A Place for (Almost) Everything

I don’t know if it’s the spring-cleaning articles in all the magazines or what, but getting organized has been on my mind a lot lately. A recent post on a friend’s blog reminded me that I, too, feel peaceful and happy when everything’s in order. May explain my feng shui phase in my 20’s. (Tip: Always close the toilet lid. Something to do with containing bad energy or allowing good chi to flow, I forget. And also, if you have flush-happy toddlers around, it just makes sense.)

Too bad my family could care less about being organized. I mean, what’s the point of having a coat rack, a shoe cubby, key hooks, and a change jar if everything gets dumped in a big pile the second everyone walks in the door? Work with me, people!!!

I’ve also realized that one person’s organized is another person’s OCD. For instance, did anyone see that article on Jamie Lee Curtis in Good Housekeeping a while back? The woman wears dust-rags on her feet, repackages everything in her house from cereal to CDs, and has only has 3 colors of clothes in her wardrobe. Um, OK, Jamie Lee. She does admit, though, that her husband and kids don’t maintain her organizational vision, so she sees it as her job to keep things in order.

I don’t need my environment to be THAT orderly. I’m fine with having a pile of mail on the counter, a pile of books on the table, and a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. Hey, Jamie Lee has her Tupperware, I have my piles, OK? And I do love those fabric bins. At one point I tried to keep my kids’ stuffed animals in one bin, toy cars in another, and blocks in another, but now I don’t care if everything’s all jumbled up together as long as it’s off the floor and out of sight.

The important thing is being able to find something when you need it, right? I may not be the neatest person in the world, I may not have clear systems for everything, but I can usually tell you where something is. The extension cords? They’re in the bottom kitchen drawer next to the disposable placemats and flavored drink mix that no one likes. (No matter what, we end up with bunches of random stuff that don’t fit neatly into a clear category.)

And yet, I alphabetize my spices. For some reason, this is a source of great hilarity among my family and friends. Why?! Are spices not arranged alphabetically in the grocery store? What’s so crazy or OCD about that? If you want to spend 15 minutes rooting around for the cumin, be my guest. I have better things to do with my time. Like put everybody else’s stuff back where it belongs.


PICK O’ THE WEEK: Miles talked me into buying these dust-mop slippers. At first I thought they were ridiculous but now I think they’re awesome. Especially because the kids will put them on and slide around the kitchen. Anything to get them to help clean!

On Solo Socks & Enjoying Every Moment

See this? This is my collection of 37+ single kids’ socks. With each load of laundry, the number of mate-less socks grows. I ask you: how is that even POSSIBLE?!

I once read somewhere that you should keep solo socks only until the next time you do laundry, then toss any remaining singles. But where’s the fun in that? From time to time I actually DO find the mate, and then it’s like Christmas. (I lead a sad, sad life, don’t I?)

I’ve also heard people say you should buy only one kind of sock – say, white tube socks. What are we, barbarians?! Dressing boys is dreary enough without limiting myself to plain white socks. Sometimes finding a cute pair with fire engines on them on sale at Gymboree is the most fun I have at the mall! (I know… sad, sad life.)

You know those people with grown kids who love to tell us moms of wee ones how it all goes so fast? And to enjoy every minute? And to blah, blah, blah until you want to stab them with a plastic Elmo fork? (If any of them are reading this, I meant “I appreciate your words of wisdom.” Now I have to go keep my toddler from stabbing someone with a fork.)

I’d like to turn the tables for a minute. I’d like to speak to all those single people and empty-nesters and even parents of children who are primarily responsible for their own clothing and bodily fluids. I’ll start with laundry.

Remember the days when you used to do maybe 2 loads a week of darks and whites? In my world, those days are OVER. In a typical week I might do a load each of bath towels, kids’ sheets, adults’ sheets, kids’ whites, kids’ darks, kids’ mediums, kids’ pajamas, my own whites and darks, and another load of kids’ bedding.

Because multiple changes of clothes are required daily, thanks to diaper blowouts and mud puddles, and those changes of clothes might occur anywhere, we have approximately 5 dirty clothes hampers throughout the house. And my washer and dryer are conveniently located in the most remote and child-unfriendly corner of the basement. Sitting in a Laundromat reading a book in my single days seems SO much more appealing now.

