My Favorite Holiday Photos

Did everybody have a good Christmas? I hope so. Ours was very nice, despite the baby coming down with a monster cold and both kids waking us up WAY too early on Christmas morning. (To my surprise, the toddler was the one chomping at the bit to get downstairs, not the 4 y.o.)

But there's no denying that kids make the holidays a lot more fun. We're heading to the in-laws' tomorrow for a few days -- where they're predicting 20 in. of snow tomorrow!! -- so I'll leave you with a few of my favorite shots from Christmas day:

Aw, they DO love each other.

Finally I can do something about that 5 o'clock shadow.

Thomas the Tank Engine was a big hit with Riley, while Miles treated us
to his musical stylings on his new keyboard.

I love how this picture captures my life perfectly: an adult beverage
sitting on a book about underpants.

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A Crafty Christmas

It’s been well-documented here that I am no Martha Stewart. I have my moments, but you will never find me self-embossing gift tags with stamps, glitter, and some sort of mini blow torch. (For real -- I watched her Christmas special the other night.)

But the holidays bring out my crafty side. Or maybe it’s all that SUPER-CUTE, SUPER-CHEAP stuff in all the craft stores this time of year. Or maybe it’s the fact that I have to entertain a 4-y.o. who’s out of school for a ridiculously long Christmas break.

The first project we attempted was making paper snowflakes. It bombed. Turns out safety scissors don’t cut through layers of folded paper very well. Plus, Miles soon lost sight of our “white Christmas” theme and began decorating the snowflakes with Batman colors. Because what says winter wonderland better than a bunch of yellow and black snowflakes, right?

Next, we attempted graham cracker gingerbread houses with the neighbor kids. The oldest ones got the hang of it pretty well, but the younger ones lost patience with having to hold the walls together until the icing hardened. Miles’ house soon became a teepee.

And the green sprinkles? Were a bad idea. “A little goes a long way” means squat to kids. Meanwhile, the babies screamed for M&Ms and everyone spit out the (partially chewed) gumdrops because they tasted “gross.”

I wised up by the next time, and bought a couple of foam gingerbread house kits from Michael’s (see photo). The interlocking foam pieces fit together easy enough and then the kids decorated them with the enclosed stickers. Easy-peasy. And the only clean-up was collecting the sticker backings. No sprinkle tsunamis. AND no sugar-shock.

Our final creative masterpiece was a snowman cake. When my MIL gave me the pan last year I remember thinking, “When the heck does she think I’m going to have time to make THIS?!” But then the baby started sleeping through the night and taking 2.5-hour naps and all of a sudden the possibilities were endless. Or at least baking a cake no longer seemed on par with writing a novel in Russian.

I’m proud to say I even let Miles help this year. I didn’t get all control-freakish and take all the fun out of it for him like last year. Even if he did put the snowman’s buttons a tad too close together and one of his eyes is on his forehead. HAHAHAHA, just kidding!! It didn’t bother me! Much.

I guess there’s a little Martha in me after all.

CRAFT O' THE WEEK: Keep it simple, and non-holiday-specific, with Anchormommy's Winter Mitten Garland.

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Check out Jen Singer’s “The 12 Days of Christmas Break” video on Mommasaid.net. Funny AND true.

Random Thoughts: Holiday Edition

Would people look at me funny if I swabbed down the entire holiday train garden with Purell before I let my kids near it?

Would those parents over there get offended if I handed their kid a tissue?

It’s pretty amazing how coughing and sneezing into your elbow has become common practice. Kind of like sitting “crisscross-applesauce” or “like a pretzel” have almost universally replaced “Indian-style.”

Why do some kids love mall Santas and my kids won’t go near them? I think they’d actually prefer going to the dentist.

Will my toddler's obsession with the Christmas tree ever wear off? Or will he not rest until he’s pulled every single ornament off the tree? (We’ve already lost at least 3 to his death grip. RIP, Rudolph.)

When did sending out Christmas cards with professional photos on 100-lb. cardstock become the norm? Some of the ones we’ve gotten are nicer than our wedding invitations.

Does every married couple give each other boring gifts for Christmas, like a new Dirt Devil or a wireless earpiece for their cell phone, or is it just us?

Why would anyone beyond my immediate family ever try to give me clothes? I don’t even let my husband buy me clothes unless it’s a specific item I’ve already picked out.

Why is my 4-year-old son so damn picky about his clothes? Would it kill him to wear a sweater vest and shoes that aren’t Crocs? Is he worried the wrong outfit will ruin his image at preschool?

Will the gifts my boys get when they’re young shape their future identities? My toddler’s getting a play kitchen and a toy stroller. Will he grow up to be a chef? A stay-at-home dad? Or just a regular guy who makes pancakes on Saturdays and takes his kids to the playground?

Is my 4yo old enough this year to notice or care how many presents he and his brother each get, and how big they are? I hope not. Because the toys seem to get smaller the older they get.

How far should we go to prove that Santa is real? Is eating the cookies enough? Or do we need to disguise the handwriting on the gift tags, too? (This is how I discovered my mom was Santa, BTW.)

Will I be able to get over my fear of germs, Christmas card envy, gift angst, and other assorted seasonal stresses and enjoy the holidays this year? I think so.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Check out this slideshow of ugly Christmas sweaters. And you thought your mother-in-law’s was bad?

Life's a [Fill in the Blank]

I’m having an internal battle with my positive-thinking side and my life-is-hard-and-then-you-die side.

I’ve always envied natural optimists. (My 4-y.o. is one.) People whose default setting is happy, and who shake off setbacks and disappointments easier than the rest of us. People who embody the phrase “Don’t sweat the small stuff -- and it’s all small stuff.”

But try as I might -- and I do try – certain experiences just knock me off my shiny happy track. And then I veer over to the dark side. The “nobody said life was fair” and “life is full of disappointments” side. I don’t like it over there. Even though there’s lots of company.

