Classy Chaos

Hoping my neighbors didn't peek inside my house

OHmommy — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 06:00:00 +0000

Barefoot, in a tiny tank-top and my husband's boxers, I shook the damp linens flat and draped them over the deck's railing overlooking the cul-de-sac in my swanky suburban subdivision. It was on this day, a most glorious warm autumn Sunday, shortly after I ex-communicated my family from the house and forced them on a hike in the woods that I realized I was becoming my mom.

On my hands and knees with a bleached rag in my hand, I erased the greasy fingerprints from the door frames never realizing I had built up a sweat. I grabbed the top of my tiny cami to wipe away the small glistening beads that had gathered in between my girlfriends. I caught a glimpse of them both, dangling back at me and frozen on all fours my voice echoed throughout the empty house "I've turned into my mother." The image of my immigrant mother half-naked feverishly cleaning the house was so normal of a memory. Like an American mother in a checkered apron baking a wholesome apple pie kind-of-normal.

It's part of my genetical makeup as a Polish woman to seize the opportunity of a quiet house, to clean. We don't clean like the rest of the non-Pole world. Unless you too, single handily and half dressed, remove every single piece of furniture out of the room to vacuum. Scrub the base board moldings. Wash the walls. All while waiting for your laundry to air dry outside you begin to dust, for the second time. If you do, consider yourself half Polish on my behalf.

I am just glad that I was alone. You know, to shield the next generation from witnessing the p0rnography behind a well cleaned home. History shouldn't repeat itself.

***

Have you checked out my giveaway site? No? You should..... An awesome custom blog design! Super classy and affordable holiday cards from Pear Tree Greetings! "Aliens in the Attic" dvd movie! And more to come for the upcoming holiday season.

The Barbell Matrix (high intensity toning & calorie burning exercise)

OHmommy — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 06:00:00 +0000

Some time ago in October I bragged about being able to squat with a 95 lbs barbell across my shoulders while working out and the always witty Marinka commented, "Would it be too much to ask for your gym to release multi-angle footage of your sitting there eating Nutella out of the jar instead of doing those 90 pound things?" So you can place all the blame for my last workout video and this one, on Marinka.

Again, just like the last exercise, what I am about to share with you is a two minute combination of movements (this time with a medium weight barbell) that you repeat three times. When done correctly with an experienced trainer by your side, your six minutes of barbell exercises will burn more calories than one hour on the treadmill. It will get your heart pumping and seriously leave you breathless. Turn down the volume if you are easily offended by PG-13 language. You can blame Metalia for that as I copied her awesome workout playlist weeks ago.

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1. Deadlift (bent knees & more of a squat) x 5

2. Romanian deadlift (super tight back & no squat) x 5

3. Bent over row x 5

4. Power clean to low squat to push press x 5

5. Back squat x 5

Allow yourself no more then a one minute break and repeat the steps above for a total of three times. Happy pumping! If you are in the Cleveland area and want an incredible one hour workout that will burn calories for 24 hours you can contact markaderry at yahoo dot com and tell him OHmommy sent you.

FTC disclosure: I have not been paid or given anything in exchange for this post. I'm simply sharing my knowledge with you, my friends, and the FTC and suck my big sweaty toe.

Not meant to be a SAHM junior leaguer...

OHmommy — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 06:00:00 +0000

I see Maureen at least a dozen times each day.

The moment the bus carries her four sons off to school she hits the sidewalk to accompany the flock of neighbors walking their dogs in the morning, observing the sleepy suburban street. Before my breakfast, her Yukon is loaded with cardboard boxes containing the latest project for the school district and/or non-profit organization. We drive by each other, offering the cordial neighborhood wave, no less then three times in the afternoon each towing our children onto their next activities. In the evening Maureen engages in conversation with her two high school sons as they pass the lacrosse ball between each other on the sidewalk. I've peeked inside a coffee shop and witnessed her brilliant smile entertain her girlfriends, in tennis whites. At church her pew is silent pretty sure she feeds everyone a very good breakfast and her well groomed children are attentive.

It's difficult not to notice Maureen. Everything about her is perfect. I say this not out of intense jealousy, but out of self reflection. Maureen was that cheerleader in high school. That sorority girl in college. And now that stay-at-home mother that everyone gravitates towards and tries to emulate because she's really really really just that nice and perfect.

I wanted to be a cheerleader and than got over it. I wanted to be a sorority girl and than got over it. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mother and now, after nearly eight years at home, I think I am kinda-of over it. Maureen was born to be a stay-at-home mother. I'm not so sure I was born to complete a life sentence as a SAHM. (Gah. Why does one even need to emphasize the "I" in a post these days? The emphasis was put there to stress the importance of my opinion and not at all insinuating that being a SAHM is a something to "get over")

I am not going to link to any one of the hundreds entries I have stored away in my archives to prove to you that I've truly enjoyed the precious time I've spent with my incredible children whom are full of life because prepare yourselves for the most shocking revelation I am about to admit when I am not poking fun of my classy chaos motherly mishaps... I try to capture the beauty of raising children while staying at home only to convince myself that I love it. And I do. Most of the times. Some of the times it feels unfulfilling. More so now that two out of my three children are in school full time and the toddler is so bored with me she reverts to playing with the cat or dog. I find myself unable to envision a childless day-time home, collecting mileage on my extra large vehicle for more years to come. I can't see myself as a Maureen.

I want things! Beautiful shiny things for myself. Me. Moi. Selfish things...

