Baby on Bored

I've Moved

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 22:07:00 +0000

Hi everyone, the talented, friendly and lovely Karen Bodkin, redesigned my site which is now www.stefaniewildertaylor.com. My blog is still Baby On Bored but I’ve added lots of cool stuff (I think). Please add me to your feedburner like this http://feeds.feedburner.com/BabyOnBoredStef and I think that’s all for now. I have a kickass post coming your way for Don’t Get Drunk Fridays and I will probably post something new today or tomorrow besides this. If you play your cards right.

Don't Get Drunk Fridays: Jennifer's Story

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 07:19:00 +0000

My name is Jennifer and I am an alcoholic. And a drug addict. I have been in recovery for 15 years, since I was 20 years old. On January 29'th I will have 2 years sober.

Based on the above figures, it is obvious that my sobriety path has had some forks in the road. I was sober for ten solid years, during which time I got two master's degrees, began a career as the clinical director of drug and alcohol treatment center, and got married. In my career, I helped create a nationally based drug and alcohol prevention program for Jewish teens. My entire identity was based on being sober. I had never even taken a legal drink, and my husband had no personal knowledge of my alcoholism. No matter how many stories I told him about the out of control girl running around New York City drunk and high as a kite, he had a hard time matching that image with the accomplished and seemingly well-balanced woman he had chosen to marry.

I spent my days working as a psychotherapist to low bottom alcoholics and drug addicts. People alternatively sentenced to treatment from prisons and jails. Young men and women who had lost everything and been forced by their families into rehab. Moms whose addiction had caused them to lose their children.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with my first child. My husband and I were elated, and I felt deeply rooted in my sobriety, career and life.

At 8 months pregnant, my husband's mom died suddenly, and it took much of his time and energy to process his shock and grief over this loss. After I had my son, my mom's cancer (which had been in remission for several years) returned full force and she was given 2 years to live. I was flattened by postpartum depression and anxiety, which despite my clinical background, totally pulled the rug out from under me.

My return to alcoholism and addiction began slowly and insidiously. My anxiety was so severe that I found myself unable to eat or sleep for several days in a row. My OB prescribes a low dose of Ativan to help me. It worked beautifully.

I began to question whether I was ever really an alcoholic. After all, doesn't every one party when they are in college? Granted, not everyone goes to Harlem in the middle of the night to score drugs off the street. Nor do normal college kids have take a medical leave from school because their drinking and drugging is so out of control. But I was convinced that as an adult and a mother, I could now handle drinking responsibly. I cleverly found a therapist to tell me that she didn't think I was an alcoholic, and she even encouraged me to try drinking again. I hadn't had a drink in so many years, I didn't even know what to order. "What do you like to drink?" I asked her.

"White wine," she replied, with a small smile, "I love to have a glass of cold white wine at the end of the day." My husband and I went to Vegas and I ordered my first glass of white wine in over ten years.

I wish I could say my story ended here- that I had somehow grown out of my alcoholism and could enjoy that ubiquitous glass of wine at the end of the day without consequence. Unfortunately, it didn't work out so well for me. I spent the next few years battling alcoholism and addiction. I stayed sober during my second pregnancy and controlled my drinking while nursing. At 7 months pregnant my mom's cancer took a major turn for the worse. She died exactly two weeks before my daughter was born. After I brought my baby girl home from the hospital, the grief, pain, sadness and anxiety I felt was indescribable.

I had all the rationalizations. I believed I was a better mom when I was under the influence of pills and alcohol. I was more relaxed, more able to deal with the stress of raising young children, more present, more in the moment, generally happier and able to function. I prided myself on the fact that I was never abusive. I never screamed at my children or put my hands on them in anger. I took them to the park and made them organic, homemade baby food. I had the perfect image of peaceful "earth mama" down pat. I somehow believed that this persona mitigated my alcoholism and addiction, which was now spiraling out of control.

I knew I needed to get sober again. When I wasn't under the influence, my anxiety was off the charts. I literally felt like I was jumping out of my skin. I kept breaking my own rules: no drinking until they were asleep was quickly replaced by holding out until 6pm, then 5pm, then 4pm. I needed more and more of those little pills to simply get me through the day. My husband was terrified, but didn't quite know what to do because he had never dealt with an addict before and I was such a brilliant liar and rationalizer (as all alcoholics and addicts must be to justify their using.)

Things got really bad. Without going in to all the gratuitous details, my husband came home on a Friday afternoon and told me the jig was up. Unless I could immediately get sober, he was sending me to a detox treatment center for 28 days the following Monday Of course, I couldn't stop drinking and using. I was in the middle of a run and my body was completely physically addicted. On Monday morning, he dropped me off kicking and screaming at a treatment facility. In that moment, I was a desperate, broken mother who had come within millimeters of losing my children because of my addiction. I knew that I had to get sober or I would lose everything.

I never thought my alcoholism would progress enough to warrant me having to go into treatment. Being separated from my children during that time was the most painful experience of my life. I was dripping in shame. I felt like the worst mother in the world. It took me a long time to realize that my addiction didn't care about my children. It didn't care about my family, my accomplishments, my master's degrees, or my career. It only cared about getting me drunk and high, isolated and alone. That is the very essence of the malady.

The guilt and shame that alcoholic and drug-addicted moms feel is overwhelming. We really believe that we are worthless as mothers if we can't even stay sober for our children. What I learned in recovery the first time (and had to relearn the second time around) is that it is not my fault that I am an alcoholic, but I am responsible for treating it. Sobriety is the foundation of my life now. I truly understand that without my sobriety, I cannot function as a wife, a mother, a friend, a therapist and a writer.

If you are reading this and finding yourself relating to parts of my story, please know that there is a way out of this destructive cycle. You are not alone.

stef's note: Thank you so much Jennifer for sharing your story. Lives are being saved by not keeping this "in the closet" anymore! Jennifer's website is http://www.jenniferginsberg.com/ (from there you can get to her fabulous blog and other site as well) Jennifer also offers groups and individual therapy if you live in the LA area.

For anyone who is struggling, please come share on our Yahoo group (which is already HUGE) or look in the front of the phone book. There is help.

For anyone who would like to turn this into a Lifetime movie, uh yeah!

Stood Up

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 00:17:00 +0000

I got stood up today. I was going to lunch at 12:30 at a restaurant near my house that has a kickass ahi salad.It was a business lunch and anyone with small children and no real "outside of the house" work to speak of would understand the excitment I felt at needing to be somewhere at a certain time to meet a person who would more than likely be paying for my meal.

In my anticipation of being out in public, I slapped on some whore paint and left the sweats on the bedroom floor opting for a pair of minimally dirty black pants instead. I had something to do from 10:30 to 11:30 which involved talking about not drinking with a group of other people who love to talk about not drinking and then I headed straight over. I had an insanely bad migraine though so I stopped by my house where my husband met me in the driveway with some Imitrex and a glass of water (as if I were running a marathon and was there to cheer me along my route) and still I still made it through the front doors of the Coral Tree Cafe (did I mention they have an insanely delightful ahi salad?) with two minutes to spare.

My date was not there yet. No big deal I thought. I'll just sidle up to the counter area and pretend to read a magazine for a few minutes. I flipped though an entire LA Weeky, glancing up every twenty seconds for my date until I finally got to the ads for sex phone lines on the back page. I looked at my watch; seven minutes had passed.

I was already starting to miss my sweatpants and I'd only been out of the house an hour and a half. I knew I was going to have to work up more endurance for social situations. I want to be the Tiger Woods of lunching. Wait...

I burned off another ten minutes fidgeting with my Blackberry and then another five studying the menu from a seat at a table even though I already knew I'd be getting that damn salad (It's ahi. Seared. Ginger garlic dressing.)

If a person is over fifteen minutes late and another person is really hungry it seems acceptable for the hungry, not late person to go ahead and order right? So I ordered my salad and diet Coke and then sat back down and attempted to look normal and non-stood up while trying to avoid the pitying glances I was positive I was getting. (Yes I know that no one gave a shit what I was doing but I still felt self conscious)

At this point it was pretty clear that I was getting stood up and I didn't have my date's phone number or email address on me. I decided to call my husband because a) it helped me look busy and b) he's great in a crisis. "If someone is driving from the Pacific Palisades to Encino how much leeway do I need to give them before I get the hell out of here?" I asked him. "Oh, and factor in my headache please."