I almost think that I’m succeeding at developing a sunny outlook because when they do come, disappointments are so much more disappointing these days. I guess if I was truly beaten down I’d just shrug and sigh, “Of course it didn’t work out. Again.”

I recently had a major work-related setback. A golden opportunity came floating down from heaven on angel’s wings. The stars aligned and pointed me toward my destiny at the exact moment I needed it most. Opportunity came knocking when I was showered, dressed, and my house was clean. Choose your own mixed metaphor.

And then, after loads of effort and phone calls and late nights and “finally my ship has come in” thoughts, it all fell through. Boom. Just like that, my ship sailed off into the star-crossed night and the angels lost their wings. (Sorry, I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Too many Christmas stories?)

I was devastated. I cried, I felt sorry for myself, I drank a lot of wine, and nothing anybody said made any difference. Interestingly, this is the same way my son reacted when a playdate he was really looking forward to was cancelled at the last minute because the other kid got sick. (Only substitute juice boxes for wine.)

It was awful to see my baby like that. He sobbed big, fat tears. He wailed and bemoaned the unfairness of it all. He was powerless to change things. His day was ruined. And there was nothing I could do or say to change it. Even though I knew that it wasn’t the end of the world, that we could reschedule the playdate, that we could find something else fun to distract him, I could see that for my son, it really did feel like the end of the world.

I know you’re probably thinking I’m going to end with a lesson here. Some sage advice about how I learned to take life’s hits in stride because of my son. But I’m not. I’m just going to say that, yes, sometimes life sucks. You don’t always get what you want. You can’t smile and force the world to smile with you at all times. A window doesn’t always open when a door closes. (Or whatever the heck’s the metaphor I’m mangling.)

So I’ll just say that it’s a lot easier to get past life’s disappointments when you have someone to hug and snuggle up with on the couch. So that’s what we did, my babies and me. And I thought maybe there’s someplace in between “life is a cabaret” and “life sucks.” Or maybe I should just leave the sayings alone. :)

READ O’ THE WEEK: Oh, jeez. Maybe it’s the time of year? I looked back in my archives and found this post I wrote almost a year ago to the day: “In All Honesty…” (On the upside, our tree didn’t fall down this year… yet.)

Christmas Card Outtakes

Here are 3 reasons why you may not get a Christmas card from us this year:






Now, look. I’m not one of those people who has to have the perfect fairy-tale family photo on their Christmas card. (Though that does describe about 90% of the cards we receive, I'll point out. Not that I'm jealous or anything.)

But if I’m going to spend the time and money to print and mail dozens of these puppies -- which will adorn mantels and refrigerators all over the country -- I’m just not willing to go the ironic route, OK? My blog is FULL of those kinds of photos.

Is it too much to ask that one measly time a year I capture an image of my children in which they are both looking at the camera? In which no one is crying, pouting, or sitting on his brother? In which no one has a black eye, a visible booger, or marker on their face? In which both kids look cute and like they weren't raised by wolves?

Yeah, I thought so.

Guess we'll just have to work with what we've got.


LINK O' THE WEEK: For cards that may induce jealousy, make you laugh, or give you ideas, check out McMommy's annual McHoliday Card Spectacular. My fave's the one of the 3 kids in the leaves.

The Sugar Situation

Will you look at this loot? This (slightly blurry) photo shows the massive pile of candy my son collected trick-or-treating. And that doesn’t even include the haul his baby brother brought in, or the candy we had left over. (We don’t get many trick-or-treaters at our house.)

Oh, how times have changed. It seems like just yesterday he was having his first taste of sugar at his first birthday party. And I was still watering down his juice and mixing plain yogurt with strawberry jam because I thought store-bought yogurt had too much sugar. When we took him trick-or-treating his first Halloween, he didn’t even know what he was collecting because he’d never had candy before, aside from a Dum-Dum or two.

Fast-forward to my second child. One of his first words was “cookie.” He screams for ice cream, hoots for juice, and spits out fruit if it’s not sweet enough. He instantly understood the point of trick-or-treating right out of the gate.

He would toddle adorably up to each door in his Tigger costume, hold out his plastic pumpkin, then turn around and demand that we unwrap each piece of candy immediately. I had no choice but to feed him M&M’s one by one as we made our way through the neighborhood or risk screams that would frighten the pants off even the scariest Halloween ghouls and goblins.

So now we have 10 lbs. of candy in the house and because I’m such a good mom and am concerned about my children’s oral hygiene and nutrition, I will do the only conscionable thing: eat it all myself.

With the kids, it’s pretty much out of sight, out of mind. (Though I need to do a better job of “out of sight.” They spotted the candy on top of the fridge first thing this morning and started screeching for it.)

Not so for the adults in the house. My husband has stronger will power than I do. As for me, I hear those mini Butterfingers calling me from two floors away. The Starbursts tempting me with their tangy goodness. The Junior Mints with their creamy, refreshingly minty center. The crunchy Whoppers and the chewy Laffy Taffy. And Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, you’re the worst of all. I am powerless against your seductive sweetness.

BTW, my son just totally busted me as I was writing this. I thought he’d gone upstairs to bed, but he came sneaking up behind me and caught me red-handed in the plastic pumpkin. I was forced to buy his silence with a Milk Dud.

For the sake of my teeth and waistline, maybe I’d better send the candy into work with my husband. At least the kinds I like. Then again, my preschooler’s pretty smart. Even he would know if he looked at his stash and found only a half-dozen boxes of Dots and Almond Joys that something didn’t add up.

READ O’ THE WEEK: According to this article, “The average trick or treater brings home a haul of 3,500 to 7,000 calories in their bag.” Yowza! Can you guess the best and worst kinds of candy, calorie-wise?