Like challenges! Conversations!! Deadlines!!! World Peace!!!! All the things I can get from the Junior League that Maureen fills her empty time slots with doing perfectly; dedicating her time not only to her children but also to the food-banks of Cleveland for the month of November. I could/should pretend to be a cheerleader for another year or so but this is the year that I pay off my college loans from my Master's degree and I no longer want to post pathetic webcam shots online for the world to see, out of sheer boredom, exclaiming...

Yay, me! Look. "This is my volunteering on Election day in Kindergarten outfit. Hoping it's politically correct & party neutral." From twitpic.

Gawd. There's so much more I can do. I honestly believe I can contribute to great things in the corporate world and be a good mother. I am super passionate, extremely hard working, uber driven, obsessive compulsive in the hunt for perfection and desperately need (at this point in my life) to find some shiny things to focus on besides my children. Does that sound like a plea? Good. Than it is and I hope they are reading. Eight wonderful, incredible, spectacular years of staying at home and I am ready for something more.

But. Where does a SAHM in dire straights even begin? Who are my references? My credentials? My job experiences? Although I would never trade my years at home, they have certainly changed the look of my once quite impressive resume. Where do I go from here?

Driving me (in)sane

OHmommy — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 06:00:00 +0000

I cursed when I found out that our school district reconfigured our afternoon bus route in August, confining my two small children to the social graces of gigantic third-graders for well over an hour on the way home. I shook with fear when I assumed the bus missed our stop with my precious cargo still inside. I took matters in my own hands and voila my children were labeled as "pick-ups." I was bitter.

It was a nightmare as I frequently ran late, either awakening my toddler from her nap or begging her to close her eyes in the car. We spent more time together as mother with children inside the minivan than in our home. Sad, I know; but the truth indeed, as everyone runs off to their corners of our massive abode upon arrival home. The drama inside the van! The whining!! The arguing!!! All while in 350 or so cubic square feet of an entry level cloth-interior Honda. Fifty days later I realize it's like a blessing in disguise. Every afternoon I observe my children interact with their peers while I wait in line, I glance in the rear view mirror to ask them about their day, and each day we transport ourselves far away from the country road home to a magical place.

"Look to the left, that empty field is like a meadow in Indiana. If you look think hard enough you can almost see a group of cows grazing on grass. Look.... " Three heads turn to the left.

"On the right is a rest stop along the busy high way." I point to the gas station on the way home from school. "The parking lot is full of cars with different licence plates and people are rushing to their next destination. Where are they going?"

"We are driving close to the train tracks. Hold on tight!" I smile as we go over the pot holes and the kids sit upright in their seats in tune with my imagination.

"Getting closer now, much closer to Chicago. I can see enormous buildings scrapping the sky and reaching the clouds." I point out how the hundred-year-old trees stand tall in the forest resembling a jungle of city buildings.

And so on. My tall tales capture their imaginations and temporarily silence their cries of boredom. Yesterday the mundane ride home turned into a re-cap of our adventures in Poland. Each house became an apartment complex and the sprawling estate on the corner of a nearby street became the Malbork castle. The week before, Lola took center stage imagining that the bridge over the shallow country river was in-fact the bridge into Manhattan and suddenly my minivan turned into a yellow cab in which I interviewed them in. "Welcome to my cab. What's your name?" They giggled. The only proof I have of the silliness is what I tucked away in my pocket to pull out when they are older.

I am sure *this* precious time won't last forever (their "must-have" holiday item is the ipod) and that's why I'm bottling *this* up for myself tonight. I will dip my toes into this magical memory when all three of them are ignoring me for the text messages on their phones. Because, duh, I will soooooo be driving them to their senior year at Cleveland Country High. Where they will be labeled as "pick-ups."

An apology to the 3rd child on Halloween day

OHmommy — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 03:05:00 +0000

Dearest child,

Tonight I can not remember for the life of me what you were dressed as, on your first Halloween. I would check your baby book/photo album for an answer; but, they haven't been updated since you were born. I have spent way too much time searching through my online photo albums weeding through photos to find an answer. I feel terrible. Horrible, actually.

On your second Halloween, you were a mermaid. I know this because I remember attending the county wide garage sale alone with you as a toddling 18-month-old when I found the semi-torn costume and held it up for you to see, pushing aside the dangling $0.50 price tag, you giggled "waa-waa" and I was sold. You were a mermaid on your second Halloween.

Tonight was your third Halloween. What you really wanted to be was a "lina." We assumed you meant a ballerina but you threw a tantrum and included the words "wings" and "fly-fly." It took us some time to realize you wanted to be Thumbelina. Here's where my apology comes. I am so sorry that you are the third child born into a house full of costumes purchased at discounted rates the days following Halloween. On your third Halloween you were a hand-me-down princess for your school party, a mermaid (using last year's garage sale costume) for our neighborhood house party, a cheerleader in the costume meant as a gift for Lola's third Christmas from Uncle Mike that you wore for a local harvest festival....

and a last minute "cat" on official Halloween day, after pulling out this size 6 unitard from the trunk of endless dress-up clothes proclaiming it was yours.

You smiled as I used a washable marker to draw whiskers on your chubby cheeks and meowed on all fours before leaving for the evening. I hope, in the future, you see past that fact that the costumes were rolled up three times to fit your small frame and see the smiles that came so easily for you. And I promise, from here on out, that all the mismatched clothing I conned you into wearing using reverse phycology will result into one rocking wedding dress purchased from the fashion runways of France and/or a slightly used pony from Pennsylvania.

Or both, a wedding dress from France while riding a slightly used pony from Pennsylvania. Whatever you want. You name it, it's yours.

Forever and ever yours,

Mama

Burns MORE calories than a 60 minute run.