"Thirty-five minutes." he answered immediately. I know. He's really smart. He should work for some sort of crisis hot line. Or do underwear ads. Either way.

This left me with ten minutes to wait. I spent five more minutes idly sipping my soda, mentally shoe shopping based on what other people were wearing and comparing my twins' temperament to the badly behaved toddlers running around (full disclosure: my twins have never been to a restaurant). Finally I went to the counter and asked if they could change my order to go and went home, stripped and watched a 20/20 about a guy who poisoned his wife with antifreeze hidden in Gatorade until my headache went away.

So, turns out that my lunch date got confused on the time and showed up at noon waiting 28 min and left. We rescheduled for Monday the 18th. I've already chosen an outfit.

New Year's Suggestions are Easier to Keep

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 19:59:00 +0000

My New Year's eve was a bit underwhelming this year which was probably to be expected. Instead of making any resolutions which have always been my downfall, I decided to give myself a break and just try to offer myself some suggestions. Think of them as goals that are more easily attainable than say "do more for charity." It's a lot easier to meet your expectations of yourself if you take a little time and lower them. One year my goal for myself was to eat more candy. That year I totally kicked ass! It was downright empowering. Another year I decided to eat less cheese. That didn't go quite as well but it showed me that it's a learning process!

So here are my "suggestions" to myself for 2010. I think they are reasonable.

Make sure I watch every episode of the Bachelor: Wings of Love -no fast forwarding through the pre-rose ceremony "contemplating the wall of photographs" boring part.
Stop talking crap about John Mayer unless I plan to put my money where my mouth is and stop listening to his music.
Refrain from buying a pair of cowboy boots no matter how fond my memories are of the pair I had in the 80's.
Knock "give husband blowjob" off my to do list.
Fantasize about buying a Wii.
Eat more canned soup.
When Facebook alerts me that it's someone I barely know's birthday, take a moment to internally wish them a happy birthday.
Really try to take my complaining to the next level.
Try not to laugh outloud at people with bad fake n' bake tans.
Make more meals at home from scratch. And by scratch I mean frozen in a bag from Trader Joe's.
When in the mall, take the time to stop and smell the fresh baked cookies at Mrs. Field's.
Keep in mind that bathing suit season is only six months away. Start working out five months and two weeks from now.
Attempt to be more of a sellout!

So what are your New Year's suggestions?

The Yahoo Link

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 16:51:00 +0000

I promise I will be going back to my regularly scheduled hilarity (except on Fridays when I will be talking all about drinking - and really any other time I choose since last I checked it was my blog) but until then, some of you drinkers are having trouble finding the link to the Yahoo group that's been created for us to lend support to each other.

So join us and let's talk and talk and talk and talk about not drinking which we will find endlessly helpful and people who don't drink too much will find awfully navel gazing.

Happy New Year Booze Hounds

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 22:26:00 +0000

Hi Everyone! Happy New Year! If you're feeling crappy, if you're feeling amazing, if you're feeling despondent, if you're feeling hopeful...come be with all of us and check in (that's the Yahoo link for the online support group).

Cecily from Uppercase Woman was one of my early supporters when I started talking about making a decision to quit drinking. When I went on Dr. Oz, Cecily immediately assured me that she'd show up for me in the studio audience - because that's what we alchies do; we show up for each other. And here she is again; showing up.

Ever since Stefanie asked me to post here (an honor I feel humbled by, truly) I’ve wondered what to write. Because while we have many things in common – we are moms, we are writers, we are happily married to great men, and our toddlers drive us absolutely apeshit, and yes, we are both alcoholics – the way our alcoholism choose to manifest is vastly different.

I often think if my life circumstances were different, perhaps my alcoholism would have made itself known through the elegant stem of a wine glass. Maybe if my father hadn’t walked out on us when I was two. Maybe if my mother hadn’t moved us across the country right before I started high school. Maybe if I hadn’t moved to a major city. Maybe if I’d married the first guy I dated, or the third, or the thirtieth.

But of course, the circumstances of my life are, well, the circumstances of my life. I did start hanging out with older boys that were all drunks when I was in high school, and started drinking with my boyfriend every day. Then I did move to Philadelphia, fall in love with the bar scene, and start spending six or seven nights a week hanging out until closing time. Then I did start hanging out with poets and writers, and we did start doing drugs, and before I knew what happened my last six months of drinking and drugging involved things like street drugs and needles and scary drug dealers and getting fired for stealing and almost dying of a drug overdose.

That is how my disease, my alcoholism, showed itself.

But guess what? The disease? It’s the same disease. It doesn’t give a shit if it comes to you in the form of prescribed pain pills, or expensive wine, a martini glass, or a syringe filled with heroin. It is actually a very close relation of the same disease that shows itself as too much shopping, or overeating, or over exercising, or gambling, or being anorexic. All of these sick, twisted, and it’s-so-sad-when-cousins-marry diseases spring from the same well, and show themselves in one similar way: they are a compulsion, a distraction, and a way to manipulate the universe to our liking. It’s a way to stop feeling our feelings, a way to smooth out the rough edges of the world, and a way to hide our head in the sands so we don’t lose our minds.

There are some basic truths I’ve come to learn about alcoholism and addiction in my fourteen years sober. First of all, it doesn’t discriminate; alcoholism could give a fuck about your background and whether or not you had a good family. It also is immensely self-centered, and doesn’t give much of a shit about your family, the people you love, or the outside world. Alcoholism is also demanding, eventually asking you to give it EVERYTHING, even your life.

There are some other basic truths I’ve come to learn about people like me and Stefanie. We’re smart, we’re creative, we’re wonderfully empathetic, and we are thin-skinned and sensitive. On the flip side, we also tend to be grandiose, self-centered, obsessive, and, well, thin-skinned and sensitive.

Another basic truth? Alcoholism is a family disease. While there might be just one person in your family that drinks alcoholically, everyone in the family is affected. Even the pets (funny how they disappear after that third glass, right?).

But there is good news. It is possible to heal. When I lay on that stretcher in the emergency room on December 21 of 1995 after my overdose, I knew I’d reached a turning point. I could either continue as I had, and wait to die, or I could step down onto the side of sobriety and embrace living. I was on the fence, there, for a while and unable to choose. Eventually, though, I made the right choice, and am alive today to tell you about it.

In a way, I was lucky. My particular version of alcoholism was pretty clean and clear; no one who looked at my life that last year I was drinking had ANY doubt that I was an alcoholic. Everyone knew. So when I got sober, I wasn’t greeted with disbelief; I was greeted with just plain old RELIEF. The entire city of Philadelphia let out a sigh that I wasn’t going to be pinballing through the streets of town any longer.

This made if far easier to accept the truth about my addiction and my alcoholism. It was very simple. I was a falling down drunk, a junkie, and a liar and a thief. Walking into my first recovery meeting was like coming home to my people, and not at all the feeling of being a square peg fitting into a round hole. Life has been a bit better, a bit brighter, each day since I got sober.

I won’t lie. There have been bad days. When I lost my twins at six months pregnant, I seriously considered finding a vat of heroin and taking a little swim. But I didn’t. I went to meetings. I cried. I ate a lot of chocolate. And now? My beautiful daughter, three and a half crazy years old, has never seen me drunk.

God willing, she never will.

Recovery is an option for everyone. It really is. I don’t know if my ramblings have helped anyone, but know this: you are not alone. You are not alone. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

Join us.

The Rest is Still Unwritten

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 20:31:00 +0000

Not every blog entry can be deep or have a message or inspire people to change their lives for the better of society. Every time I sit down at my keyboard I can't just magically cure blindness or single handedly prevent a global act of terrorism or convince PBS to stop airing Caillou (God knows I've tried). I'm not Oprah. Plus, between Jersey Shore and Biggest Loser Where Are They Now specials, I'm pretty busy.

However.

Although I can't always bring it, I do have these two-year-olds who seem to love the lens only slightly less than Tyra Banks. The other day Sadie was mid crying jag when Jon brought out a camera. She looked at him and still crying, tilted her face toward the camera and whimpered cheeeese. Imagine the "Tres jolie, Coco" moment in Fame -crying and performing.

And then there's Matilda who is convinced she's Angelina Jolie. She just has to smell a camera to start making a sexy face. You'd think we were behind the camera coaxing her, work it Mattie! Sell it Sweetheart! You own it! The camera loves you, baby! YOU'RE A STAH! (Imagine I'm an obnoxious Brit)

I give her a year before she refuses to get out of bed for less than ten thou.