Next, enjoy the silence. I know everyone says they love the pitter-patter of little feet, and I’ll be the first to admit that a toddler talking to himself while he plays with his trucks is adorable. But do you really miss the escalating shrieks of “Mo’ milk!” and “I had it first!” Do you miss someone screeching “MAAAAMAAAA!!” at 4:30am? Do you miss small children with no concept of “indoor voice” bellowing at you for fruit snacks and Goldfish crackers? I didn’t think so.

Even though I’m dying to, I won’t say anything about getting to go to the bathroom by yourself or shower daily or eat sitting down because that’s such well-trodden territory. (Especially on this blog!) But I WILL say, be grateful for those small moments of alone time you never noticed or appreciated.

For instance, before I had small children I never recognized what a treat it was to be able to answer the phone – even FIND the phone – when it rang. Or to conduct a 4-minute conversation about my electric bill without anyone interrupting me to whine that his brother ran over his toe with a tricycle.

Sometimes I’ll be talking (I mean TRYING to talk) on the phone to my mom, who’s a retired empty-nester now, and she’ll have to go so she can dash off to her third yoga class of the week or her book club or a dinner party or out to a midweek movie with my dad. And I’ll think, “Wow! She doesn’t even have to pack a diaper bag or call a sitter or anything. She can just go! Can you IMAGINE?!” I bet she even ends up with the same number of socks when she does her 2 loads of laundry each week.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: Register by March 1 for fun, practical, 6-week online nonfiction writing classes with me and/or Writer Mama Christina Katz! I haven’t taught one yet in which at least 1 person didn’t publish an essay they wrote in class. Find out more and sign up here. The price is going up next session so if you’re interested, don’t wait!

Culinary Goddess...for a Week

The tofu nuggets were a mistake. I see that now. Even when C. dubbed them “tuggets” in an attempt to jazz them up, the kids weren’t buying it. They remained unmoved by the breaded, gelatinous cubes of soybean curd on their plates. Oh, well. Can’t blame a mom for trying, right?

As a New Year’s resolution of sorts, I have decided to step up my game in the kitchen this year. Our meals had gotten so pathetic they barely qualified as meals. Plain pasta and peas. Mac & cheese with broccoli. Slices of turkey, cheese, and apple, naked on a plate, not even combined into a sandwich. I told myself it was because the kids were so picky and my husband was rarely home for dinner, so it didn’t matter. But the truth is, this food wasn’t appetizing to anybody.

So I decided to get more creative, a little healthier and more well-rounded, and actually – gasp! – PLAN some meals in advance. I don’t know why, but meal planning has always seemed like such a chore. Of course, the alternative is that I consistently end up 1 or 2 ingredients shy of a recipe I want to try and resort back to pasta.

Here’s the thing, though: in my house, meal-planning is extra tricky. That’s because a) I’m a vegetarian, b) my husband is currently on a meat-heavy, anti-carb diet, and c) I have 2 extremely finicky children. I’d like to point out that even as a vegetarian, I’m usually the least picky one in the group. It’s true. I’ll eat whatever’s on the menu, just hold the cow.

I’m not gonna lie; cooking has been a challenge so far. And there have been some surprises along the way. For instance, the first meal I made was chipotle shrimp tacos. (I do eat seafood now and then.) To my surprise, both my 4yo and my 22mo gobbled them up. So, let me get this straight. My preschooler will not eat cucumber, but he WILL eat shellfish? And my toddler will turn up his nose at avocado, but finds CHIPOTLES pleasing to his palate? And both of them will eat olives, but not baby carrots. Go figure.

The next meal was a vegetable lo mein. It took some threatening coaxing, but the boys did eat a few bites. C. and I thought it was pretty tasty, although he did balk at the carbs in the noodles. The next night I made the ill-fated “tuggets.” Even I had to admit they were less than delicious. It feels like blasphemy for a vegetarian to admit she doesn’t like tofu, but there you have it. C.’s side dish of garlic-sauteed broccoli was much better received.

Another winner was my veggie Crockpot chili, which the kids scarfed down when heaped liberally with cheese and tortilla chips on top. Personally, I thought the linguini with tapenade, artichokes, tomato, and feta was fabulous. But apparently, even though both my boys will eat whole olives, they will NOT eat them when they’re chopped up. (UGHH!! These kids are killing me!)

Tuna & rice casserole: flop. Anchormommy’s crustless spinach and tomato quiche: hit. (And the ONLY way I can get Riley to eat spinach.) Zucchini bread (while technically not a meal): hit.