Boo on the Halloween PJs

Sometimes as a parent, you make mistakes. You let your kid drink Gatorade and he bounces off the walls for 2 hours. You let him have one last cup of milk at night and he wets the bed. Or you buy him spider pajamas for Halloween and then discover he’s deathly afraid of arachnids. And you make him wear the PJs anyway.

I can’t get a handle on the random fears my kids have. When Miles was a baby, he was terrified of:
- Old people wearing Santa hats
- Mean ladies in cartoons
- The vacuum cleaner and the blender
- Monsters

Then he got older and became afraid of:
- The dark
- The poster of tropical fish on his wall (He says it looks like it’s moving)
- Different foods touching (I really thought we’d dodged this bullet and I’d never have to buy one of those divided plates. WRONG!)

My second-born, Riley, is terrified of:
- The vacuum cleaner and the blender
- Bugs

(Not including the first 12 mos. of his life when he was afraid of keeping food down, sleeping through the night, and just about everyone but his mom. Especially old people.)

The bug thing started when he spotted a giant, hairy spider one of our neighbors had hung on their porch for Halloween. I admit, an enormous black, 8-legged, red-eyed spider waving in the breeze is enough to scare anyone. But Riley would begin whining and shaking whenever he was within a few YARDS of this thing.

Then at home, he would point to every speck on the floor (and in our house, there are lots) and say, “Bug!” Even if it was a leaf, an old raisin or a clump of dog hair. (Actually, a bug might be LESS gross.)

Too bad for him I’d already bought his Halloween PJs at Old Navy. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind those spiders too much. Miles got skeleton PJs that glow in the dark. How cool is that? And he thought so, too, at least until 4 a.m. the first night he wore them and he woke up glowing and ran into our room. “I’m scared of my jammies,” he said. And they’ve been stuffed in the back of the drawer ever since. Sigh.

Looks like I’m 0-for-0 on the Halloween PJs. So what random things are YOUR kids afraid of?

Easter at the ER

Last week, my husband C. discovered he had to go out of town unexpectedly. For 4 days. Over a holiday weekend. When Miles was out of school. And we had invited guests for Easter brunch. In spite of this, I suppressed toned down my first reaction, which was panic and dread.

In fact, things started out swimmingly. I took both kids to the zoo (by myself!), Miles and I dyed Easter eggs (fun!), picked flowers for the table (festive!), and made cupcakes with 3 (3!) different colors of pastel frosting. We went to the playground, the farmers market, and the neighbors’ for dinner. We were FINE without C. GREAT, even. Look at me, I’m Supermom! I don’t need no stinkin’ husband!

(Imagine the theme song from “Jaws” starts playing now.)

Then I noticed Riley’s head felt a little warm. And his cheeks looked red. I took his temperature and it was 102.9. Uh, oh. By the time I got him some Tylenol, a bath, and in bed along with his brother, I was exhausted. And I hadn’t even cleaned up the house yet, put together the kids’ Easter baskets, picked out their church clothes, or prepared the French toast casserole for tomorrow when my brother and his family were coming. Ugh. Now’s about the time another parent would come in handy.

The next morning, Riley woke up at 6:30, miserable. Flushed, feverish, nose crusted with snot. Oh, boy. Church was out. Again, had there been 2 parents, one of us could have stayed home with the baby. I don’t even know if we can show our faces at Miles’ (Christian) school after not going to church ON EASTER. Oh, well, I guess God will understand.

I called my brother right away. After much deliberation, they decided to come anyway with their 2 kids. The older kids are in school and daycare and probably teeming with germs at all times anyway. Well, thank goodness they DID come because when Riley woke up from his nap he was burning up. When his temperature read 104, I started to panic. I called the pediatrician, who said to take him to the ER.

At this point I was mildly hysterical and called C. in tears. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He’ll be fine.” The hospital staff, God bless them, were friendly and efficient. They got us right into an exam room and a nurse took the baby’s temp again (103.8) and sucked out his snot with a hospital-grade snot-sucking machine. Riley took this about as well as someone having their face plunged into hot lava.

I tried to distract him with a rattle, which he promptly smashed in half. If you’ve ever wondered what’s inside those cheap, painted wooden rattles you get for $1 at Target, the answer is dozens of tiny metal balls. Now all over the hospital floor.

So then the doctor comes in, all calm and soft-spoken, and says, “Fevers are our friends. It’s the body’s way of fighting off infection. They can go as high as they need to --103, 104, 105. Treat the child, not the fever.” I almost snapped, “Listen, Jack Handey in clogs: my baby is BURNING UP and I am HOME ALONE with 2 KIDS for 4 DAYS!!”

I calmed down a little after the tests came back negative for flu and RSV, and they decided he just had an ear infection and prescribed antibiotics and the correct dose of Motrin for his weight and let us go home. By this time, 3 hours had passed.

Thank God my brother and SIL were there to take care of Miles. Thank God Riley did not have some horrible infectious disease that he’d passed on to everyone else. Thank God this is my second baby and I have built up my tolerance for seeing my child sick and in pain. Thank God for red wine and Easter candy to help soothe my nerves.

And that, people, is Murphy’s law for moms. The one weekend Dad goes away, all hell will break loose. And if you ever find yourself smugly thinking you’re Supermom? Get ready. That’s the “Jaws” theme song beginning to play...

P.S. Also, I forgot to mention the garbage disposal broke right before our brunch guests arrived.

FLICKS O’ THE WEEK: Can you believe I rented 3 movies to watch while C. was away? “Have You Heard About the Morgans?”; “The September Issue”; and “Coco Before Chanel.” Know how many I’ve watched so far? Half of ONE.

Valentine's Day...with Diapers

My Valentine’s weekend was jam-packed, people! I saw “Valentine’s Day,” had a romantic dinner cooked for me by my sweetie, made heart-shaped pancakes for the boys, and met my BRAND-NEW nephew. How’s that for excitement? I guess I was due for some after my week of snow-induced isolation.