OHmommy — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Exactly one year ago, I posted my very first "exercise" video online for the world to see. Since then I have spent a whole lot of dollars on a high intensity fat-burning/toning class with my trainer Mark. It has been worth every penny because I am not self motivated in the exercising department and desperately need someone to push me. I look forward to the "me" time when I can focus on just that. Me.

But not everyone has the funds or the time to selfishly invest in themselves.

I am here to tell you that the statement above is false.

What I am about to share with you, my friends, is a two minute dumbbell exercise that you repeat three times. When done correctly with a heavy dumbbell or a gallon of milk (I used a 25 lbs dumbbell) with an experienced trainer by your side, your six minutes of dumbbell exercises will burn more calories than one hour on the treadmill. It will get your heart pumping and leave you breathless. This dumbbell matrix is what I end my workouts with each day. Every single one of you reading this has 6 minutes in their day and an empty gallon of milk you can fill with sand.... so behold, I demonstrate to you, what cost me a whole lot of dollars to learn:

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Here it is in snail form:

1. Dumbbell thrusters X 5

2. Dumbbell push to press, squat X 5

3. Row X 5

4. Push press X 5

5. Row (alt arm) X 5

6. Push press (alt arm) X 5

7. Cork screw X 5

8. Cork screw (alt side) X 5

Repeat three times. Allow yourself a one minute break in between. A six minute workout that, when done under the supervision and guidance of an experienced trainer, will burn more than a 60 minute run. Or you can wing it yourself and sign off on any injuries you might occur because I told you that you need a trainer next to you. It's perfect for those of you that want to shape and tone your arms. If you are in the Cleveland area and want an incredible one hour workout that will burn calories for 24 hours you can contact markaderry at yahoo dot com and tell him OHmommy sent you.

Next week on classy chaos: the barbell exercises.

FTC disclosure:

I have not been paid or given anything in exchange for this post.

I'm simply sharing my knowledge with you, my friends, and the FTC and suck my big sweaty toe.

Whoever said 30s were awesome, obviously lied.

OHmommy — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Many people say that their 30s were great because they finally felt comfortable with themselves. They "discovered" who they were. Namaste!

But Hello? At 32. The only thing I am discovering is that I am aging. R.A.P.I.D.L.Y. And not so gracefully.

Take today for example. The mother in the Lexus behind me in the school pick-up line religiously honked at me, as I dumbfounded on the verge of proclaiming my own religion, discovered my first gray eyebrow hair. Jesus. Mary. Joseph. When I saw that stubborn, lonesome, good for nothing, piece of crap staring back at me in my rear view mirror I screamed and ripped her out of line. And now, I have an irregular shaped eyebrow. Tell me I am not the only 30-something-year-old woman to carry around emergency tweezers in her handbag prepared for the occasional stubborn hair folical to pop up. I spent the entire evening googling "organic eyebrow hair dyes for aging women."

And last week I missed my Monday workout which meant I went four days without exercising and obviously my metabolism got the memo of the vacay and I gained five pounds. So yesterday at the gym while squatting down, a mere twelve inches away from the floor, with a 95 pound barbell laying across my shoulders I was thinking "THIS just sucks." Up and down, up and down, up and down my ass met the ground. "Ass. To. The. Ground!" My trainer screamed. "Squeeeeeze that butt." Eight times in a row. Five times repeated. 40 times of squatting with 95 pounds and that was only one station of the rotation. I bit my lip and sucked it up; because, I'm just not ready to give into the aging metabolism. I am no longer the youngest mom at preschool pick-up anymore but I am always the sweatiest one. At least I have a cute bicep when I pick up my daughter and happily observe the younger moms snacking on their Starbucks muffins in their track suits after a "run" on the treadmill in the gym. I want to ruin all their happiness for them by proclaiming, "You will be a sweaty-out-of-breath-with-one-lonesome-gray-eyebrow-hair mom, one day too!"

But I don't. Instead I casually sweep the bangs across my forehead to hide the wrinkles I discovered on my 30th birthday and exchange some pleasant pre-school pick-up conversation. "Your Suzy is so confident, you must be proud."

The only thing I have discovered two years into my 30s is that bitter is the new black. Bitter that I am gray. Bitter that I need to work out. Bitter that I'm aging and no longer twenty-one. Oh. My. Gosh. I have finally turned into that mom. That mom that no one talks to at pick-up because she's kind-of-old and sweating in a discounted Target track suit, left outside of any future play-dates. Gah. I am old.

The secret to a good party...

OHmommy — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Last year nearly a gazillion people filled our home for our annual Halloween party.

What first started out as a small family gathering on the weekend before Halloween to show-case adorable infant costumes has turned into a rocking bash that the kids look forward to. Each year we happily accumulate more and more friends and this year we had to either rent a hall or scale it down. What a delightful dilemma to have, in life.

This year I kept it simple. I didn't fret over matching plates with napkins. Or worry about finding the right DJ. I left the treat bags undecorated. I hardly lost sleep over limiting the guest list to neighbors. And I hastily threw my costume together the day before. I almost didn't recognize the obsessive-compulsive person that I truly am.

I realized that the only thing necessary for a good party is a good mood.

The scent of my husband's chili bubbling on the stove top made my mouth water. The pink ipod with a new play list created by Lola and I put an extra spring in my step. The indecisive toddler with three hand-me-down costume changes made my eyes smile. The bag of gum Jay paid for with his own money for a contest warmed my heart.

The mood was set hours before the first guest arrived.

It was an awesome party! SO awesome that the kids want to make it a monthly tradition of inviting people over. I think they might have stumbled across the secret to a happy life.

Phew. Politics. Phew.