Miles and I also whipped up some homemade playdough, which – while not edible – still qualifies me as a culinary goddess. Shut up. IT DOES. I also made Jello, which my mother-in-law introduced to the boys over Christmas. What are you gonna do? Sometimes you have to play to the crowd.

I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty impressed with myself. I’ll be honest: getting my family to eat a healthy homemade meal is almost as thrilling as seeing my byline in a national magazine. Of course, I realize it’s only been a week or so. I better pace myself.

So tell me: have you found any crowd-pleasing meals in your house?

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.

Clean House? Not So Much

I may have mentioned a time or 20 how I try to squeeze as much freelance work into as little kid-free time as possible, which necessitates arrangements so complex that pulling off a triple axel on dull ice skates seems easy in comparison.

So it was nothing short of a miracle when the mom of my son’s classmate offered to give him a ride home once a week. This meant Miles could stay an extra couple hours for the after-school program instead of being forced to come home and be quiet while his baby brother naps and I work. Plus, I wouldn’t have to cut the baby’s nap short to pick him up. Win-win, right?

The first time this other mom brought Miles home, however, her son needed to come in to use the bathroom. Terror shot through me.

You see, people, our bathroom is not what you’d call “guest ready.” Not only do we not have decorative hand towels and French-milled soaps, but you’re lucky if there’s toilet paper and no puddle on the floor. You might find a half-eaten banana in the bathtub, a sippy cup of milk in the sink, and a toothpaste self-portrait finger-painted on the mirror.

It’s disgusting. I know. But when you have 2 small, exceedingly messy boys and no time (or cleaning lady), that’s what you get. Certainly if we’re expecting guests I’ll run a Clorox wipe over the counters and toilet and chuck the mess behind the shower curtain. But if it’s just us, what’s the point? A clean bathroom lasts only until the first potty break.

So, disguising the panic in my voice, I said to this other mom, “Sure! Of course! Let me just run in there real quick and make sure we have hand soap.” (As if. That was used up long ago when the boys decided to give their action figures a bubble bath in the sink.)

The next week, I was prepared. The bathroom was passably clean. But this time she asked to fill up her kid’s water bottle in the kitchen. Where she encountered a sink full of dirty dishes from breakfast… and lunch. I was humiliated. I’m not striving to be Martha Stewart, but there are low standards and then there are frat-boy standards. We were probably violating several health codes in the kitchen and bathroom alone.

So the following week, my house was CLEAN. Really clean. (I mean, not under-the-couch clean, but come ON. Let’s be realistic here.) And you know what happened? The other mom was running late and drove off without stepping foot in our immaculate abode.

I took some small, sick comfort in the fact that when my son came home from a playdate at their house, he said the kid’s room was really messy.

READ O' THE WEEK: In case you missed it, here's my article on "The Truth About Kids and TV." You'd think I could clean while my kids are watching a show, but no.

What I Wish I Knew

Someone asked me the other day if there was anything I wish I knew before I had kids. After telling him I could write a book on that topic – and if you compiled all my blog posts, I already have – I narrowed it down to a few things.

The cleaning. Dear God, the cleaning!! I had no idea how much time and energy I would spend cleaning up after my children. And we’re not just talking changing diapers and picking up toys. Oh, no. The day might bring a spilled bottle of maple syrup or a blender explosion in the kitchen, a sippy-cup malfunction in the family room, a dog-shredded diaper in the baby’s room, and a bathtub tsunami. Not to mention the laundry. Spit-up stained sleepers, grass-stained overalls, and peed-on sheets are just the beginning.

It seems like not that long ago I lived in a 1-bedroom apartment and used the same plate and fork at each meal. I vacuumed and cleaned the bathroom maybe once every week or 2. (Did I even own a vacuum?) I did one load of laundry a week. And if I put something away, it stayed there. If you can imagine.

Nowadays, if I didn’t do the daily maintenance I usually do, you’d think we’d been robbed. Or, as one of my Twitter friends put it, “My husband recently said our house is to the point where we should burn it, collect the insurance money, and start over!”

And thank goodness someone finally put into words what I’ve always thought about cleaning ladies. If you’re lucky enough to have cleaning help once a week or even twice a month, that’s not a free pass, people. It’s not like you have Alice from “The Brady Bunch” living with you, points out Claudine Wolk, author of “It Gets Easier… And Other Lies We Tell New Mothers.” It’s simply what I like to call DAMAGE CONTROL. The daily messes and stresses? They’re still on you.