The other day I was at the park with them when Mattie broke into a gallop and approached a group of friendly strangers to say hi and give them a little dance -her signature greeting. They all giggled at her and said hi back and then watched her trot back to me and Sadie. Then they all sort of got silent for minute at started to stare. At first I thought maybe I was being a little paranoid, oversensitive. But then I heard them comment to each other in what they mistakenly thought were lower tones trying to figure out if Sadie and Mattie were twins. "I don't think so but they are definitely close in age" I heard one say. "One is so little." I could hear them easily and I felt my face get hot. What the fuck? Were we a museum exhibit? I couldn't understand why I was upset, maybe I figured I was getting past the obvious phase.

As I walked by, on my way out, one of the men in the group asked if they were twins and I said yes. He said "I thought so but they're, well, so different."

"Yeah," I said. "One is a lot smaller."

And then I realized I didn't care. Because those people were only staring at the cover of the book. They'd never even read the first chapter so how could they possibly know our whole story?

Our twins were born two years ago on November 26th weighing 2lb and 4lbs. Three weeks later, Matilda came home and right before Christmas, Sadie joined her. Our little Christmas miracle.

And as Natasha Bedingfield sang over and over and over in 2005, the rest is still unwritten.

How weird is this? Natasha Bedingfield was born Nov. 26th.

See Jane Not Drink Friday

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 15:45:00 +0000

So let me introduce you all to Jane. She's a newish friend of mine. Lets just say I met her around the same time that I quit drinking. I absolutely love her because she's warm, honest, loving and lovely -and she inspires me everyday. She's here to share a little of her story with you so that you can see that we drinkers are EVERYONE. Please leave your Friday comments here so that we can continue to lend one another support and also, please please visit Sweet Jane's blog at Lights! Camera! Diapers!

I get why people drink, I sure do. This life can be ass-kickin' hard time filled with constant constantcy of the constant angst. Constant to-do. Constant brain-chatter. Constant noise. Expectations and desire and you know, the missing pieces that we just keep reaching, striving and wanting. And I found that a little drinkee-poo was a nice filler, take-the-edge-off-er and all around salve for what just ain't right.

I didn't drink all the time. I wasn't an every day type of a gal. I was a once-in-a-while-but-you-better-be-ready-to-duck kinda drinker. Do you know this type? Yeah, a FUN drunk.

You know, the girl you want to get drunk with. The one who wouldn't make you feel bad because she stops after two. And maybe you're done after four but oops, she might not be. And then you watch her slide into that slippery too-much place and that makes you feel a bit superior as she stumbles around slowly disintegrating. Or maybe you don't notice that she's out of her mind because she's carrying on a perfectly lovely conversation about world religions and why Top Chef is such great television or how Europe is generally a better place because they don't pasteurize the crap out of their dairy, but that doesn't mean she'll remember it. Oh, no, probably not. So please don't embarrass her by talking about last nights conversation in mixed company, she'll blush and look around wildly while biting her lip.

Boy it's nice talking about myself in the third person, it's feels a little less threatening to share at this level.

But let me just say this: For me, continuing to drink meant I could not be authentic.

And it was dangerous. It was Russian roulette with a loaded bottle pointed at my existence and the possibility of oh you know, a drunken foot on a gas petal. Or a drunken, harmful monologue to my fantastic husband. Or a lost friend due to some random moment that she hates me for but gosh if I can't remember. I was tired of the excuse that alcohol gave me, as nice as it was...I was missing the good by running from the bad.

And I wasn't getting pregnant either. In fact, this was the pattern:
1) Drink 'normally' for two weeks. (And by normal I mean sometimes one drink, sometimes eight...who knew?)
2) Then try to make the baby. Not drink for two weeks.
3) Find out not-so-much pregnant, drink heavily.
4) Rinse and repeat.

Then there was the pregnancy that lasted eight weeks. When that sweet feeling ended at the OB's office with an empty womb a few days before Christmas three years ago, I thought it was an excellent reason to drink. Kinda was. Trouble is, you can drink your feelings away and even have some cool professional success and really alot of goodness can go down along with the champagne and excellent wine that you got at that fancy wine shop. But. Then you become Paul Giamatti's character in Sideways all talking about the strawberry and asparagus in the wine but ultimately you are totally full of shit and like Miles in the movie. Because the escape hatch of wine was keeping you from your truth and your own personal brand of magic.

Ah I did it again, did you see that? Snuck it back out of first person. Sneaky little drunk. But, here's the thing. Since I come from a long line of boozehounds, I happen to know that my body is seriously allergic to the stuff. If you're like me you'll know you're allergic too because you black the eff out after as little as one drink. If you're like me you know you can't drink because you can't trust yourself with booze. And if you are trying to control it, chances are, you might be like me.

I was lucky. No DUI, no jail, didn't lose my husband or my house but I was losing little bits of my soul with every drink. Was it luck? Or smarts? I dunno. I just feel lucky to have chosen a different path. And I didn't need a court order to realize that help would be um, helpful. So I got it. And despite all of my previous thinking, it's been pretty fawking great. I've met extraordinary women who inspire and amaze me. I've learned so much about myself and how to safely unravel the darkness in search of some gems. Life is getting better all the time. Sure it sounds kinda cheesy but it is cheesy and true. My best, brightest hope for anyone struggling with this crappy, frustrating, physical addiction is that you too find some help. Get help and kick this hell and noise called booze to the curb.

Oh and by the way, I did finally get pregnant. Three months after I stopped drinking. He's now eight months old and a little blessing that life gifted me when I got brave and dove back into said life. And it's pretty magical.

Thanks to Stefanie for letting me bend your ear up here, it's a privilege and an honor. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all!

Blessings.
Jane

Tomorrow on Today

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 18:58:00 +0000

I'd love to leave a longer post for today but I'm jumping on a plane for NY to go talk about booze and the holidays on the Today Show. I will be on between 8:00 and 8:30 am. if you'd like to watch. I suppose this means I'll have to shower which wasn't on my agenda for today but I'll deal with it. That's the trouble with being a huge celebrity: you're forced to shower semi-regulary. I feel I owe it to my fans (otherwise known as "the little people")

I'll tell you something about traveling sober that you may not have thought of: you can't drink on the plane. I know it would seem like there are different rules for air travel with regards to sobriety like it doesn't count if you're above a certain altitude but, turns out, it matters. Who knew?

So I'm going to be all wide awake reading magazines and obsessing about shoes.

Let's Clean Up Our Act FRIDAY

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 18:32:00 +0000

So here we are. It's Friday. I invite all of you lushes out there who are trying to make a change to come to my blog for support. It's only on Friday because seriously, we can't talk about it every minute right? Well, I can but I'm very OCD and that's a whole nother issue. And seriously, if you aren't someone who is needing to, considering or already has quit drinking, I'm not fucking judging you. Drink away! Or don't drink away!

Listen, contrary to what you may think, I have not changed my stance on believing that booze can equal a good time. In fact, I encourage my husband to drink as much as he wants. But, here's why: my husband does not have a problem. I have not one time in the history of our relationship ever seen him have a drink and thought, "Uh oh, here we go." Never. You know why? Because Jon is 100% predictable when he has a few drinks. Even when he drinks every night, he doesn't need to drink every night. But I bet you there has come a time when Jon has seen me with an open bottle of wine and wondered if I'd be fast asleep by 8:00 p.m. and if he'd once again be responsible for getting up in the middle of the night if the kids needed attention. I'm sure he's cringed a little bit at a party when I've gotten a little (a lot) extra "outgoing."

Some people, myself included, struggle with calling what they have a drinking problem. Most people especially have a hard time identifying themselves as an alcoholic. I totally get that. Once you use the word alcoholic to describe yourself, it's pretty hard to change your mind, right? I mean, saying you are an alcoholic is like announcing to the world that you cannot care for your children, you are one step away from drinking Boone's Farm Tickle Pink next to a dumpster, hoping someone will give you a dollar. That is just not the case.

To me, alcoholic means that I should not be drinking ever because alcohol in my body can lead to unpredictable (or actually fairly predictable) bad behavior or at least behavior that I don't like. Alcoholic means that I don't want to drink and yet sometimes (all the time) I do it anyway.

So once you say you're an alcoholic there's no turning back right? Well, that's kind of ridiculous isn't it? Have you met Robert Downey Jr.? He's changed his mind about 8000 times.