OHmommy — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Why now? Why politics again? Because the situation, at hand, has become quite comical to me.

People across the nation have openly bashed conservatism and the questions that many respectful republican citizens have asked the current administration. Why? Because it goes against our leader's ideas and it seems as if everyone else is under Obama's trance unwilling to look at what is really going on. (Stop rolling your eyes at me - I can see that - I do have a point) As the most liberal American leader, to date, Obama has asked Americans to email The White House with fishy accusations and recently attempted to delegitimize Fox news channel (his White House press secretary Robert Gibbs stated it was because "that's our opinion)." I can only imagine the field day NBC, CBS, and ABC would have on this, if the tables were turned. Never in our history has a president, who vowed to be a transparent leader, asked to stop a media source because it's was against his "opinion."

The government of socialist President Hugo Chavez has recently cracked down on the media too, closing 200 radio stations many of which in his own words were "sick" and encouraged that viewers "turn off the illness." Because they ultimately did not support him or his opinions and caused "his" people to needlessly worry about things that were accusations.

How dare I compare Obama to Chavez? Both men got upset when media, whatever format, started to spread "criticism" about them and threatened to shut down the source. I don't care what the media source is and what the message they were spreading; this country was founded on the freedom of speech. My parents and I left our birth country that silenced my father's political views. How could this be happening here, a silencing of opposing opinions? Leave it up to the people to research and decide on their own. That is the most beautiful part of living in a true democracy and should never be silenced.

It's almost as if the Obama has assumed a Nixonian paranoia thinking that everyone on the other side is against him. Our rich history is full of stories of citizens criticizing our presidents. Get over it Obama and start making the changes you promised! You have the majority of votes to make things happen!!! I, as a conservative, forced my child to watch TV on the day of the inauguration knowing very well that history was made. I was proud. Only thing now is that, nothing has really changed and the actions of the administration are causing me super paranoia of a socialist government to come. I. Am. Afraid. Nothing has happened but the nit-picking of people opposing in opinions.

Perhaps the only liberal journalist that actually senses trouble in the administration is ABC News Senior White House Correspondent Jake Tapper. The rest of the journalist fill mainstream media with rainbows and unicorns stifling the majority of Amercian's political curiosity. Even sites like BlogHer, a community I am very proud to be a part of for women who blog, is headquartered in the uber-liberal San Francisco and continues to fill their site with predominately liberal sources in regards to politics. They recently interviewed Nancy Pelosi (democrat, the first female Speaker of the House of Representatives, also from San Francisco). Woot. Woot. To woman in power! But, boo on Pelosi and her extreme views who never actually answered pressing questions posed by my fellow bloggers while on conference call with www.blogher.com. But I digress.

Gah. I've had enough. There are so many things happening within the current administration that I'm not cool with. I am in the vast minority online. I know this. No need for me to hide behind my computer screen because that would do no good for my children. What would I be teaching them? If you disagree with the leader just silence yourself and play along with the majority because they might be right? I am not okay with where the current administration is leading us.

I am following in my father's foot steps, voicing my opinion out loud, questioning the politics of our great nation and in hopes that it will bring answers. Or changes. I don't know what else to say. I am just very distraught tonight and have been holding it in for some time now. Hoping I don't end up in Siberia. Phew.

Determination caught on film

OHmommy — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

"I'm looking for a young lady to help assist me, on my next magic trick." Zingmaster Alex announced on the circus floor, surrounded by an enormous crowd of anxious children. It was the opening night of the circus in Cleveland.

Lola looked up at me, signaling that this was all hers.

"Shoulders back and heads up! I'm looking for someone that stands up tall."

"I know. I just know I can do this, Mama. I stand tall in gymnastics." She locked her knees and shuffled her feet. "I really know I can.

"Stillllll looking..." The magician surveyed the room teasing the children.

Thanks sweet Kate for capturing Lola, in action!

"Ah ha! You. What's your name young lady?"

"Lola."

"Tell the crowd your name." The Ringling Bros Zingmaster ushered Lola into the middle of the crowd, that had gathered at the all access pre-show.

"My name is Lola."

Naturally, she rocked it. I don't know where she gets it.

I am happy to provide you with special pricing unique to my readers when purchasing tickets online at www.ticketmaster.com Purchasers can use the MOM coupon code in the Mom Central Promotion Box for 4 tickets for $44 from Monday-Friday shows and $4 off weekend shows. The circus was a blast and the all-access pre-show was so cool. An hour before each show you can visit with the clowns, walk a tightrope, observe the animals, and try on clown clothes. I highly recommend it.

**Mom Central provided us with tickets to the circus and free clown noses.**

DIY: I'm not Martha Stewart

OHmommy — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Months ago, I gave you a blog tour of my semi-remodeled home before the kitchen was done and many of you laughed at me for having a "multi-purpose" room, that was yet to be completed. "What the heck is a multi-purpose room?" People asked.

It's.... The final room to be tackled in the house that love built. The room in which the flood occurred and prompted our remodel. Yeah. That room. The "multi-purpose" room that houses our office and washer/dryer and is the command station of our home. Well..... it rocks!

I purchased tiled cork at a local discount hobby store, my husband re-used some trim and together we created an enormous board that highlights the main calendar, kid's artwork, and important memos for the grand total of $35.00. That's over a 90% discount from the Pottery Barn cork board I salivated over.

The cabinets are entry level laminate that I dressed up, to appear more "Pottery Barnish" with fancy hardware I purchased from Overstock dot com. Again, nearly 50% cheaper than the hardware I dreamt about buying at Restoration Hardware. And still about 60% cheaper than finished office cabinets at Pottery Barn. Boo-yah....