The 24/7, 365 responsibility. OK, maybe intellectually you knew this was the deal. But did you really think through exactly what this meant? That you’d be restricted to drive-thrus, unless you want to schlep the baby carrier in and out of the car just to grab your Starbucks and your drycleaning?

That unless you’re lucky enough to live near family you will have to pay someone to watch your child EVERY SINGLE TIME you want to go out with your spouse, go to a yoga class, repaint the dining room, and possibly even clean your house without someone screaming or getting underfoot?

That you don’t get sick days, holidays, vacation time, or personal days? That you may never again sleep in on weekends? (At least till your kids are teenagers.) I’m telling you, people, it takes some getting used to. Even now, I’m still disappointed when 5 p.m. on Friday comes … and I realize it means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Happy hour is a distant memory…

The unparalleled joy. I’ve always loved kids. And yet I still hadn’t the faintest clue what it was going to be like to meet a tiny, brand-new person that was half me and half my husband. How I would feel when he reached for MY finger and would only be soothed by ME. How my heart would soar when he slept peacefully, ate well, burped, gained weight, had poopy diapers, even! (Aside: A friend of mine – a GOOD friend – changed Riley’s dirty diaper once. Since her babies are regularly constipated, she was actually jealous of my son’s poop. Jealous! Of POOP!!)

Moms love to trade horror stories and vent about the hard work and frustrations that go along with raising kids. I know I do! So before you have them you might wonder, “Why put yourself through that?” and “Is it worth it?” The answer is yes. YES!! A thousand, billion, trillion times YES. Why?

A billion, trillion different reasons. Because babies have senses of humor. More than many adults I know. And because they unconditionally love you, with the sloppy kisses and sticky hugs to prove it. And because they’re so very entertaining. And because of moments like this:



If that's not enough to convince you, I don't know what is. But I don't really wish I knew all this before. Because you really have to experience it for yourself.

Welcome to Our Home

Hi! Come on in, but watch your step. Those are our muddy shoes from a trip to the park yesterday. And don’t mind the kids’ snowsuits, which I hung on the doorknob to dry -- in February. All those coats on the floor are because of the broken coat rack, which I’ve tried to glue back together 3 times now. The baby thinks it’s fun to knock it down.

Whoops! Watch out for the bowling pins. We turned the hall into a bowling alley the other day when it rained. Ugh, more shredded newspaper? Looks like the dog or the baby got into the recycling bin again.

Here, come on in to the kitchen. I’ll make you some tea. Don’t mind the crunchy floors. That’s just the Cheerios left over from breakfast. And don’t worry, those plastic cups and plates strewn all over aren’t dirty. The kids just like to go through the cabinets and play with the dishes. They use the pot lids for cymbals. And “skateboard” on the cookie sheets. Sorry there’s no place to sit. Miles is using the stools for his fort. Yes, that’s the random pile of junk over there in the corner.

Let’s go have a seat in the family room. Just shove that laundry aside. Don’t worry, that’s clean, too. The kids just dumped it out so they could make a spaceship out of the laundry basket. Contrary to appearances, we actually DO own a toy box. Several of them. But the kids empty them out daily because the toy they want always happens to be at the bottom. After awhile, it just seems pointless to keep putting the toys back, you know?

The bathroom? Sure, it’s the door on your left. Just be sure to close the door behind you if you don’t want an audience. Don’t trip on the Elmo potty next to the tub. And there’s a lock on the toilet, since Riley just discovered how to open it. That will explain any foreign objects you may see floating in there. Wait -- here’s some toilet paper. We don’t keep it on the roll anymore since SOMEONE likes to unroll it every chance he gets. And the soap is that purple bubbly stuff in the SpongeBob bottle. I know it looks and smells like juice, but trust me.

Want something to eat? I think I have some cookies around here somewhere. Oh, wait, sorry. I used the last one as a bribe to get Miles to eat his dinner last night. How about some animal crackers? Cheese sticks? Dehydrated fruit bits? No? Here, let me get rid of your tea bag for you. We have to keep a stack of cookbooks on top of the trashcan so the baby doesn’t throw away the remote control when we’re not looking.