First, the movie: cute, sweet, funny, and not nearly enough screen time for most of the A-list hotties that star in it. Ashton Kutcher was surprisingly appealing as a love-struck florist. My favorite scene was probably Jennifer Garner beating the crap out of a piñata after her romance goes sour. Also, there are some cute kids in the movie, always a plus.

Next, the dinner: red gerber daisies, candlelight, macadamia and coconut-crusted Chilean sea bass with a delicate orange cream sauce. Of course, the romance factor was slightly dampened by the fact that I had to jump up in the middle of the salad course to go assist a small person in the bathroom when he should have been in bed. But that’s my life.

Then, the baby: My SIL called me one day last week to ask whether I thought she was in labor. I am the WRONG person to ask; I wasn’t even sure when it was ME who was in labor -- either time! Thank goodness I suggested she might want to go to the hospital for peace of mind because a few hours later, she was giving birth!! Baby Nicholas weighed in at 9 lbs even though he was 10 days early. If you saw my tiny SIL, this would be all the more impressive.

Even so, he looked TINY to me when I saw him in the hospital. I’m used to my own 2 little bruisers at home. I had forgotten how quiet newborns can be. He snoozed the whole time I was there, never making a peep. Maybe, like Riley, he’s saving his lungs for the blood-curdling screams he plans to unleash once they take him home. But for my brother and SIL’s sake, I hope not. They deserve a chill baby after the rough pregnancy she endured.

I did have to laugh when I said to my 3 y.o. niece, “You’re a BIG SISTER now, Chloe! Are you excited?” She considered this a moment before replying, “I had chocolate for breakfast!” Then rushed off to show me her Valentine’s loot. New baby brother? Eh. Candy and glittery cards? All RIGHT!

Just goes to show, people have different priorities. Once upon a time, mine might have been romantic moments alone with my honey. Now, I’m happy to share Valentine’s Day with my friends, family, and people in diapers. After all, those are some of the people I love the most.

PIC O' THE WEEK: My Valentines

Every Day is Groundhog Day

So today is Groundhog Day. And apparently that dumb rodent doomed us to 6 more weeks of winter. Personally, I am DONE with this season. We’ve had our snow, now can we move on to butterflies and tulips, please?

Feb. 2 is no different than any other day for me. As I’m always saying to my husband, EVERY day feels like Groundhog Day around here. And by that, I mean the 1993 comedic film starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, in which the characters repeat the same day over and over again.

Every day, the kids wake up before dawn, whether it be Mon. or Sat., a school day or a holiday. And then, of course, there are diapers to change, bottles to prepare, meals to make, kids to dress, dishes to do, and on and on and on. Sometimes the only way I know it’s Saturday is because my husband is around.

Loading and unloading the dishwasher has become so monotonous that I often cannot remember where we are in the cycle. I have to inspect the glassware to be certain. And as for baths? Did I give the baby one today? Or was that yesterday? How about the other kid? Who KNOWS?! It’s the same thing every day.

Perhaps the most maddening aspect of this endless loop I call my life is that nothing is ever truly DONE. In my professional life, I write articles, turn them in, and they’re done. (Well, technically they are edited and revised and published or sometimes killed or held indefinitely but for the purposes of this anecdote I write them and they’re done, OK?)

But it’s not like you can check “diaper changed” off your to-do list because there’s another one being dirtied even as you do so. Same thing with laundry. It’s just in an ever-flowing state of being washed, folded, or put away. (And seriously, sometimes I don’t even bother with those last two.)

In the movie, Bill Murray wakes up to the same song on the radio every morning. I think it’s “I’ve Got You, Babe.” Well in my world, it’s the Little Einsteins theme song. Then I get to replay the what’s-for-breakfast battle and the who-gets-dressed-first fight with my 3 y.o. Every. Single. Morning.

Sometimes if I’m craving excitement and spontaneity, I’ll leave the diaper bag at home when we go to the park. Ooh, dangerous! Or I’ll concede to Miles’ wishes to have breakfast for dinner, or to put his PJs back on at 2 in the afternoon. Sure, go nuts! Shake things up!

But as you know, when you have babies and small kids, you can’t stray from the routine too much. Or there will be HELL TO PAY, people. Just TRY to suggest listening to music instead of watching Little Einsteins and see what happens.* Just try to switch up the naptime routine by reading only one book instead of two, or failing to leave the door open at the exact right angle. And if you ever get a crazy idea like changing the lyrics to a classic lullaby like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”? DON’T SAY I DIDN’T WARN YOU.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run. It’s snacktime, and I must go prepare the apple slices and crackers in the exact right configuration. Unless I did that already?

PIC O’ THE WEEK: Don’t ask me what he’s doing. I don’t know, either.

*See, even as I was writing this I was having a "deja blogged" moment. I've probably written this exact same post before.

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays, everyone! From my family to yours, with love.

Riley's celebrating his first Christmas with his own video:
"The Little Drummer Boy."

Joy to the World, the Baby Slept!

Joy to the world, the baby slept!
He slept right through the night;
From 7 p.m. to 6 a.m.,
He let mama and dada sleep,
He let mama and dada sleep,
He let mama, poor mama, and dada sleep!

That’s right, people. Riley slept through the night for the FIRST. TIME. EVER. In his nearly 10 mos. of life, that’s an unprecedented event. (Except for that one time he had a fever and slept for 7 hrs. but that doesn’t count.) Not only that, but he’s done it 3 nights in a row.

It’s almost as if he KNEW I was at the end of my rope. Either that, or it was letting him cry for 45 min. straight the first night. Here’s what happened: I reread Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Dr. Marc Weissbluth. I really can’t recommend this book enough. It’s not light reading, but you don’t have to read it cover to cover, either. You can dip in and out as needed.

