Megan Mullally and Cheryl Hines as substitutes.
Occasionally, Oprah does an episode that piques my interest, like yesterday’s show on the "Secret Lives of Moms.” It featured the authors of the book, I'd Trade My Husband for a Housekeeper
The point is honesty and solidarity, say the authors. But the books also offer a good laugh, along with a healthy dose of “thank God I’m not THAT bad!” Like the mom who confessed to wearing Depends because she doesn’t have time to go to the bathroom. Or the dad who said, “I could come home for dinner, but I choose to work late. Who wants to come home to 2 screaming kids and a bowl of cereal?” Nice.
The show also featured the aforementioned Cheryl Hines, and uber-mommy blogger Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com. Did you know she started with an audience of 30 people and she now has millions of readers and makes $40k a month from her blog?? Damn, girl!! Dare to dream.
While pop culture’s my preference, sometimes my appetite for mom-related news leads me to more cerebral fare. (Or rather, my more well-read relatives clip it out and send it to me!) The New Yorker recently did a story on the history of breastfeeding, which may sound like a snooze fest except that it made some interesting points, like about how breastfeeding went from being considered a low-class task best farmed out to wet nurses, to a status symbol among the upper class.
More interesting to me, though, was The Atlantic’s article, “The Case Against Breastfeeding.” It’s an eye-opener all right, even if some of the writer’s statements did rub me the wrong way. Like, if a woman decides to breastfeed exclusively for 6 mos., “it is a serious time commitment that pretty much guarantees that you will not work in any meaningful way.” Ouch! It is pretty funny how Rosin compares breast-feeding advocates and formula makers to Crips and Bloods. Ha! It’s definitely a highly charged issue, that’s for sure.
I do find it refreshing that all kinds of outlets, from the Today Show to blogs to The Atlantic find these topics worthy of discussion and debate. It’s a nice break from the tabloid “bump watch” and stories about how celebs lost the baby weight. Though I’m not going to pretend I don’t read those. On 4 hrs. sleep a night, that’s often all I can handle!
Found any other interesting mom- or baby-related news out there? Share with the class!
TIP O’ THE WEEK: File this under “Why didn’t I think of this before?” Since getting to the post office is near impossible with a newborn and a toddler, I finally just ordered stamps online so I can send out my birth announcements already. Definitely worth the $1 shipping cost.