You’ve got to run? Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? I can nuke up some extra chicken nuggets and frozen corn, it’s no trouble. I just have to give these guys a bath first, before it gets too late and they start having meltdowns. No? Well, maybe another time, then.

Great to see you, too! Yes, that’s a great idea. We’ll get together at YOUR house next time.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Thanks to my dad, we’ve discovered this mini-barrel of Red Truck wine. It’s 4 bottles for the price of 3, and best of all it stays fresh so you can just drink a glass or 2 a night. Much classier than a box, don't you think? ;)

Ready, Set, Run Errands!

I don’t know about you, but I can be in and out of the supermarket, pharmacy, and liquor store in under an hour and usually still have time to get gas. IF I don’t have my kids with me, that is. Everybody knows that with a kid or 2 in tow, your time-to-errands ratio goes WAY down. You’re lucky if you can get through Trader Joe’s in an afternoon.

I was reminded of this today when I attempted 2 seemingly simple errands with both kids.

First, our departure was delayed because the baby refused to take his morning nap. After one failed attempt, I gave up and got everyone bundled up to go out. First stop: Staples. I had to make some copies and purchase some packing materials. On the way there (5 min. from my house) Miles announces he’s hungry. I fish a couple semi-stale peanut butter crackers out of the diaper bag and hand them over.

We park, I hoist everyone out of the car, and we trudge into the store. There’s a line for the copiers, which I stand in while holding Riley, who is getting heavier by the minute. It’s as if someone swapped his diaper with a bag of sand. Miles grabs some scissors and markers off a display stand and goes running off with them. I wait and wait and wait some more. Until I realize I’m in the wrong line. Back to square one.

By the time I’ve made my copies and paid, my biceps are burning from carrying my leaden tot and Miles has coerced me into buying him candy by putting his sticky mitts all over it before I realized what he was doing. Riley has lost a shoe, so we retrace our steps throughout the store and parking lot before finding the errant shoe in his carseat.

Second stop: post office. A couple weeks before Christmas, we’re asking for trouble, but I have no choice if I want my packages to get there in time. As we swing into the parking lot, I see a line out the door. Abort, abort! We’ll never make it out alive and home in time for lunch. I make a U-turn and head for another branch a little farther away.

We park, I hoist everyone out of the car, and we trudge into the post office. But not before checking that the baby has both shoes. There’s a line, of course. I keep Miles busy by letting him drop the Christmas cards in the mail slot 5 at a time. He’s done in no time, and begins to amuse himself by pulling his shirt over his head. My arms are growing weaker. Seriously, how much does this baby WEIGH? Did the hat and mittens add an extra 10 lbs?

Next stop: the gym. Before the carseats are even buckled I know it’s not going to happen. The baby’s whining and rubbing his eyes; Miles is complaining he’s still hungry. It’s not worth it. Besides, I’ve already done my arm workout for the day.

We desperately need groceries, since the only thing in the house resembling baby food is an aging sweet potato in the bottom of the pantry. And the craft store’s calling, since we ran out of garland halfway through decorating the Christmas tree. But I’m no dummy. I know enough to quit while I’m ahead.

Besides, on a day when the boys are at school and the sitter, I can breeze through every store in the mall and STILL have time for a cup of coffee on the way to pick-up. Just time me and see.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: I learned from one of my Twitter friends that many Target stores are starting to stock fresh food. I’ve long thought they were the cheapest place to buy all sorts of groceries, including organic stuff and baby food, so I’m super-psyched about this.

Deadbeat Dads?

Lately I feel like I’m a hotline for overworked, underappreciated moms. Friend after friend has vented to me with some variation of the following: “I do practically EVERYTHING around here, taking care of the kids, the meals, the laundry, the bills, the shopping, etc., etc. while my husband surfs the web/ watches TV/ sits on his ass/ or just doesn't notice. What is his problem? How can I get him to pitch in more? And when do *I* get some friggin’ time off?!”

I’m not even going to TRY to be politically correct or diplomatic in this post because, well, it’s my damn blog and I don’t have to. Besides, I’ve heard it from so many women at this point I’m going to go out on a limb and say guys like this are the norm. Parenting magazine wouldn’t have devoted a 2-part series to this issue if it weren’t a problem for lots of us.

This is inevitably going to piss off my husband and all those other dads out there who think they’re doing their fair share. And to them I say, “Really?” Do you REALLY, HONESTLY feel that your contributions are equal to those of your wife?