I think that I am an alcoholic but if I died and went to heaven (because I'm a super awesome person -and that's where our kind goes right?) and God said, "Oh, that's so funny that you thought you were an alcoholic! Sorry if I implied that. Actually, you just drank a lot when you were stressed out but you probably could've drank a little now and then without horrible consequences. My bad!" would I be really pissed that I missed these years of alcohol? No, I wouldn't.

There's no blood test to determine whether or not you OFFICIALLY have a problem. There's just the voice in your head that is nagging at you that you need to quit.

So, if you want to do this, every Friday, starting today, let's share a little something about our experience and if we're struggling or not and then if you want to leave your email, do it. If not, that's cool too. Let's encourage each other. We're not alone.

Let's All Get Together, Sing Kumbaya and Not Drink

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 00:05:00 +0000

God I'm sounding like a skipping CD (that's just like a broken record but so much less cliche and more now) about the drinking aren't I? Whatever. Sobriety wasn't just a summer phase y'all. It's still a primary focus, if you can focus on "not doing something." The thing is, when you stop drinking life doesn't just automatically stop being a pain in the ass and when life is a pain in the ass, that would normally be cause for copious amounts of alcohol consumption.

Just last night Sadie decided that the thing she absolutely did not want to do was go to bed. The night before she decided the exact same thing and then cried until she puked just to hammer the message home and to be sure that we would not let her cry the next time. Sadie is a master manipulator which you kind of have to respect. Most two-year-olds can't puke on command. So when she was in hysterics last night I had to just lie still on Lulu the Lamb pretending to be falling asleep. I was trying to set a good example of what she should be doing.

She wasn't getting it at all. While she screamed and I remained motionless, a lot of unwanted thoughts zipped through my brain. I'm not proud of 90% of them. The main thing I thought about was how badly I wanted a Xanax. I was feeling sorry for myself because I hadn't been getting a lot of sleep due to Sadie's new love of the nightlife and Mattie's winter cold and blah blah blah it's always something right? So I really really wanted a Xanax. But to be honest, I wanted three. Come on, have you ever had one Xanax? One Xanax would be like one cookie - pointless. One measly Xanax is not even medicinal. But three...three seemed like just the thing to unclench my jaw and make life seem workable.

I'm not allowed to have Xanax, obviously.

I figured that I could ask Jon really super nicely to tell me where the Xanax is that I made him take and hide. I could say, "I am so very anxious right now and I believe that it is a medical emergency that I take a Xanax so can you kindly point the way to the stash?" And maybe he would.

But if he did then I would not "officially" be sober. Okay I wouldn't be "unofficially" sober either if you're going to be a substance abuse nazi about it. But I was pissed. Pissed that because I've decided that I'm going to be this present person who doesn't numb out with drugs or alcohol that I've now closed the door on EVER FEELING FUCKING GOOD AGAIN. That's what was happeing in my brain in the moment and I didn't think I would ever feel anything different.

I was also angry at my daughter for not wanting to sleep therefore refusing to give me a break FOR NO REASON that I could ascertain. "You're not even sick!" I thought to myself while glaring at her with my eyes closed. "Mattie has a goddamned cold and she's fast asleep! Go to sleep!" But Sadie was purposely ignoring my thoughts. While she was deep in the throes of her fit, I repeated a plea for peace in my brain over and over like a mantra. I felt absurd and not unlike Stuart Smalley.

Also there was the matter of an ahi tuna salad that Jon had brought home for me (because he's lovely) to eat for dinner and it was just sitting on the coffee table mocking me with its deliciousness and I was hungry! And mad. Did I mention mad?

So this sounds like it would end with Sadie going to sleep, me coming out victorious and munching my salad enveloped in the love of my family and the warm fuzzies of sobriety right? Uh, have you met my family? No such luck. Sadie continued screaming until I gave up and took her and Matilda who can't sleep on her own out into the living room.

Twenty minutes later Jon took a stab at the whole process and he luckily had success. Sadie is a bigtime daddy's girl. By this time, the Xanax craving had passed and I realized how cunning addiction is. People who aren't alchies and addicts don't give drugs and alcohol nearly that much thought; the having or the not having is not a focus.

From what I hear around the way, this is all normal.

I am still getting so many emails from women struggling with getting sober. Here's what I'm thinking: If you are in need of a little support, why not leave your email address in my comments and ask for help? A lot of sober women have been reading this blog lately and I know they'd love to email you and offer some words of encouragement. If you just want to check in and say how many days sober you have, let's do that every Friday! It'll be my new thing.

Regular comments are also always read and appreciated to no end.

Holiday Spirits

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 20:53:00 +0000

Last week I was sitting in a cold office waiting to have a mammogram with a smattering of bored, stiff looking women and a random dude. The television above us was showing a cooking program on the Food Network. The host of the show Sandra Lee, was giving a "fantastic" recipe for egg nog which consisted of pouring store bought egg nog into a big bowl and adding dark rum.

Now, don't get me wrong, back when I was drinking I thought that was an incredibly tasty recipe and I enjoyed it all through the season and may have actually shed a few tears when the last quarts of egg nog left the store shelves. But now that I'm slightly more clear headed, I wouldn't get so excited as to call adding rum to already made egg nog a recipe. Possibly a serving suggestion. But this Sandra chick has a lot of nerve. Look, I buy hard boiled eggs pre boiled in a bag from Trader Joe's and I have been known to mash them up and add some mayo and then spread it on toast. I have referred to this concoction as egg salad but I would never be as bold as to suggest that I have my own cooking show so that I could share this "recipe" with people watching me while they wait to have their annual breast exam.

The whole thing was sort of laughable so I decided right then and there to point it out to the other people waiting to have their boobies stuck in a vise. I thought maybe we could all have a good chuckle. Hey, it's the fucking holidays!

"Did you guys see what I just saw?" Nothing. No one even looked up.

"That woman just said to add rum to egg nog and it was on a cooking show!" Crickets. So I just kept going because I have comedy Tourettes that way.

"I mean, that seems pretty obvious is what I'm thinking. Who would drink just plain egg nog? That's gross. Of course you're going to add rum. Unless you're me. I can't have rum. I'm an alcoholic. I haven't had any booze since May. It's been tough but I'm sort of used to it now. Once in awhile I still really crave Xanax. Like right now." Okay, maybe I only said the first sentence but the fact is I was trying to make conversation with a room full of strangers and they were having none of me.

Finally one women looked up and said "The show is called Semi Homemade with Sandra Lee" as if it was my first time visiting this planet.

"Hmm...to me, that doesn't seem even semi homemade. It seems completely store bought." I'm sure she was completely regretting having engaged me.

"You don't buy the whole thing pre-made. You have to mix the rum into the egg nog.So that does sort of make it a recipe."

"And that deserves its own show?"

"It's a good show." With that she went back to her In Touch Weekly magazine. I figured I should knock off the trying to be amusing but I'd had way too much caffeine and I had no reading materials. I managed to last until we all got brought back to the waiting area where we sat in our little front closure tops waiting for our x-ray.

"I'd be more nervous but my breasts are incredibly photogenic" I announced to all six other women.

I got one laugh. And it was from the Sandra Lee fan. Hey, I'll take it.

Also, my results came back clean.

By the way, you know what would make an awesome holiday gift? My books. If you order them off of the Comedy Nerds website (click over to your left) you will get an autographed copy.

My Daughter's Imaginary Friend is an Asshole

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 00:10:00 +0000

So Elby has an imaginary friend named Angeli (not 100% sure on the spelling) who, I don't mind saying, is a total bitch. Oh she started out nice, sucked my daughter in with her enthusiasm for playing princess or riding in the car. She kept my daughter company at Trader Joe's, sitting in the basket while Elbs sat in the front turning once in awhile to better hear her ice cream flavor request in the frozen food aisle. Eventually Angeli's bad influence behavior started cropping up

Elby: Mom. I need to tell you something. Angeli doesn't like it when I wear long sleeves.
Me: Why not?
Elby: She never wears long sleeves because she doesn't like them.
Me: That's fine for her but why can't you wear them?
Elby: She doesn't want me to because she says long sleeves are stupid.
Me: She'll get over it.