The book reinforced what I guess I already knew: that at 9 mos. old, Riley does not need to be waking up 1-4x/night. In fact, I’m doing him a disservice by responding to him, because I’m not allowing him to get the rest he needs. Also, Weissbluth is a bit of a nap nazi. So for 3 days straight, I made sure Riley was down at 9 a.m., 2 p.m. and in bed by 7 p.m. And it WORKED!!!

I don’t think it’s so much that the book was a miracle solution, but rather it’s due to a combination of factors, including stopping nursing, his age, and giving him more food. (I switched from 6 oz. to 8 oz. of formula at night and 1 jar of baby food per meal to 2.)

Anyway, I don’t need to tell you the thrill I felt when I heard him stirring -- first clue something was different: he was cooing, not crying -- and I looked at the clock expecting it to say 3 a.m. and it said 6:24 a.m. I immediately woke up my husband to tell him the good news! :)

I also don’t need to tell anybody who’s ever suffered an extended bout of sleep deprivation what a HUGE difference an uninterrupted night’s sleep makes to a person’s wellbeing. I was a ball of Christmas spirit the next day! Adding to my festive mood was the 16-inch snowfall (!!) we got. Made all the more wonderful because it happened on a weekend and Daddy was home to shovel it and take Miles out to play in it for hours!

Meanwhile, I policed Riley’s naps, got the house in order (including going through the foot-high stack of mail on the counter), organized and uploaded all the pictures and videos, displayed the Christmas cards, put away laundry, changed sheets. You know, all those things you don’t have time to do during the week with 2 hooligans underfoot. Also, C. prepared almost ALL the meals. Heaven! Of course, his fancy-schmancy strawberry French toast and tuna melts are going to be a tough act to follow, but whatever.

Now that I’m feeling rested and festive and grateful, I’d like to extend a sincere thank-you to all my faithful readers and commenters out there. Seriously, you don’t know (or maybe you do!) what a boost you give me. It really is like having a virtual community of moms who are in the trenches with you. Hugs all around!

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Writer and mom Holly Bowne shares 20 Tips for Savoring the Holidays. I commented that some days my gratitude list includes only “babysitters” and “wine.”

In All Honesty...

Spoiler alert: serious post ahead. Believe me, I’d love to write a light, upbeat entry about my “Seasonal Activity Disorder” flaring up again and our Christmas tree debacle. But it would take more energy than I’ve got right now.

Besides, I took a quiz on Oprah.com that told me my true destiny is to be an “adviser” and an “equalizer.” I took that to mean I’m here to help other moms in any way I can and show people that if I can do this motherhood thing, then any idiot can.

Except sometimes I can’t.

I’ve half-joked about quitting being a (mostly) SAHM and about my ongoing quest for optimism and balance. Though some (such as my spouse) might disagree, I do try to look on the bright side of disasters and not dwell on the ugly parts of life. I’m all for honesty, but I prefer to leave the all-cards-on-the-table confessional stuff to the Dooces and Anne Lamotts of the world.

But you know, sometimes motherhood isn’t funny or light. Sometimes -- a lot of times -- it’s the hardest f@#$%?!ing thing I’ve ever done in my life. And the scariest, too, because there are 2 human beings dependent on me for survival and I can’t quit or call in sick. EVER. For the REST OF MY LIFE.

There have been plenty of days I didn’t want to get out of bed and/or I didn’t want to go to sleep at night because that would make the morning come sooner. And then I’d have to get up and do it all again. There have been plenty of days that I cried when my husband left for work.

I’m not a big believer in medication (maybe because both my epidurals failed?!) especially the mood-altering kind. I did briefly seek help from a therapist, but since I believe my current state of mind is situational, not chronic or chemical, I eventually stopped. Besides, who has time to fit one more appointment into their schedule?!

One thing that does really help me is knowing that I’m not alone. I’m lucky that I have several close friends, family members, and neighbors who keep it real and help me out whenever they can. When a friend told me she nearly got divorced following the birth of her second child, I was grateful for her honesty. When a blogger I follow confessed she’d made “The Call” to her husband one day (as in, “Get home IMMEDIATELY if you care about the safety of your children”), I thought, thank God it’s not just me.

And when my writing students share essays about miscarriage and postpartum depression I admire their bravery and think about all the people they will touch with their words. (And they do, because many students have gotten their essays published and received heartfelt responses from readers.)

So I’ll admit here that I have been having some really bad days lately. Behavior issues, sleeping issues, teething, the holidays, too much sugar, not enough exercise or help -- all the usual stuff but all at once and without a break. There was one day in particular I really thought I was going to hurt somebody. REALLY HURT THEM. So I dumped the baby in his crib with some toys and put Miles in his room with a baby gate across the door. And I walked away.

And you know what happened? Absolutely nothing.

Everybody was fine. In fact, Riley had a blast. He was probably thrilled to have his brother off his back for 30 min. And even Miles, aside from calling mournfully down the stairs every few minutes, was fine playing by himself.

I related this anecdote to the kids’ pediatrician the other day. And you know what she said? “I’m so glad you did that.” And then she went on to ask if there was any way I could get some more help. It might be tough, but I’m going to work on it. Part of me wants to pretend that I’m a perfectly competent mom and writer who juggles it all by myself with grace. After all, I know plenty of people who do. But I am not one of them. And that’s OK.

READ O’ THE WEEK: Author Claudine Wolk sent me a review copy of her perfectly titled book, “It Gets Easier! … And Other Lies We Tell New Mothers.” It’s part “Girlfriends’ Guide” and part “What to Expect” with a healthy dose of humor and practical, real-world tips.

I think Wolk really hits her stride in Ch. 10: “How Did I Get Into This Mess?”, Ch. 11: “What is a Housewife & How Did I Become One?” and Ch. 12: ”The Most Frustrating Job on the Planet.” Unlike other books that gloss over the working vs. staying home topic in a couple of paragraphs, Wolk goes deeper into the real issues.