I didn't want granite as tops for the desks and searched online for inspirations of alternative materials to use for a desk top. I had a carpenter prepare a loooooong piece of wood (treat it and paint it) for the surface and ordered a very looooong piece of durable (not cheap - but cheaper than granite) glass to top it off.

It works perfect for displaying even more artwork that the kids want to display, as you slip it under the glass. The three chairs for the desks were purchased pre-children for our first dinning room set in our tiny bungalow.

The laundry room, equipped with two over-sized ancient units that everyone threw their coats on top of when entering our home through the side door, was originally housed in the new "mud room" but since than the laundry units (now more efficient and stack-able) have been hidden away in a closet my husband and his father built (added plumbing/electrical on their own) in the corner of the "multi purpose" room. Even the fish found a home (thanks to Jim for encouraging me to display it).

Completely unrelated but while on the topic of DIY home projects I finally connected with my crafty side and tackled the empty wall of my breakfast/kitchen room. It was a gigantic wall that needed attention and in dire straights of some artwork. Living off of one "good" income in a questionable economy I could not invest in the proper artwork my heart so desired; therefore, I summoned my children for some help. To create artwork.

I envisioned a huge spoon because I, very-honestly-still-at-times-don't-make-fun-of-me-please, spoon feed all three of my children and so it was appropriate to put them to work and create artwork that embodied my craziness. In color.

Three panels of canvas at $18.00 a piece at a local discount hobby store, some left over Benjamin Moore paint, three new shades of silver acyclic paint and I still dream of dressing my walls with authentic artwork but this will have to do in the house that love built.

Voila! Our house is remodeled! Which means you don't have to suffer through anymore pathetic home decorating posts from me anymore. You are welcome. Carry on..... (unless I'm pregnant with a fourth child and have to re-do the three desk office room).

"I share my peanuts with you."

OHmommy — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

I've been away for nearly four days, only it feels more like forty. I crossed over the state of Indiana, but yet it feels like I crossed an entire ocean. You see, I visited my immigrant parents in Chicago over the weekend.

On my last visit in the summer, I watched as the Time Warner guy removed all the cable boxes from my parent's house while my father rubbed his hands together in anticipation for his grand scheme. "No. I no need extras. Remove everything!" He dictated to the poor soul. "I do the live streaming from internet. I plug the computer in TV and have live Polska news." So glad I was leaving the next day before the live streaming had begun, I thought.

This past Thursday, my kids were safely tucked into their beds under my parents roof, my father rubbed his hands again in anticipation. "Sit down next to Mama and me. We watch Polish soap opera. I share my peanuts with you." I politely declined his invitation and made it known that I frequently go to bed at nine because motherhood was truly that exhausting. "You will miss good show. Dobranoc Paulinka." I went to bed unaware of the bubble boy or who was kicked off of America's Next Top Model.

On Friday night, my children accustomed to family movie nights enthusiastically gathered in their pjs on the couch of my parent's house. My mother spoon fed them a smorgasbord of fresh fruits and at the same time wiped their noses because obviously the fact that I let them run loose without socks in Cleveland was the cause of their illness while my father intently scrolled the computer through all of the children's programs he had recorded for months. "I show you good tv. Sit down here and I share the peanuts with you. We watch Polish cartoons." The kids hemmed and hawed and later booed his choices as Babcia and Dziadek translated each word trying to out shine one another, their voices getting more and more pronounced and even louder. "Woda! Water!! The elephant wants water for bath. Woda!!! Water!!!!!!!!!!!" The kids went to bed and I followed them up in record time.

On Saturday night, the kids were running around the house in anticipation of the night's company. Family and friends gathered to celebrate our impromtu visit, on the same night as the Blackhawks game. "Sit down next to me. I show you good tv and will share my peanuts with you." My father told my American uncle and to the very American husband of my best friend, both avid hockey fans. The men sat around the over-sized plastic container of salted peanuts and watched the motor-cross race being live streamed from the hillsides of Poland. "You see. This good." My father rubbed his hands in delight.

On Sunday morning, my children begged for "normal" tv so I broke into the basic cable, found PBS, and disabled all the settings on the live streaming via computer. My father joined his grandchildren on the couch to watch a cartoon featuring a big red dog. "See? This good tv. I share with you. Polish people are smart people. They show English shows to teach the kids English." Good tv!"

And. We both rubbed our hands in delight.

Portrait of a Toddler: Part 2

OHmommy — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

The toddler

likes to dress herself,

dawn to dusk.

No jeans, no cords,

not any pants with tags;

"I do it self."

Every shade of red

is a pink in her eyes,

white is yellow.

Hand-me downs,

however used and torn,

fill her drawers.

Spotted shoes at store

"need to have those tip-toe shoes"

need, need, tip-toe need.

Tip-toe, tip-toe shoes

she baptized them with name;

no doubt she's mine.

Lola mermaid shirt,

Jay camouflage tee,

Fifi tip-toe shoes.

A toddler's first battle

to define her fashion taste;

independence milestone!

Portrait of a Toddler: Part One... here.

My kids had processed sodium-filled pizza for dinner.

OHmommy — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

I wasn't prepared.

In fact Fifi was barefoot and without a coat because I, already running late, hastily tossed her into the car seat just minutes after rudely wakening her from an afternoon slumber. Accustomed to be handled in a hurry, she enthusiastically sang a song out of key inside the minvan parked at the elementary school pick-up line while I made mental copies of the emails flooding my blackberry. Field Trip Wednesday. RSVP to brunch. "I made your Bigos!" Read to kindergartners on Thursday. Winterize sprinklers on Saturday. Schedule doctor follow-up. Collect my 5 million from the Nigerian government. "I forwarded your horseback riding post to a friend." Gah. The emails, some pointless and others incredibly warming, drowned out my daughter's sweet lyrics.