Another time -

Elby: Angeli threw my Dora bathtub toy in the trash.
Me: What are you talking about?
Elby: My toy that I was playing with. Angeli accidentally threw it away.
Me: Do you mean that you accidentally threw it away?
Elby: No. Angeli didn't want to play with it because she said it's for babies.
Me: Tell Angeli to suck it.
Elby: What?
Me: I said tell Angeli tough luck

But lately Angeli has become downright aggressive. While in the car on the way to Target we had this conversation:

Elby: Angeli said she's going to crack my head open.
Me: WHAT? Why would she say that?
Elby: Actually she didn't say it. Angeli's brother did. He's really mean.
Me: Well, can Angeli talk to him and ask him not to threaten you with violence? Or do you want me to talk to him?
Elby: Actually, Angeli doesn't want to be my friend anymore.
Me: I think it's probably for the best. Angeli sounds like a bad seed.

Then while walking in the parking lot on our way into the store:

Elby: Angeli is my friend again. She wants me to come to a playdate at her house.
Me: Doesn't she live at your house?
Elby: No. She lives in New York.
Me: Then won't you have to take a plane to get there? New York is pretty far.
Elby: Yes. I have to be on the plane for ten hundred days.
Me: So you're flying Southwest?

Walking inside Target:

Elby: Mommy? I need to tell you something. Angeli kicked me really hard on my shoulder.
Me: Elby. Didn't you make Angeli up? Because when you make someone up, generally they shouldn't be abusing you. They should be buying you presents, making you laugh and telling you how fabulous you are at all times. Trust me, before I met daddy I had a lot of experience with this. My old therapist called it "living in fantasy." I preferred wishful thinking.
Elby: So can I go to Angeli's house?
Me: As long as her brother's not there.

So we bought her some warm gloves because I'm assuming it's cold in New York right now. Angeli better not have a problem with them.

Why I Don't Do Heroin

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 22:55:00 +0000

I haven't gotten boozy wit it in over six months which truly seems like a miracle. Although, I've gone without drinking many times in my life including my pregnancy with the twins during which I believe I may have had one beer at the home of House of Prince but what do you expect? She's a horrible influence -exactly what I look for in a friend.

Aren't you all on tenterhooks waiting to find out how it's been going? Or maybe you're waiting for me to slip up like when you watch a tight rope walker and you secretly hope he'll fall -let's face it, when the tight rope walker makes it it's sort of anticlimactic. It's their job.

Aaaanyway, I digress. I am doing very well these days. Do I still get stressed out by having eighteen children? Of course I do. I'm a thousand percent sure that the Duggars must use some illegal substances to keep their shit together. I still certainly get cravings. It seems like the longer it's been since I've taken a Xanax or had a glass of wine, the more I realize how addicted I was. I didn't even feel good from taking Xanax, just normal. Sometimes I want a Xanax so bad I can almost taste it and then I think, "What the hell is that about? It wouldn't even feel good to take it," and that's when I think "Oh yeah, I'm an addict. I just want to take something." It doesn't have to be alcohol.

I wasn't that choosy about substances. I loved pain pills as much if not more than wine, but I only had access to them once in awhile when I'd had surgery or a bout of migraines. When given a prescription, I'd take them until they were gone and think, "man it would be awesome to have more" but I was just too lazy to get them. I think pain pills are an ambitious person's addiction. You have to doctor shop or get them over the Internet or...I don't know...find them from a dealer? Just thinking about the work it would take to get a steady supply of pills makes me want to lie down and take a nap.

This is why I can't understand how people become heroin addicts. Sure, the idea of feeling like you're lying in a vat of vanilla pudding listening to Elliot Smith over and over until you nod off sounds like an interesting Saturday night but being a heroin addict is a full-time job! I can barely get a book out once a year -there's less than no chance I could spend all day procuring heroin. Who has that kind of time?

What I'm trying to say is that being sober is actually a lot easier than trying to manage feeling good through the use of drugs and alcohol. Although Healthy Choice caramel ice cream sandwiches are playing a huge part these days so there's that.

The first 90 days were the hardest but it's gotten a million percent easier. I'm used to not looking forward to my evening wine and as a bonus the anxiety went away. I really thought I might always feel borderline crappy but I don't. So, that should give anyone hope who is doing this with me.

But don't get me wrong, I'm still edgy! And that's fine - I didn't have a lobotomy, I just stopped drinking. I've found many people in sobriety to bond with and I'm realizing that sober alcoholics are pretty interesting in general. In my mind there's only one good reason to avoid drinking entirely and that's because either you used to drink waaay too much or because you've seen people in your family drink waaaay to much. Otherwise, you are Mormon. And that's sort of weird. Unless you're Donny Osmond in which case, let's have lunch and you can tell me all about your alcohol-free existence! Call me!

P.S. If you came over looking for an update on Sadie, I wrote one here.

I Feel Like I Got Hit By a Bus

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 00:37:00 +0000

I've been remiss on updating my blog. I don't know how that happens but days bleed into a week and weeks bleen into...well...a week and a half. You get the picture. I'm busy is what I'm saying. I've got a lot going on. For instance, on Friday I was hit by a bus. Ironically, I was on my way to see my shrink to tell him that I was over the idea of trying to get off my last 25 mg. of Zoloft. As someone really smart commented on my blog, "Why?" Why indeed. No real reason and so, I decided not to brave the side effects and remain on my piddly dose.

So I pulled up to the curb, turned off the ignitian, and opened my door arms length so I could grab my purse and get out when out of nowhere a MTA bus zipped by and basically removed my door from the frame of the car. Needless to say it scared the shit out of me and I sat there basically stunned for a few minutes thinking, "I have a feeling I'm still going to get charged for my appointment." The bus pulled over and passengers piled out onto the sidewalk either totally pissed off that they were missing their destination or excited that they'd just been involved in a collision.

I stumbled around on the sidewalk for a few minutes and halfheartedly picked up my Barenaked Ladies CD from a few yards down the block plus an Alligator Rocks CD which had flown out of the case and was scratched beyond recognition.

A half hour later, there were three cop cars, a bus superintendant and the driver of the bus assessing the situation. One of the officers asked me if I was hurt and I told him "Just my psyche."

"Your psyche?" he asked. "What's that?" Really? I'm guessing there's no vocabulary portion on the LAPD written exam. Then I tried to say "Please don't give me a breathalyzer" under my breath a few times to see if I would get a laugh, which I did not. I know, that's crazy right? Police officers not having a sense of humor? Next you're going to tell me the clerks at the DMV don't like to laugh, right? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

After all this, I had to get my car towed, call my insurance company, arrange a pick up from school for my daughter and reschedule my shrink appointment.

Oh life.

By the way, Heather and Mike Spohr happened to drive by in the middle of all this. They can vouche for all this craziness.

Tomorrow I will blog about being 6 months sober! And hopefully provide a photo of my minivan.

Happy Birthday Madeline

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 20:55:00 +0000

There was a little girl who had so many little curls...

She would have turned two today. Her name was Maddie.

I met Maddie's mom before I met Maddie. Heather came to hang out with me after work one day without Madeline so that we could talk and get to know each other.

The next time we met we both brought our tiny girls so we could compare and contrast. We sat at the Coffee Bean, holding our babies - then maybe 10 or 11 months -and eventually swapped so we could feel the weight in our arms of someone else's joy, worry, preemie, lightweight. The thing I noticed immediately about Maddie was her smile. It was so obvious what a happy little soul she was. Everyone says stuff like that about babies but I'm telling you, I was jealous! Maddie smiled a huge luminous grin constantly, her eyes huge blue and twinkling.

Heather and I exchanged tons of emails trying to figure out how to wade our way through doctors, food issues, early intervention, OT evals etc. and I've never seen a more enthusiastic or committed set of parents.

When it came to Maddie's first birthday, I was honored to be invited. Watching Maddie mow down her own special cake is one of my fondest memories of her. But seeing the love that Maddie's family bathed on her is something that stays with me always. Heather and Mike, beaming, Heather's proud parents glowed watching Maddie make the rounds to all her admirers. Uncle Kyle couldn't have looked more proud and more involved in his neice's life. NICU nurses, friends, Jackie!, sorority sisters, blogging buddies everything who ever met the Spohr's loved that baby girl.

When I found out that Maddie passed away so suddenly, I could only think that cliched thought, "That's not possible! She was so alive!" It still doesn't seem possible that she's gone. It will never seem possible that she's not safely snuggled in the Daddy Nook or in Heather's arms. And we will never ever stop missing her.