Do you really, truly believe in your heart of hearts that mowing the lawn every couple of weeks and changing the oil and taking the kids to Chick-fil-A on Saturdays offsets your wife’s duties? Do you even KNOW the extent of her duties? Hint: they probably include large amounts of time spent on stain removal, making things for preschool bake sales, and commemorating every event for family and friends with the proper card and/or gift – which includes KNOWING WHERE THE STAMPS ARE and addressing and mailing said cards on time.

I’m going to stop there because a complete list could fill several hundred pages and I’d like to finish this post before I turn 40. And also, because it’s making me mad.

Mad is the feeling I get when I encounter these real-life scenarios (some of which were NOT taken from my own life):

-- The husband of a busy SAHM of 3 children involved in countless sports and activities says to his wife, “I’ve noticed most of the other moms in the neighborhood mow their lawns. Why can’t you do that?” I literally had to bite back the obscenities when I heard this. Did I mention this guy travels for work at least half of each week, so the mom essentially works 72-hr shifts with no relief?

-- A husband volunteers to cook dinner one night. At 6 p.m., he begins surfing around on Foodnetwork.com and rummaging through the pantry. I guess hoping the exact ingredients will magically materialize? When the kids begin to have hunger-induced meltdowns and the wife loses her cool, the husband accuses her of being a control freak and calls out for pizza.

-- A husband volunteers to do the grocery shopping but can’t be bothered to make a list, asking his wife to text it to his phone instead. He still forgets the top 2 most essential items -- milk and toilet paper -- neglects to use the $5 coupon for formula, and comes home with regular baking potatoes instead of sweet potatoes.

-- A husband tells his wife she should stop breastfeeding because it’s making her bitchy. However, he refuses to do any middle of the night feedings because he has to be alert for work the next day. And he doesn’t even know what a bottle sterilizer IS, let alone how to use one.

I’m sorry, but this is just not right. The question is, what can we do about it? You can’t MAKE someone care that the clothes will get wrinkled if they’re not folded straight out of the dryer. You can’t FORCE someone to notice the collection of curdled milk-filled sippy cups under the couch. And you don’t WANT to set up a dynamic with your husband in which you treat him like a spoiled child and he treats you like an unreasonable shrew.

So how do you turn the tables? How do you even out the workload? How do you get to a point where you don’t feel like spitting nails whenever your husband shoves aside a pile of unfolded laundry to put his feet up and watch the game? Good questions.

The Parenting articles I mentioned contain loads of good info. (Such as: 46% of moms get irate with their husbands once a week or more. Those with kids younger than 1 are even more likely to be mad that often.) This web site, which I’ve mentioned several times, has this to say about “How to Stop Fighting Over Housework." I found the book "The Lazy Husband" to be validating, if not life-changing. And I’ve heard the authors of "Getting to 50-50" on several talk shows. I’m not yet convinced such a balance exists in any marriage.

In fact, I don’t know that there really is a solution. Maybe time and gradual (begrudging?) acceptance is the only way. That seems to be what worked for my mom, who considers herself a feminist, worked AND raised kids most of her life, and has been happily married to my dad for 35 years. She said to me once she doesn’t know where we women today got the idea that parenting and household duties should be shared equally. After all, it’s never been 50/50 for any generation.

She may be right, but at this point I’d settle for 70/30.

READ O’ THE WEEK: In Home Game, author Michael Lewis’ hilariously honest memoir of fatherhood, he freely admits that his m.o. is to do as little as possible when it comes to parenting. He estimates his domestic contributions at about 31.5%. He gets points for honesty, but I still feel sorry for his wife (ex-MTV news reporter Tabitha Soren, BTW).

FACT O’ THE WEEK: A survey of 360 married men found that the more satisfied a wife is with the division of household duties, the more satisfied a man is with his sex life. WAKE UP, GUYS!!

Arguments No One Wins

So C. and I were flipping channels the other night and stopped on “The Breakup.” We were quickly reminded why we don’t have fond memories of the first time we saw it. Because it caused an argument.

It started when I hinted – OK, flat-out said – that Vince Vaughn’s character reminded me of him. Specifically, the scene where his girlfriend, played by Jennifer Aniston, asks him to help with dishes. She’d been running around all day cleaning and cooking for a dinner party – in HEELS. He flops onto the couch and says, “I just need to relax for a minute. Let’s do them tomorrow.” Then SHE says she hates waking up to a kitchen full of dirty dishes, so can they just do them real quick. This launches a big fight.