"Hurry. Hurry. Get in the car!" I rolled down my car window and greeted my children. "There's a line of cars behind us, also in a hurry." I glanced behind me and noticed an enormous hockey bag in the passenger seat of the Volvo. The car in front, loaded with more children than the Duggar's, was already pulling out of line while the mother frantically motioned her hands like a flight attendant designating seats. "Let's go!"

"Where, Mom? Where are we going?"

"I wanna go to Ka-go." Fifi's inserted her standard answer.

"We are going home for a snack. I need to make dinner. Than horse back riding. After that Boy Scouts. Let's go.... buckle up chickadees."

A mere three minutes later and off of school grounds I noticed the sun's rays perfectly aligned over our beloved meadow. Not another human on site, not a playground around for miles, not even a trace of pavement for a bike and no toys to speak of. Just. An. Empty. Field. A most perfect pit stop to break up our hysterically over loaded day.

I manually opened up the doors of my entry level minivan, found some muddy boots in the trunk for the toddler and smiled, "Let's go..."

I watched as they skipped over flowers in amazement and in awe of how a child could make something so simple as a skip bring so much happiness.

I sat in my designer jeans once designated for posh clubs but now surrounded by damp earth and witnessed an impromptu craft of flower arranging turned competition.

And the smiles. Dear Gawd. The smiles. Were so worth the delivery pizza for dinner tonight because I had no time to prepare anything at all.

If there is one thing I would like my children to remember about their childhood it's that we made frequent pit stops for smiles. I hope they tuck the memories in their pockets and adopt the ideas as adults. It's much healthier than pizza.

Making Polish cuisine posh, one blog post at a time.

OHmommy — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

No, not stuffed cabbage again!

Bigos! Or hunter's stew. It's a savory stew of cabbage and meats. It has been called the national dish of Poland and recipes vary from region to region. There's no right or wrong way to make Bigos for it's a one pot smorgasbord of commonly found leftover ingredients in a Polish home during the cold winter season. The main ingredients, cabbage and pork, are said to bring good luck which promoted my very patriotic Polish father to slip an apron over his tuxedo at my wedding to serve bigos as a midnight snack. It. Was. Classy. The predominately American guest list, unaccustomed to the Polish cuisine, stood in lines for a second helping proclaiming it to be more satisfying than chili or beef stew.

Without further adu. The Karwowski recipe for Bigos:

The ingredients:

Pork (ask the butcher for pork with some fat); smoked sausage; dried plums; sauerkraut; onions (all I had was the ends of green onions & it worked); bacon (or rib meat or veal or any game type meats); spices (dashes of salt, paprika, garlic, marjoram, bay leaf).

Step 1:

Preheat oven to 365 degrees. Chop the pork into small pieces and add to pot. I prefer small as I don't like to do much chewing in a stew.

Step 2:

Add a dash of oil and throw the pork into the oven to roast. Cover and cook. You can also add all/or one of the following ham, bacon, veal, venison or other game to the pork if you have it laying around. Heh. I had three slices of leftover bacon I added.

Step 3:

While the pork is roasting begin to prep the rest of the ingredients. First the smoked sausage, which should be cut into small pieces.

Step 4:

After the pork has been roasting for at least 30 minutes you can add an equal amount of sausage to the pork. Add onions too (I have no idea how many... just one handful of finely chopped onions). Put pork/sausage mixture back into the oven. Cover and cook.

Step 5:

While the pork/sausage is roasting or as my mother says in Polish "duszony" which is loosly translated into "smothering," start prepping the next ingredients. Remove all the liquid from the sauerkraut and wash it. Remove the pitts of the plums and cut them into tiny pieces.

Step 6:

After the pork/sausage has been roasting together for thirty minutes remove it from the oven to add the plums and sauerkraut. I love to add mushrooms (but my husband does not). You can also add tomatoes and/or a splash of honey.

Step 7:

Add the mixture of spices to the pot.

And mix everything together. Add two cups of water.

Roast covered for a minimum of one hour. Or one and a half. But make sure you stir whenever you remember. I remembered twice.

Step 8:

Bon Appetit. Or in Polish.... Smacznego. To be served with a slice of rye bread.

In conclusion:

It's very easy to prepare Bigos as you just throw everything into one pot, really. I hope you have adventurous taste buds to give Bigos a try this cold season in lue of a traditional beef stew. And why "Cooking With A Toddler" you ask? Because it took up two hours of our day as we worked side-by-side in the kitchen. Note: do not leave toddler unattended because they might find the new bottle of Mr. Bubbles and empty it into the bath tub while you check in on your dinner roasting in the oven.

Trying to make Polish cuisine posh, one blog post at a time. Yo!

Desperately seeking advice...

OHmommy — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

"How is Lola?" A mother at preschool pick-up asked me.

"Oh, she's fine. Still a little sore but her face is healing up. She wants to get back on the horse next Monday." I smiled proud to share that my resilient daughter made the decision herself to try again "but no cantering for a while" just the other day.

"I wouldn't." She shook her head.

Unsure of whether she meant she, herself, would not get back on; or she, as a mother, would not let her child get back on. I wouldn't use the word athletic to describe the family however I valued her opinion because she's an incredible mother. On the flipside, I spoke to another mother (an equestrian) during toddler gymnastics and she encouraged that Lola get back on.

Ultimately the decision is mine, for I pay the bills. Do I allow my child to get back on the horse for a measly 30 minutes each week knowing in my heart that it's the highlight of her week? Or. Do I call it quits for now and try again when she's a little older which makes her cry?