Happy Birthday, sweet little Madeline Alice Spohr.

Comments are closed here but I know that Heather and Mike (whose blog has an insanely beautiful post for her) will appreciate them on their sites. Also, please consider making a donation to Friends of Maddie (it's linked on my sidebar) to honor Maddie's day and if you are on Twitter, between 4 and 5 PCT tweet a message with the hashtag #maddie.

Lucky

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 22:39:00 +0000

Not to be all mushy but sometimes I am overwhelmed by the enormity that is how much I love my family. It's a pretty corny thing that one doesn't often share with anyone but other people who also can't get over how ridiculously fun it is to raise little human beings. Normally, I like to bitch about things. I feel that not only is complaining my God given right but it's also compelling and hilarious if done well. People who have problems but suck 'em up and say "can't complain" are boring if you ask me. Can't complain? Yes you can! Open your mouth! Try harder. Take a class. On the other hand, people who brag about how great their lives are are tedious and not well mannered in my opinion. No one gives a shit that you own a Coach bag, is all I'm saying.

But sometimes we all have to sling a little love around.

Up until I met my husband, I wasn't sure if I'd ever get married. I think I wanted to but I just didn't really see any guy wanting to spend the rest of his life with me - or even the next three months for that matter or I with them, really. I definitely wanted a partner in life, but I knew it had to be someone incredibly smart, incredibly funny and yet compassionate and sweet. In case you've never met a man before, that's an almost impossible standard. Most hilarious guys are also assholes with bad tempers and low self esteem -Dice Clay anyone? Then I met Jon. He does smack me around a little but only when I tell him I love the show Million Dollar Listing. Sometimes you have to pop someone in the mouth in the name of of good taste. He does it because he cares.

After I coaxed Jon into marrying me (you can read a lot more about that in my book - but it involved copious amounts of wine, yelling and numerous veiled threats)I wasn't sure I wanted a kid, let alone three and yet, right after getting married I got knocked up. Then after we tentatively decided to try for a second, I ended up with three. Was I horrified and stressed? Yes. Did I develop a candy and alcohol addiction? Mmm hmm. Did I bitch about it endlessly? Absolutely. It's my job. And I'm good at it.

But.

When Matilda stumbles over to me, snakes her arms around my neck and mumbles I love you in her toddler speak, I faint a little bit.

A somber look from Sadie followed by the word "EAT" is enough to make me practically swallow my tongue with glee.

Elby. In our bed. Curled up in "The Daddy Spot." Heart attack of happiness.

Jon, laying on the couch in his Lucky Jeans and blue t-shirt, trying to stay awake for all of Dr. Drew's Sex Addiction so we can talk about it. Heaven.

Do I know how lucky I am? Hellz yes.
By the way, this picture was taken by my BFF, my Kizzle, Dee Dee, Diana, Whore, at Bella G Photography. She's one of the many reasons besides my family I feel lucky. Actually, she is my family. Check out her website because she's going to be blowing up huge (no Diana, I'm not talking about your ass). If you live in LA and want to have pictures taken, contact her. She's uber talented.

Tiny Ladies Wear Cuter Clothes

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:39:00 +0000

A few days ago I was wandering the cosmetics section of my local CVS-I'm not bragging, just stating facts here, and I spotting an Asian woman who looked to be maybe 4' 11". Now, I'm not positive she was that short because I was too chicken to ask even though I really really wanted to know. I'm slightly obsessed with short people's heights because there's a good chance a full sized Sadie will only be 4'10or 4' 11" and I want to get a good picture of what that looks like. If it looks like that Asian woman it will be down right adorable. But then again, maybe the random short Asian woman was actually 5' ", in which case Sadie would be pretty darned small. I wish I could've found out how tall she was but there's just no way to ask someone for their height without seeming like a full on lunatic. You really have to divulge the back story and then you'd come off as even more crazy and rightfully so.
I've learned to keep my obsession to myself lest I end up in any verbal altercations or fist fights. Or more verbal altercations than usual.

I never really considered short people that much before I realized I might have one in my future. Sure, I love Randy Newman's song Short People and can't help but giggle when I hear it on the radio ever four years or so, but other than that, the topic rarely came up. Now, I notice short people all the time. Sort of like how years ago my husband, who was my boyfriend at the time, told me that an ex-girlfriend of his didn't know what the word "sherpa" meant. I had no idea what it meant either and while I was mortified that maybe I was a complete dumbass I was also sort of pissed off that he was inadvertantly making me feel like a dumbass. So, in a rare humble moment, instead of calling him an asshole and wiping my hands of the whole sordid affair, I just admitted I didn't know what a sherpa was either and Jon kindly explained it to me. Of course, immediately after that, it seemed like I heard the word sherpa a million times a day and if someone were to tell me they'd never heard the word now, I'd think they were lying...or a dumbass (but I'd never say it to your face. So, my point is, maybe there are tiny 4' 11" ladies waltzing around the city on a constant basis and I've just been oblivious to it.

I'm wondering now if Sadie will have any special challenges in life besides finding a pair of jeans that don't drag on the ground or I guess finding a good tailor. Will she get teased for being short? Does anyone tease for that? I've never teased anyone for being short but then I very busy getting teased for having a big butt and a funny walk and not knowing the definition of a sherpa.

The excellent news is that Sadie eats like a teeny tiny wrestler now. She's been off the periactin for a few weeks (yes, Patricia. Sorry I didn't update you sooner)and is still sniffing around for her next meal like a true Taylor. She isn't gaining weight but she definitely isn't losing and that's pretty normal for an almost two-year-old. She's got plenty of time to merely smell food and go up a pants size when she's forty-three (hi perimenopause- I've been expecting you). Her little g-tube button has been sitting on her tummy lonely and unused for months. I want to take it out but the husband, doctor and nutritionist (the lovely Patricia) say that we should keep it in through flu season which I know intellectually is the right move but bloody hell I want to yank it out so bad! Of course I have the patience of a toddler so I'm always going to want things right now.

If the worst thing she has to deal with is people calling her Half Pint, she's going to be waaaay ahead of the game. But that's not going to stop me from checking out short people.

LaDainian Tomlinson and Uncle Mikey trick or treating.

Let's Play a Game

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 23:52:00 +0000

Games are an important part of a young child's development and if you're not playing lots of games with your child, chances are you're not a good parent. Trust me, I'm a really good judge. You might want to ask yourself why you refuse to put in the time. Are you selfish? Lazy? Just not that into it? Well, now that you've spent a few moments being really tough on yourself, maybe you're ready to try harder. Here are a few of my family's favorite games and I've included some instructions so you can try them for little to no expense on your wallet, but a high price on your sanity.

Baby-So-Soft! This fun game is for two players and requires only one entire bottle of baby oil (choose your favorite brand because you'll be smelling it for a week). After your child emerges from the tub, let them catch a glimpse of the baby oil. If they are anything like my child, they will want the baby oil in their hand so badly that any attempts to disuade them will be met with copious amounts of crying. Give in and let your kid have a little oil in their hand which they will then rub on their body, your body, your hair, the couch and the dog. Repeat 20 times or until you are all crying.

52 Thousand Pick-Up: Similar to the beloved card game only with toys and a lot more of them. Here's how it works: let your kids loose in a room that contains a lot of boxes of toys preferably toys that contain lots of small parts. The game really plays itself but the clean-up is a bitch.

What Am I Saying? Do you love a good guessing game? If so, this is for you. All you need is one child who is a little behind verbally but in addition is easily frustrated. Now get eye level with your child and let the game begin. Are they asking for jammies? Apple juice? The latest National Enquirer? God only knows but you can burn off a good hour trying to figure it out. P.S. if you're a speech therapist, that's cheating.

Oh My God Are You Choking??? Caution - this game should not be played if you are suffering from high blood pressure, panic disorder or a heart condition. OMGAYC is great at mealtime but can be played anywhere choking hazards exist. Leave your kids unattended for any amount of time - 10 seconds works equally as well as 10 minutes. When you return, there's a good chance your baby will be red in the face and have a suspicious lump in their cheek. This is a good time to shriek, "Are you choking? What do you have in your mouth? Show me what's in your mouth. Let me see that! Oh no, can you breathe?" If your baby is coughing or crying they're not "officially" choking so you may resume blogging, vacuuming (kidding), sleeping or watching Judge Judy until it's time to play again.