I guess it’s meant to be funny, but it hits too close to home for me. What IS funny is that I saw V.V. as a typical guy and C. saw him as a thoughtless jerk and hence, was insulted when I pointed out their similarities. Meanwhile, I thought J.A. was being perfectly reasonable, and C. saw her as a nagging shrew. Hmm… what’s that thing about Mars and Venus again?

This got me thinking about those Arguments No One Ever Wins. For instance:

Who Works Harder
Me (coming into the room with a basket of unfolded laundry after nursing the baby & seeing C. on the couch): “Hey, hon, do you think you could clean up the kitchen before you start watching TV? I’ve been on my feet all day.”

C (heaving a sigh): “Well, I’VE been going all day, too. Can’t I just relax for a minute?”

Me: “You can, but then you’re going to fall asleep on the couch & you’ll be too rushed in the morning & I’LL have to clean up the kitchen. I NEVER get to relax! At least you get to sit down during the day.”

C: “You mean sitting in traffic during my 2-hr commute & then being on the phone all day? You think that’s relaxing?”

Me: “I would LOVE to sit quietly in a car by myself instead of having 2 people constantly yelling & pulling on me! When do *I* get a break? I never get to clock out!”

C: “Well, I come home & immediately take the kids. I don’t get a break either!”

Me: “They go to bed an hour after you get home! And it IS a break from what you’ve been doing all day.”

C: “Oh, so now you’re saying I don’t do anything? You don’t think my job is stressful?”

Me: “AT LEAST YOU GET TO GO TO THE BATHROOM BY YOURSELF!!!”

I always close with this line because really, how can he argue with that?


The Who Works Harder argument is closely related to Who Slept Worse and Who Does More Around the House. (This involves complex chore math, such as 1 lawn-mowing = 3 dishwasher empties.) When I was pregnant a popular argument was Who’s More Uncomfortable. Personally, I feel that I was the winner there, because the worst flu or tooth pain in the world IN NO WAY compares to growing a person inside your body and squeezing him out of it!

Every time I broach this subject, childless people and my mom get all up in arms. They point out that C. is a Good Guy. (He is.) They point out that he is a great dad who changes diapers and sometimes cooks. (He does.) They point out that throughout history, men have never done an equal share of the childrearing or housework. (True, but so what? As Obama has proven, change is possible!)

To those people I say, “AT LEAST YOU GET TO GO TO THE BATHROOM BY YOURSELF!!!”

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Should you trade sex for housework? My personal feeling is HELL NO. Especially not when you have a 4 mo. old who’s breastfeeding around the clock. But feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

Cupcake Queen

In the past month, I have made more cupcakes than I have in my entire life. I guess that happens when you have kids, huh? Turns out cupcakes are trendy right now. Debates are raging all over the internet on such pressing issues as, are cupcakes the new Krispy Kreme?

There are “cupcakeries” springing up all over the country. My friend ordered some of the renowned Sprinkles cupcakes and yes, they were divine. Of course, with an inch of buttercream frosting on top, I could’ve been eating a loofah and it would’ve tasted divine.

When I was growing up, my mom was big into making themed birthday cakes. She had this great cake-decorating book from the 1970s (which I tried briefly to find on Amazon but gave up because I don’t have time for that, only to write 500-word odes to the cupcake). It shows you how to cut shapes out of round and sheet cakes to make, say, a bunny with a bow tie. Flaked coconut and licorice feature prominently in the decorations.

One year, my mom made me a Smurf cake. Though it may be an assault to the adult palate, blue coconut goes over well with kids. She also made me an Eiffel tower cake when I was studying French in college, long past the required age for personalized, homemade birthday cakes. That’s my mom. And yet, on her own birthday, she’d make do with a frozen Pepperidge Farm cake. The sacrifices moms make...

Anyway, since my son goes to a (thankfully) un-P.C. preschool where cupcakes have not been banned, we’re allowed – encouraged, even – to bring them in for birthdays. There are 10 kids in his class, so that means he basically ingested twice his body weight in cupcakes this year.