Just about every single sport has some type of injury rate and although horse back riding has a higher rate many children Lola's age in rural Ohio ride horses just as well as their bicycles. Don't suggest another sport for Lola because this really is her thing and has been for some time Our instructor, with three concussions and twenty-six falls tucked under her belt, says Lola learned the most important thing about riding and will not lean forward again. Both my husband and I were always uber athletic as children and even today live for the hours that we can exercise until it burns. I certainly do not want to raise children who quit when things get rough if there's a glimmer of hope they want to beat the obstacles.

What does a mother do? Talk amongst yourself. I'm eagerly listening.

Mama, everyone is ok/well/alive but....

OHmommy — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

I had just finished explaining to the pediatric ER nurse that the horse actually dragged and later trampled over my daughter while she was cantering during her lesson. The nurse left us alone in the waiting room and an announcement came over the PA system "Code something. Trauma. Pediatric ER. Code something. Trauma. Pediatric ER." I looked around, realized that "Code Something" was directed at us and for the first time in my life I swore in front of my child through my tears. Shit.

We were immediately escorted into a private room and a rush of different doctors/nurses started probing her. My Lola. Her face badly bruised and swollen twice it's size from the horse kicking her as he trotted over her in the show ring. Her chest torn and bruised with a permanent hoof mark right above her heart. The trauma team squeezed into the tiny room tossing around orders for xrays, urine samples and vitals. What exactly happened they asked. "It was her first time cantering, which is a fast trot, on the horse. The horse titled his head down and she slid right off, in front of him. She held onto the reigns being pulled across the earth before she let go and the horse trampled her." The image of my daughter been dragged and trampled upon will forever haunt me.

A dose of bubble gum motrin. A check for vitals. A hospital smock. A head-to-toe examination of wounds. A few rounds of xrays of the trampled upon chest. A urine sample to check for internal bleeding. A teddy bear appropriately named Sunny (on the car ride to the ER I distracted her by pointing out the incredible sun set God had bestowed on us as a sure sign of happiness). A purple Popsicle. And one halloween sticker later she spoke through her quivering fat lip, "Mom? What does shit mean?" And we were discharged.

Children have a beautiful gift for healing fast. I, on the other hand, am still a little shaky. I've neurotically checked in on her twice this evening. The glowing night light is just enough for me to see her terribly swollen cheek peeking through her covers, one bruised arm with a hospital bracelet holding onto Sunny and as I watch her take shallow breaths I'm screaming to myself "Oh my gosh... my daughter was trampled by a horse today." That is one thing I never imagined happening.

She's okay. I will be okay. But my daughter got trampled by a horse and had a McFlurry for dinner as promised on the way to the ER and this isn't what I imagined motherhood as and oh my gosh what will tomorrow bring. Everyone is okay and well and alive and tonight we count our blessings that we survived another day of parenting.

Excuse my profanity for the second time on my blog. First post where I swore is here. For my own sanity let's hope this is the last time I swore on my blog and/or in front of my children. Cause, seriously, how many lives does one mommy get?

No growth without discontent, right?

OHmommy — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Her sly smile spoke volumes and the evidence was smeared over her plump toddler fingers. She stood before me, just as my other two children did years ago, covered head to tow in diaper cream.

"Who did this to you?" I tried to keep a straight face.

"Lola."

"No, I didn't!!! She's a liar. Fifi, you are a liar!" Lola screamed from the opposite end of the house.

"I not a liar. I a girl."

Dressed to impress in a missmatched ensemble of dress-up clothes she desired no help from me and was determined to squeeze her feet into a pair of plastic slippers.

"Where are you going today looking fancy? You are so adorable!"

"I not so adorable. I a girl."

The "terrible-twos" are tragically mislabeled. The real trouble begins when in a couple of months around the age of three, she will have more knowledge and this gives birth to the stage of discontent. Oh you know, otherwise known as the terrible (horrible, no good, very bad) threes where knowledge triumphs peace. It's the developmental stage where I walk around with my hands over my ears singing la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you trying to remember that discontent is a crucial step towards progress. Right?

"You are a crybaby."

"No I not. I a girl." Soon will be replaced by, "Mommmmmmmy. Lola called me a crybaby and I'm not a crybaby, she is. Sop calling me that. Mommmmmmy tell her I'm not a crybaby. You are the crybaby, Lola. A poopy head crybaby. Whatever you say sticks to you like glue. Waaaaaaaaa..... I not a crybaby."

Nestle Family blogger event from a participant

OHmommy — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 07:37:00 +0000

(Edited 10-2-09 to include video)

I don't have to write this. In fact I don't have to mention anything about my recent trip to LA.

Nevertheless, the events of the last three days (search twitter for #nestlefamily) have shaped me as a blogger, consumer and most importantly as a mother so it's crucial for me to document things from my own perspective.

As a blogger, I get dozens upon dozens of PR pitches each day that clog up my inbox and nearly all of them get deleted even before I click to open the body. There are two criterias I have that will determine whether or not I spend a minute of my day reading their pitch. Number one, they must address me by my proper name and show some sign of actually taking the time to look over my blog. Number two, it must come from a company that fits with my lifestyle. For example, I used disposal diapers and therefore would not accept a trip to be part of a focus group for a cloth diaper company. My long time dedicated readers, who forever have a place in my heart, come to hear my real voice and I would never give them less. So when Nestle contacted me inviting me to be a part of a "focus group" of bloggers for their Nestle Family event I said yes after peeking inside the expansive pantry of my suburban abode exposing many of their products. Nestle was/is a part of our everyday lives.