Sugar Olympics - The most simple of all the games we play: see how long your child can go without asking for a cookie, candy, muffin or other treat. Give yourself 5 good parenting points for every increment of five minutes. Once you hit 20 points, you're a better parent than I am. Also? Yogurt counts. Come on, it's all sugar!

Will It Flush? Fans of Letterman and Elmo alike will enjoy this plumbing challenge. Allow your child to gather a ton of objects of various shapes and sizes from around the house (if they can reach your underwear drawer, it's not off limits). Keep the bathroom door unlocked and then watch them throw one object at a time into the bowl and try to flush it down. If it goes down, they win. If it doesn't, the plumber wins. For more advanced play, let them throw all the objects in at the same time. This game is best played with all players naked.

Give Mama a Kiss See if your self esteem can withstand the beating that is your kid refusing to kiss you no matter how much you beg. Try asking as sweetly as possible and never show how much it hurts your feelings each time they pull away like you're suggesting they shove a toothpick in their gums rather than simply granting you a tiny peck on your cheek. After twenty minutes, if you haven't successfully talked your kid into kissing you, admit defeat and try again later otherwise you may need therapy. If your child refuses to kiss you but happily smootches your husband, your coffee cup and the couch with more passion than if it were Leonardo DiCaprio, you may want to ask yourself something, "Am I playing enough games with them?" And then go back to the beginning of this list.

Feel free to add your own game suggestions in the comments. I can always use the amusement. Unfortunately I had to add the word verification to my comments because I was getting spammed up the butt. I will take it off as soon as I can since I know how annoying it is.

Baby On Bored is Buying...

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 18:16:00 +0000

Here's a new thing I'm bringing out. It could be just this week or maybe it's permanent. I don't know because I'm flaky. But I'm calling it "Shit I've bought or liked recently"

1. Pieces of Happily Ever After - It's a novel and it should be a movie. It's beautiful. It's funny. It's deeply moving (I cried. Twice.) and it's got edge. Irene Zutell, the author, is a friend of mine and I went into reading it with slight trepidation because I always have that feeling like what if I don't like it? How will I tell my friend the truth? Well no worries there, I was completely taken aback by my love for this book. Seriously, I want to make out with it. Truth be told I'm still in a little post good book haze where moments and feelings come back to me while doing other things.

Remember when Julia Roberts met her fairy tale camera man, married him and lived happily ever after? Did you wonder what happened to Vera who was happily married to the guy before America's Sweetheart got her hooks in him? Did you cringe along with me when Julia was spotted wearing an A loe Vera shirt? Do you still want to key her car a little bit? This book gives you a glimpse into what Vera might have been feeling -if Vera was a sarcastic, funny, east coast transplant with compassion, stretch marks, porn filming neighbors, a five-year-old daughter and a mom with Alzheimers.

Irene keeps the story moving (which I like because who wants to hear a two page description of a lake?) but takes time to create great visuals like the over-the-top lawn extravaganzas done by her Christmas holiday loving neighbors. I got so swept into the story that I never wanted the book to end and now I have to wait for her to write another one. DAMMIT.

Lauren Wood - Love, Death & Customer Service - It's a CD. Kind of melodic pop, songwritery lady stuff. Did you see Pretty Woman? Remember the song "Fallen"? I loved that song. So one day I'm at my husband's boss's wedding and suddenly this cool looking woman with spiky red hair is introduced as a friend and songwriter. She proceeds to knock out Fallen and it totally made my year. I got my picture taken with her but the shot was sort of crappy so I won't put it up here. Anyway, this is her new CD and it's hawt!

The Shield -Season 7 - Buy it on DVD, order it from Netflix, steal it from your neighbor, just get it. Jon and I got highly addicted to previous seasons of the Shield but due to a malady called TWINS, we weren't able to watch the last season - until a week ago! We watched every night multiple episodes until it was done. All I can say is it's soooo good. Highly recommend.

This is what happens when Jon and I spend too much time catching up on season 7 (the final season) of the Shield.

My Baby She Wrote Me a Letter

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 15:33:00 +0000

Okay look, I realize my blog is becoming one big 12 step meeting. I see it, and yet I feel helpless to stop it. Before you know it I'm going to be ass deep in slogans telling all my readers "one day at a time" and "easy does it" and "turn that frown upside down!" well not that last one or you have my permission to kick me in the liver, dig a big hole in the ground and throw my blog in it. The thing is, I get a lot of emails from women asking me specific questions about quitting drinking and I haven't been able to answer each and every one (although I will -Do*ce take a memo). Parting with alcohol was simple and complicated. Simple because I knew without a doubt it had to be done. Complicated because I had no idea what it entailed. Now that I know a lot of work goes into it, would I do it again? Yes.

A lot of the letters I get from people tell me that they think they might have a drinking problem, they see themselves in my story but they don't think they can quit. I understand. Really I do. And the problem is there's no easy answer I can give. There isn't something quick and simple or a substitute that works as well or as quickly (at least in the short run) as wine. If there were, no one would turn into a big old drunk right? Why would I possibly drink enough to give myself a hangover if a cup of cocoa could make me feel all was right with the world?

If you are drinking a glass of wine or two a night and you don't want to give it up, you won't hear me tell you to. Why should you? Are you crazy? Are you just trying to be perfect? If I could drink a glass of wine or two a night I'd be right there with you offering a virtual toast. I can't.

If you're drinking a lot more than that but think you have the rest of your life together and it's not hurting anyone then maybe you're right. Or maybe you're rationalizing. I don't know but I do know that you probably aren't in the right mind frame to stop. I can say that, especially for women, it usually gets worse.

But maybe you're in a place where alcohol has begun to have a mind of its own, telling you it's okay to drink today when you clearly told yourself something completely different this very morning. Maybe you know that somewhere along the line you crossed over from happy, social drinker to lonely, unsocial drunk. Maybe you're forgetting things you said the night before even though you only had a couple of glasses. Possibly you believe you're stressed out and unhappy and drinking has become your hope. Your only salvation.

If you're reading this because you saw me on Dr. Oz and you think I understand you, I do. I get it. We're on the same page, amigo. You and me - we're simpatico. Remember what you saw up there on stage? Yeah, normal right? Not a bad person, not a falling down drunk. Not homeless (although I have been known to go more than five days without showering), able to meet deadlines and read stories to my kids. Able to be a loving wife and a school volunteer. I just didn't want to wait for my problem to get worse and you don't have to either.

Here's what I can offer you in advice: Ask for help. It's really tough to do this shit on your own -I'm not saying it can't be done but it's much harder. And chances are great that you've already tried on your own anyway. The thing about other people who fell down this rabbit hole is we are dying to help each other. It's what we thrive on. It's what keeps us sober. I can promise you that the people you will meet if you just reach out, are more often than not, normal, funny, happy people. Quitting will be tough at first because you're not used to it, sort of like breaking in a new pair of shoes. You will probably feel anxious and nervous and not quite like yourself. But, with help and support, you will start becoming more honest about how you feel, more honest about your need for support and you will realize that you're not alone. That will make all the difference.
Go online or call someone you know who doesn't drink and ask them how they did it. Or tell your OB/GYN or your husband or your best friend or even your damn manicurist. Okay, maybe not your manicurist -chances are they only speak Vietnamese anyway.

Or you can just wait until I write you back. But, seriously, there's no time like the present.

The Other Little Blue Pill

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 17:23:00 +0000

So, I'm thinking about trying to get off of the last 25 milligrams of Zoloft that I've been on since the day I gave birth to the twins. My OB thought it would be a good idea for me, with my history of PPD to start the Zoloft immediately, do not pass GO, go directly to a pharmacy. In retrospect, I still experienced major post partum depression and anxiety. So was it lessened from taking the Zoloft? I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not depressed now, I've weaned from 50 milligrams to 25 and I'm ready to get it out of my system entirely but...say hi to the withdrawal symptoms that can happen from ridding the last bit from your system. This looks like a pretty good time, doesn't it? I'm thinking I should pencil in time for at least five of these side-effects conservatively:

Anxiety
Dizziness
Fatigue
Vomiting
Restlessness
Muscle and joint pain
Jolting electric "zaps”
Tingling sensations
Fever
Abdominal discomfort
Flu symptoms and general malaise
Sleep disturbance and insomnia
Nightmares
Vivid dreams
Anorexia, agitation
Irritability
Aggression
Confusion
Memory and concentration difficulties
Lethargy
Tremors
Headache
Insomnia
Nausea
Visual hallucinations
Diarrhea
Blurred vision
Vertigo
Gait disturbances
Sweating
Weakness
Myalgia
Chills and hot flashes
Crying spells
Suicidal thoughts

Okay, so in a perfect world I would get to choose my temporary side effects. I'm dropping this hint into the universe's suggestion box: Out of all of these, if I had to pick five, I'd prefer anorexia (how bad could that be for a week or two right?), lethargy (does that involve couch time?) tingling sensations (is that even a bad thing?), weakness ("I can't vacuum, I'm so weak") hmm...none of the other ones sound workable. I don't even know what myalgia is. I guess I'll have to go with abdominal discomfort since I have that a lot anyway. Or maybe I'll just stay on Zoloft FOREVER. I don't know. Anyone have experience with this?