Like coming to grips with all the chores that accompany new motherhood. And how your marriage will change. And how neither working or at-home moms have a easy choice or often any choice at all. (She points out that working moms have TWO f.t. jobs.) In fact, Wolk’s is the most thorough and respectful discussion of this topic I’ve read.

This book deserves a place on the bookshelf alongside the other titles about this life-changing, gut-wrenching journey we call motherhood.

We Are Family

It's the holiday season, and you know what that means... Dashing through the airport, sitting in traffic, waiting for a plane to go or a bus to come or a train to go or a car to run. (Apologies to Dr. Seuss.) All to visit FAMILY. Because that's what you do this time of year, right?

Well, this year we opted out. For Thanksgiving anyway. We stayed home, hosted nothing, visited no one. It wasn't an easy decision, but for the first time, I realized that we -- just the 4 of us -- well, you'll have to read more at TheBump.com to find out:

2009 (Gag) Gift Guide

It’s an unfortunate fact of life that I am a lousy gift-giver. Occasionally, I come up with an amazingly perfect, personal, creative gift, such as the year I got my mom a customized antique locket from Etsy containing pictures of her grandchildren. Alas, I cannot sustain that level of gift-giving year after year.

Especially with the men in my life. Do you know how hard it is to buy for my husband? He’s so picky about his apparel I couldn’t DREAM of buying him something he’d actually wear. The Nike watch of ’07 is still a sore subject. Even when he sends me a link to the exact thing he wants, it still somehow goes awry. (It said “unisex,” I swear!!)

[Sidebar: have you noticed the disturbing trend towards “practical” gifts once you’re married? “Honey, let’s get a new garbage disposal and call it our Christmas present to each other this year, OK?” NOT OK!!]

For your convenience, I’ve compiled a list of thoughtful gifts that you and your loved ones will TRULY cherish:

For moms:

Privacy. If a working lock for the bathroom door is not feasible, give her the gift of letting her do her business solo without talking to her through the door. Imagine, an entire shower without someone coming in to ask where the red sippy cup is or flushing the toilet and scalding her.

For dads:

Space. Let him watch the whole game by himself without talking to him about the suspicious-looking crack in the ceiling or the state of your 401k. Allow him to drink his coffee before asking him if he remembered to put out the recycling and what you should get his mom for her birthday. Don’t hand him a crying baby and a whiny toddler before he’s even fully in the door from work. At least let him turn off the engine first.

For grandparents:

Satisfaction. As in, give them the satisfaction of thinking you are taking their advice – or at least considering it. When they say, “We used to put you kids in playpens” or “Give the baby a bottle of water when he cries at night” or “Don’t give in to those temper tantrums; show her who’s boss,” just smile and nod. Bonus points for throwing in a “Why didn’t *I* think of that?”

For babies:

Access. Every parent knows the more dangerous the object, the more a baby wants it and the longer and more happily he will play with it. So let him have your germy keys, those sharp kitchen implements, and the dog’s filthy chew-toy. He’ll be in heaven, and you’ll be on standby with the Purell, ready to call 911 if necessary.

For toddlers & preschoolers:

Independence. Imagine an entire day where your child gets to make all his own decisions. The striped shirt with the plaid shorts and Elmo rain boots? Why not! Waffles and M&Ms for breakfast? Sure! A 4-hour Dora marathon? Go nuts! What’s the worst that could happen? Cavities? Public ridicule? A nuclear meltdown? You’ll live. Of course, MY son has been known to ask to drive the car, play in traffic, and drink Red Bull, so you’ll have to draw the line somewhere.

I see these gifts as a win-win for everyone. They cost you nothing (except possibly your pride) and you don’t even have to wrap them. Any way you look at it, they’re way more festive than a new muffler for the minivan. Here’s wishing you & yours a happy, stress-free holiday!

PICS O' THE WEEK: "Snow angel? More like snow DEVIL!"









"Check out my disco stroller!"

One Card Short of a Full Deck

Has there ever been an object so fraught with conflicting emotions as the Christmas card? First, there’s the frustration of staging the perfect picture if you send photo cards. And if your family includes small children and/or pets this seemingly simple task could take WEEKS before you capture that elusive shot where everyone’s looking at the camera and no one’s crying, running away, or picking their nose.

Then there’s the anxiety over ordering the cards, the tediousness of updating your address list, and the anger you may feel after standing in lengthy lines at the post office behind people who are taking their sweet old time perusing the stamp choices as if they were touring the Louvre. It’s a friggin’ STAMP, just PICK ONE!!

Then, ultimately, there’s the joy experienced by the people who receive your cards. That goes without saying. At least they BETTER be filled with joy after all that effort.

I wish I could delegate this tiresome chore, but I’m what some people might call a control freak. Personally, I prefer to think of myself as having high standards, but whatever. Sticks and stones. Besides, you’re asking for trouble if you give up the reins. Here’s a cautionary tale I borrowed from my friend L.H.

Her husband was in charge of the cards this year. Apparently, he looked only at the design, not considering the type of paper, flat versus folded, coupon codes, or the quantity they needed. So when my friend found out the staggering sum he’d paid for them, she nearly choked. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t considering the joy in the recipients’ hearts.

That’s why I do the Christmas cards myself. So maybe it took me several hours of searching online to find a deal. And even longer to figure out that company’s photo editing software and get the picture looking just the way I wanted it. And maybe I feared the deal was too good to be true so I ordered some back-up cards from another website just in case. Some might call this making extra work for myself. I call it doing things right. (Aren’t you so glad you’re not married to me??)

I never even used to SEND Christmas cards. I didn’t think anyone cared, so why add another time-sensitive chore to my holiday to-do list? But then my friends started having kids, and we started having kids, and before I knew it I was sticking antlers on my baby’s head and propping him in front of the fireplace shouting, “We need more light! And fix his two strands of hair!”