No one at his school would bat an eye (again, thankfully) if someone brought in store-bought cupcakes. But I thought, why not whip up two dozen Duncan Hines ones? It’s not that hard! Right. Not hard, maybe, but time-consuming, definitely. So there I was, the night before, swirling light-green frosting onto the top of each cupcake, trying to dispense an equal amount of sprinkles on each one with hands that were trembling from sugar-shock.















I got clever with the baseball cupcakes for my husband’s birthday. (No, this was not his idea. Two guesses whose it was.)



















Then I got not-so-clever with Miles’ fairly hideous Spiderman and Cars cupcakes for his family birthday party. (Those are store-bought candies on top.)














But the kid kept changing his mind! I wasn’t about to spend all night researching superheros on the internet and customizing frosting colors for each character, only to have him wake up and say, “I don’t want Spiderman cupcakes anymore. I want Dark Vader cupcakes!” As if he even knows who “Dark” Vader is.

Someday, in all my free time, I aspire to create something like these amazing confections based on children’s books. How cute is the Very Hungry Caterpillar one?!

SHOUT OUT: A big thank-you to Nap Warden for giving my blog a face lift! I’m still working on filling in the new pages, as you can tell. Check her out at The Chronicles of a SAHM and NW Designs.

Domestic Goddess by Default

I have never been an enthusiastic practitioner of the domestic arts -- cooking, cleaning, sewing, gardening, crocheting, what have you. I mean, I CAN whip up some tasty peanut noodles. I DO clean my kitchen (too often for my liking, yet still not often enough). I HAVE managed to keep a few houseplants alive. I even sewed a quilt for my unborn child. (Hey, I had to pass the time somehow during my 41+ week pregnancy!) But I wouldn’t say I particularly enjoy these activities.

I know people who love to cook. Look at Rachael Ray. The woman cooks for a living, and still claims she goes home and makes dinner every night. My question is: why?? Same goes for people who make their own clothes. I can appreciate a hand-sewn quilt, but why would you spent all that time making a dress when you could just go out and buy one? Gardening I sort of understand -– at least you can admire and maybe even eat the fruits of your labor -– but it’s still one of the least-appealing activities I can think of. Just the THOUGHT of dirt under my nails makes me cringe. And to me, mulch smells like vomit.

OK, so Holly Homemaker I’m not. Unfortunately for me, none of my hobbies (if you can even call them that) lend themselves to raising a child. Traveling, reading, going to concerts, eating out, exercising, even writing is not easy with a baby in tow. Early on, I was frustrated that motherhood curtailed so many of my favorite pastimes: the beach was too bright for a baby, his neck was too floppy for a bike seat, kayaking was too dangerous, and whenever he was sleeping, I was too tired to read.

Now that Miles is a toddler, he’s more adaptable. Still, we spend a lot of time housebound. Naps are sacred, he goes to bed early, and he prefers to stay home and play with his toys a lot of the time. So, I have been forced to find things to do around the house – like cooking, cleaning, and even (yikes!) gardening. It’s true. Miles and I spent a nice afternoon planting window boxes. Well, I planted while he dug in the dirt for worms and emptied the watering can on his shoes.

My mom, a skilled sewer and bread baker, revealed that she took up baking after she had a baby. It was a quiet, time-consuming activity she could do while he napped. Plus, it made the house smell nice and everyone got to enjoy the finished product. I learned to knit when I was pregnant, because I could do something productive and chat or watch TV at the same time. (Sadly, I ditched that hobby the minute I finished my first, and only, scarf.)

I have friends who are avid scrapbookers. (Or "scrappers," per the lingo.) That, I can get on board with. At least it’s an attractive way to deal with all those shoeboxes and/or hard drives full of photos. Other moms I know refinish furniture and make their own stationery. All productive activities you can do while keeping an eye on a baby. And that don’t take too much brain power. And that can be easily interrupted should you need to nurse, change a diaper, or rescue your toddler when he’s wedged his head between the slats of a kitchen chair. (Not that that’s ever happened to me. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it has!)

I have not embraced my inner Martha. I do not aspire to win any bake-offs. I will never make a pair of overalls for my child or decoupage a lamp. (Actually, I don’t even know what that means.) I might, however, keep my window boxes alive this year. Fingers crossed.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: We were at the pool and another boy had a squirt gun. Miles asked me what it was. I paused, reluctant to introduce the concept of firearms. “What do you think it is?” I asked him. “A hairdryer!” he shouted. Sure. Let’s go with that.