It's National Husband Appreciation Day

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:27:00 +0000

Lately my house seems impossible to clean. I don't know why this is. I guess it could be a number of things a) I have no energy so each chore seems insurmountable b) the babies wreak havoc on every room all day long c) see b. This morning I walked through the house picking up stray pairs of size four Dora underpants (that clearly don't fit me anymore), a random coffee carafe, my Bed Buddy Microwave Heat-Pack which had been missing for three days, various art projects from Elby's school, fake fruit, index cards and many many many many toys. So many freaking toys and I don't know where they all come from or what to do with them. It's like I buy one toy and it mulitiplies like Gremlins. Three days ago Matilda grabbed a jumbo box of Special K and dumped it all over the floor in the hallway. I eventually swept up as much as I could but there are still flakes in every room of the house, in the carpeting, in the babies' cribs and on the counter tops. Last night I felt someting stabbing my calf in bed and when I reached down it was a piece of cereal. I give up. Mess, you win. Uncle. I am resigned to live in a pit until the twins are at least five since Elby is not a whole lot better. But on to the real reason for today's post.

As opposed to most husbands, Jon is extremely helpful at cleaning up. Often times he'll clean the kitchen without even being asked. Also, he is a wonderful father and an amazing lover.

(Help. I'm writing this post under duress. Jon is mad that I make it seem like I'm steering this parenting ship all alone and he wants his props in my blog. I tried to explain to him that it's my damn blog, and despite his excellent parenting chops, his devotion to his family, his never ending patience and the heavy lifting he does in the earning department, I prefer to take all the credit. I tried to assure him that the compliments to him are all implied but he didn't buy it. He threatened to discontinue supplying me with ice cream, take-out and help with my US Weekly jokes if I didn't set the record straight)

Ahem...Another thing I love about Jon is that he's extremely handsome but doesn't going around acting all "Whoa, check out the pecs on this guy!" Okay actually he does but it doesn't seem at all cocky the way he says it.

Are you still stuck on the fact that I used the word lover to describe Jon? When is the last time you used the word "lover" in a sentence? I'm betting it's been awhile. But I like to throw a few surprises into my writing. Keeps it fresh.

If you've learned nothing else today, please leave with this morsal: My Dr. Oz is airing tomorrow, Thursday. Check your local listings. On the show with me was Mary, a gorgeous blonde mama who was brave enough to talk about her drinking as well. She is so relatable and brave plus she has quite a story. She brought me a necklace she designed herself and it is absolutely stunning. You can find her here.

Another thing to love about Jon? He takes almost all of these pictures I post. These last two and the picture of Elby swinging on my last post are HDR photos. This means that he takes them in a raw format, does a bunch of hooey to them which takes a long long time and has to do with layers and light and then ten hours later, voila! In other words, blah blah blah great pictures! Have I mentioned my husbands pecs?

The Happy Report

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 20:40:00 +0000

If you're out there wondering if things get better after you lose the booze, I'm here to report that it actually does. It really does.

We all know that parenting is difficult. We put crazy expectations on ourselves to serve healthy food, to limit TV, to spend quality time with our shorties (not in front of the TV). We have to make sure they have toys (but not too many or they might get spoiled), clothes, regular doctor's appointments, healthy boundaries, and self esteem (but not too much or we may turn them into narcissists). It's enough to make the average parent's head explode if you think about it too much. It's enough pressure to drive even the most balanced among us to drink.

I'm learning to take my parenting in bite-sized pieces, it's the only way I can swallow it without choking. Since I can't drink or do insane amounts of blow because, apparently, cocaine is also off limits -yeah, whatever, I'm finding that the thing that keeps me sane is lowering my expectations.

Yesterday I provided organic chicken and a buttload of veggies for the kids to eat. The day before that I bought Elby another pair of shoes since her feet are growing faster than Brangelina's family. Today I plan to take Elby to get a frozen yogurt after school cause I've got those kind of parenting chops! Last night I played "open the door" "close the door" with Mattie and Sadie for fifteen minutes straight - completely sober! And then I gave myself a huge pat on the back.

Really, if you set your standards a little lower, you may end up surprising yourself with your competence. Where I used to be gripped with anxiety over all the things I wasn't doing, I'm now able to sit back and know that although my kids are zoning out watching Diego for the fifth time in one day, they are also madly loved and cared for to the best of my ability. Is it possible that my new found bliss has a lot to do with my twins approaching the more do-able age of two? Sure, anything's possible, but I prefer to believe I'm just becoming more evolved.

Last night Elby was having trouble getting to sleep. Jon and I were lying on the couch watching Mad Men like everyone else with decent taste in TV programming, but we had to pause it every few minutes when Elby came padding down the hall to report her latest disaster.

Elby: I need to tell you something. (long pause) My pillow fell.

Me: Okaaay. Can you pick it up?

Elby: No. I need daddy to help me.

ten minutes later...

Elby: I need to tell you something. I smell dumplings.

Jon: Here eat one and go on back to bed.

Elby: Okay. But I need to tell you something. Can you also save me one for my lunch tomorrow?

ten minutes later...

Elby: I really need to tell you something. Do you know what happened to the spider that was in the bathtub yesterday?

Me: Don't you mean I need to ask you something?

At 10 p.m. we hadn't heard from her in over an hour so assuming she was sleeping I poked my head in her room to make sure. I found her laying in bed eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. Her Burl Ives story CD had been restarted for the third time. I walked over to her bed, looked down at her and whispered, "You having trouble sleeping, bug?" She nodded.

"You can sit with me if you want to, mommy." So, I sat down on the edge of her bed and rubbed her back. "Do you want to lay in my bed with me for a few minutes?" she asked so sweetly.

I snuggled next to her and stroked her hair which smelled of Suave mango shampoo from a fairly recent hair washing. In less than five minutes her eyes closed, her breathing slowed and she was fast asleep. I layed there with her for another ten minutes taken aback by a wave of emotion for this beautiful, smart, perfect little creature that only came out of my body less than five years ago. I felt honored to be the person with whom she feels safe enough to shut her eyes and drift off to her dreams. I hope I've earned it.
This is why parenting is hard. It's so hard because the rewards are so great.

I'm glad I don't drink because I would've missed that.

Oh Snap!

noreply@blogger.com (BabyonBored) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 03:14:00 +0000

Sadie is over twenty pounds finally. Let's all let out a collective sigh. Twenty pounds means her car seat was turned around, she's too big for her size 12 mo. clothes and she has slightly more heft when you hold her. Twenty pounds seems larger, stronger, taller and healthier. Maybe this is imagined but I choose to rejoice in the small victories. That's how the new sober, more accepting me rolls. Yeah, I'm better than you.

Have I mentioned that this last pound or so has been gained without the aid of the g-tube? We haven't fed her overnight in months! Her IV pole is being used as a hat rack sort of like most people's treadmills. Before you present me with my Perfect Parent award, I should tell you that she's still getting the periactin I told you about a few posts ago (I'm not going to link to it because I'm tired). I love this stuff! Periactin = bueno! I heart periactin. Anyone want to make me a t-shirt? The only side effect of this drug is that for the first maybe week and a half she was on it, she was very drowsy. And who wants a drowsy toddler right? Uh, ME. Where was this shit the last time I flew in a plane with Elby?

I will leave you with some pictures so you know I'm not lying. By the way, these are two different kids. First and last pics are Sadie - Mattie in the middle.
These girls are working with a whole mess a cuteness.

As you can see, Sadie's figured out that high heels are a good way to compensate for being vertically challenged. Matilda is rocking the high tops because "I can, bitch! I got that kinda height!"