And I have to say, I do love receiving all the cards with everyone’s cuties on them. We hang them up on a ribbon and talk about who’s who and how much they’ve grown. And what the heck that family’s deal is who sent the cards on the 98-lb. metallic cardstock with opaque vellum envelopes. Are they TRYING to show off? Hee, hee…

PRODUCT LINKS O’ THE WEEK: I ordered my first (free except for shipping!) batch of cards from SeeHere.com and they are perfectly nice. My back-up batch was from Snapfish.com. Last year’s cards were cropped off-center, so I complained and they gave me a bunch of credits for free prints. This year’s card came out great.

BLOG LINKS O’ THE WEEK: Here’s a mom who risked a broken nose to get the perfect shot for her holiday cards. Also, McMommy is hosting a Holiday Card Spectacular and she wants to display your cards!

Tofurky Time!

I’ve been a vegetarian for more than 23 years. (Typing that number just now I almost had a coronary, realizing how old that makes me!) Ever since junior high, when I just couldn’t take my mother’s cooking anymore. I think it was the ham rollups stuffed with ricotta and raisins that put me over the edge.

Don’t get me wrong, my mom is a good cook, if perhaps a little overly creative at times. I certainly appreciate her efforts a lot more now that I have to feed my own (picky) family, night after night.

So obviously, I was not raised vegetarian. I ate my share of Happy Meals and hot dogs. But somewhere along the line, meat began to gross me out. The thought, the texture. It may have also had something to do with reading Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle,” in English class. (Tip for happy carnivores: DON'T. You’ll never look at a burger the same way again.)

It started out as kind of an experiment. How long could I go without eating meat? Would I miss it? Would my iron levels plummet, making me weak and anemic and stunting my growth? (My mother’s fear.) The answers: a long, long time; no; and no.

I developed a snappy retort for all those people who asked, incredulously, “But if you don’t eat meat, what DO you eat?” Answer: “Everything else.” To be specific, I eat pasta, eggs, beans, nuts, peanut butter, and a range of soy products from the excellent Morningstar Farms brand. I am not a strict vegetarian, because I have been known to eat soup made from chicken broth, and I do eat seafood from time to time.

My husband is not a vegetarian, nor are my kids -- except sort of, by default, since I do most of the cooking. C. sometimes complains that we eat too many carbs, and blames any extra pounds on our meat-free meals. I tell him, “Cook yourself a steak, then.” I can abide meat in my house, even in my pots and pans, but don’t expect me to cook it. That's like asking a deaf man to compose a symphony. Oh, wait, Beethoven...

Anyway, Miles enjoys the occasional turkey sandwich, hot dog, or nuggets at Chick-fil-A, but he just as happily munches soy-based “Chik’n nuggets” and black bean tacos. Riley has yet to have his first taste of meat. (I don’t know about you, but I find the pureed, jarred baby-food meat nas-TY!)

It’s much more common to be a vegetarian these days, so I’m not as much of an oddball as I once was. Except on Thanksgiving. No one can believe that even on this great American holiday, I don’t let one bite of the bird pass my lips. Not that a hunk of steaming flesh sawed off a crispy bird carcass isn’t appealing and all. ;) But there’s so much other food at Thanksgiving – vegetables, even! – that I don’t miss it a bit.

In case you’re wondering, yes, I have tried the whimsically named “Tofurky.” Once, with some friends. We pretty much all agreed it looked, smelled, and tasted disgusting. And the texture... Yeeuuuccchhhh!

So I’ll just stick to the green beans, squash, and stuffing, thanks. That leaves more bird carcass for the rest of you!

READS O’ THE WEEK: One of my former students wrote this column about what happened when her teen daughter gave up meat. And here's an essay about the challenges of putting a strict vegetarian through preschool.

Slipcovers in Lieu of Champagne

Was it really over 3 years ago that I was completely obsessed with a gingham rocking chair? Yes. Yes, it was. And you know what they say: the more things change... So here I am, 3 years later, 7 mos. pregnant, in full-on nesting mode for Baby #2, obsessing about chairs again.

Only this time it’s for Miles’ “big boy” room—previously known as the guest room—which we officially moved him into the moment my parents vacated it after Christmas. (Again, I feel bad for this new baby, who’s getting nothing but hand-me-downs. He’ll be lucky if we get around to peeling the “Miles” letters off the nursery wall. Poor thing’s destined to suffer an inferiority complex.)

So anyway, since we’re leaving the nursery as is, we realized we needed a comfy reading chair in Miles’ new room. The cracked vinyl one we had in there won’t cut it. So being the thrifty sort that I am, I looked into getting it reupholstered. Do you know what it costs to get a chair reupholstered, people? Me neither, since I never actually got a quote, but some very reliable home decorating blogs suggested it could run $300 and up. Fine, maybe, if it’s your grandmother’s antique Louis the Something chair, but for a hand-me-down destined for the Goodwill? No way.

So then I launched a lengthy web search for slipcovers. Which led to flashbacks about my college apartments and messy roommates and furniture that came from and ended up God-knows-where and always smelled slightly ... off. Next I decided a pull-out sleeper chair would be just the thing. Only twin-size ones are hard to find and the ones I did find got abominable reviews. (I tell you, Internet reviews are a mixed blessing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on the verge of buying something, only to get sucked into that one review that says the product’s a piece of junk.)

But lo and behold, a chance trip to Homegoods this morning yielded the PERFECT chair: a denim upholstered rocker that’s the perfect color, perfect size, and perfect price, thanks to an extra 10% off for a near-invisible tear. Score!!

I swear, it’s literally unbelievable to me that I am the same person who, a scant 8 years ago, would be this excited about finding the perfect New Year’s Eve outfit. I would’ve been planning it for weeks, down to the bag and hair accessories. Right now I’d be resting up, hydrating, and primping for my Big Night Out, which I’d be looking forward to with giddy anticipation, even knowing it would end the same way New Year’s always did—with me standing shivering on a street corner in heels and bare legs, praying that just one damn cab would drive by already before our group of revelers died of hypothermia or an alcohol overdose. Good times!

But no, this New Year’s Eve I’m not polishing my nails or rehearsing the “beer before liquor” maxim. I’m thanking God my child is finally napping in his big boy bed and wondering what time Home Depot closes so I can run over there for the fifth time in 2 weeks to see whether they have 31” cordless light-blocking shades on sale. Yes, THAT, people, is what I get excited about these days. Happy New Year!!!

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Some friends, some patio furniture, and a baby monitor. Ingenious! Too bad it’s too cold for White Trash New Year’s here.

Seasonal Activity Disorder

This time of year, I am forced to admit that I am one of those people who suffers from SAD. No, not Seasonal Affective Disorder, though I do hate the shorter, darker days of winter. My problem is Seasonal Activity Disorder. Every year, I feel compelled to plan all sorts of fun holiday outings for friends and family—whether or not they actually want to participate. Yes, you WILL go see “The Nutcracker” for the 80 bazillionth time and freeze your cheeks off wobbling around on ice skates for the first time in 10 years! And you will LIKE IT!!

Trouble is, it usually backfires. Take last week, for instance. First some friends and I decided to take our kids to that holiday train garden I mentioned. Afterwards, we’d get pizza. What fun! How festive! Right. Cut to three frazzled moms darting around after their overstimulated offspring, trying to keep them from pushing in front of other kids, licking the glass windows, diving into the fountain in the middle of the food court, and swiping drinks from other people’s tables. Five kids, three moms, all going in different directions. That was Fun Seasonal Activity #1.

Fun Seasonal Activity #2 was my idea. My husband and I would take our son to a live holiday theatre performance. It was just one hour long, specifically geared towards little kids’ attention spans (or lack thereof). Just my luck the play happened to be on the same day as Miles’ school Christmas pageant. So after his classes’, um, “unique” rendition of Jingle Bells, followed by a juice and cookie party, we packed him into the car to go to yet another performance.

I guess it’s not so surprising that he couldn’t sit still through the musical interpretations of Christmas, Kwanzaa, and Hannukah tales. He was more interested in flipping the theatre seats up and down than in watching the actors. And this is the same kid who will sit with rapt attention through his 257th viewing of “Cars.” As for my husband? He fell asleep almost immediately. So much for culture.

Then there was the family outing to a local holiday lights display. We should’ve stayed in the car and done a drive-by. Battling the crush of revelers and flashbulbs while trying to keep a grip on a 3-foot-tall person’s mittened hand put me in a less than merry mood. Plus, it was damn cold out there!!

So did I learn my lesson and resolve to stay home, curled up on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa? I did not. My parents are visiting this week, and I have a list of activities ready. I can’t stand the idea of sitting around the house every day staring at each other.

Though even I have to admit, the grandparents seem pretty happy just sitting around staring at (or chasing after, or feeding, or reading to) their grandson. And Miles is perfectly happy with his usual non-seasonal activities of tormenting the dog, jumping on furniture, and acting out fairy tales with his stuffed animals. But how can I sit at home when I know there are Christmas concerts and holiday spectaculars and breakfasts with Santa going on out there? SAD is a real sickness, I tell you.

Happy Holidays, everyone!!

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Track Santa on his magical flight around the world on Christmas eve. And check out some more fun activities on this page.

Toddler Holiday Traditions

Watching holiday specials on TV. Am I the only parent who forgot that in the animated version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” there’s a scary Snow Monster who terrorizes the innocent woodland creatures? I’m afraid I inadvertently gave my son nightmares. I didn’t know! I thought it was a family-friendly movie. Though why Miles is afraid of a silly-looking monster and not Jim Carrey’s creepy version of the Grinch is beyond me.

Getting the Christmas tree. This year, Miles went with some friends of ours to cut down their tree at a farm in the country. He had a blast. But the next day when my husband took him to pick out a tree for us, instead of enjoying a fun day out with Dad, Miles threw a fit. “I just already did get a tree yesterday!!” Sor-RY.

Sitting on Santa’s lap. There’s a very authentic Santa (Real beard! Velvet suit!) who visits a mall near us. Too bad for Santa, this mall also does an amazing holiday train display -- much more of a draw for a 2-year-old boy. Just as well. I’m afraid a visit to Santa would’ve turned into the Pony Ride Debacle all over again. Last summer, we waited in a long line (twice!) for Miles to ride a pony (his idea), only to have him freak out at the last minute.

Making a gingerbread house. So maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to heap piles of candy, cookies & frosting in front of a toddler. I mean, what did I expect? I’m not proud to admit that this would-be enjoyable holiday project took a bad turn, with me shouting: “Don’t touch that wall, you’re knocking it over! NO MORE CANDY!! Stop it, Miles, it’s just to look at!!” Then after he went to bed, I spent hours piping frosting onto roof tiles & giving myself gestational diabetes eating the extra candy. Fun times.

Taking the Christmas card photo. My son can be a bit temperamental at times. He wasn’t into getting his photo taken at the Festival of Trees. Like I said, he had no interest in sitting on Santa’s lap. There’s no snow, and I haven’t finished putting up my decorations. All this adds up to a lack of seasonal photo ops. Meaning I just ended up picking some random photo and ordering our cards from Snapfish before the free shipping offer ended.

Participating in the Christmas pageant. OK, this one hasn’t happened yet, but I’m greatly looking forward to seeing Miles and his classmates march down the aisle singing “Jingle Bells” in the school pageant. He’s been practicing at home. The “... sleigh -- hey!” is his favorite part.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Craft stores like Michael’s & A.C. Moore are the place to find unbelievable bargains this time of year. Gift bags for 30 cents? Ribbon for 59 cents? 50 yards of wrapping paper for $1.99? Cute ornaments for pennies apiece? Plus 50% off coupons in every day’s paper? I’ll take it!