As a consumer, I agreed to take part of the Nestle Family blogger event (Nestle paid for hotel/flight expenses wanting nothing in exchange) knowing very well that some of the company's ethics were questionable therefore I took a pro-active stance and decided this was an ideal opportunity for me to approach the company with questions. Before agreeing to the travel commitment, nervous as this was my first time being approached by a big company, I telephoned a friend whose husband works for the corporation in Cleveland prying her for more information. She calmed my nerves saying that not only was it a legit offer but that the company treated it's staff with the utmost class and surely it would do the same for a handful of parenting bloggers. I. Did. My. Research. I wanted to learn, ask a lot and come back with more information as a concerned consumer who tries hard to stay away from processed foods.

As a mother, I took this trip to demonstrate to my children that their little stay at home mommy with a tiny blog could in fact make a small difference in the world. I wanted to teach them that their lives would not crumble if I took some days off from my duties. I told them that the dot com is interested in knowing what they thought of new products tested by them because their opinions are valuable and influential. I told them that I had questions to ask. I needed to let them know that ordinary people can make extraordinary differences. I know that they are proud of me just as the children of many 50's house wives like "The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio" who entered jingles from major corporations bringing home prizes that paid off their hard work.

Only. Times have changed. The passionate hobbyist. The concerned consumer. The talented mother. Can no longer accept a 'free" trip to learn more about a company without a backlash from her own community of mothers in the age of the Internet. Where ethics can be rightfully researched and debated. Which in a perfect Utopian society sounds beautiful except for not-so-much in the modern day of social media where self proclaimed "ists" off all kinds used the words "join us on the bashing" "selling soul to the devil" "racists" "uneducated mothers being used" to describe a harmless focus group gathered to voice opinions at the US headquarters of the world's largest food corporation.

The woman in charge of Juicy Juice cringed when I tweeted that I prefer Mott's For Tots since it was diluted with water but listened to my suggestions. The mother of three, who is incredibly into nutrition, in Nestle baking carefully paused when I asked her if she served frozen Stouffer meals to her family only for her to reply that each year they remove more sodium and never add preservatives and it still beats a fast food option. The educated mother in charge of chocolates willingly allowed me to videotape her answer to the questions my twitter followers had about child slave labors laws in regard to chocolate. The CEO of the company sat three feet before me as we asked questions about advertising formula in third world countries.

I don't have to write this. However, I'm incredibly proud and know that my family is too.

Not many mothers can add "making the world's largest food corporation think during Q and A's" to their resume as a SAHM. In my heart of hearts, I know, that Nestle listened to all of our opinions. I saw before my own eyes a room full of people diligently taking notes. I heard very-important-people thank us for our eye opening input. I witnessed even-more-important-people acknowledge the fact that social media is important. I can not even begin to put in words to describe just how much Nestle cared about everything.

Today as a consumer, blogger and a mother I am very happy knowing that my opinions/suggestions were heard in person. Without a doubt I believe that Nestle listened. I am quite eager to go home in the morning and introduce my family to some awesome new products (I haved packed lots of goodies to share with you too). Tomorrow I will forget the mean spiritied words some of the fellow members of my "community" plastered over the Internet because I know I was part of a good thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QPM_H7uaWcw

Living up to my mother's image

OHmommy — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 02:59:00 +0000

She had long blond hair pulled back in a loose braid. She held onto my sister, just a toddler, gently grasping her tiny arm in her own. Her eyes peacefully closed and completely in love. Still in her twenties her aura radiated a colorful youthfulness even through the black and white photo captured at a refugee camp. A moment caught on film, of a mother inhaling her child's scent.

That photo of my mother is my favorite one from childhood.

I think of that photo often as it paints a portrait of my mother as I remember her. Perfect composure. Perfect surroundings. Perfect meals. Perfect. Living up to the image, that I created, has caused me many sleepless nights. I often wonder how she stayed so sane without the luxury of a minivan, dishwasher and playgroups while I frantically rush around tossing chicken nuggets into the mouths of my children in my filthy minivan.

The other month I exchanged some giggles with a dear facebook friend online, in regards to our Polish mothers gossiping about us. I retold the brief encounter our mothers had, to my friend, "You know, my Katherine cleans for me before I visit." "My, Paulina, is better mom than me. But. She is around dirt. And messy." "My Katherine too, bless her heart, is always have kids with runny noses. You know. They don't wear socks at home." "Oh. Paulina no puts the sock on and sometimes she makes no beds in the morning." "They are good mothers but so much dirt!" "Yes. I did experiment and left the dirt, that cause me pain, to see the time it took for Paulina to clean. I try relax. I can't."

SHOCKING. I know. I've told my mother to hush before. But this time it's different. In the last 48 hours I've dusted every corner of my house, emptied out all the drawers, arranged every closet and vacuumed under the beds. And cooked a wholesome meal with enough leftovers to feed a kingdom to make sure she couldn't comment on the lack of food in my abode. SHOCKING. I know. My beloved aunt (self proclaimed Marinka's biggest fan) called me this morning contributing to my stress, "Are you ready? For your mom? Is the house clean?" You see. My mother has graciously offered to tend over the domestic duties and child care for four days while I sashay around LA on some business. Bless her heart. The last time my mother was alone in my house with my children not only did she whip out gourmet meals that put me to shame but also re-arranged my bed putting Martha Stewart to shame, positioning the pillows she deemed as more feng shui. For us. A married couple under their own roof. Because in her eyes it was "a better way" to decorate.

That alone is nothing I will lose sleep over, I can handle and am willing to take criticism. I'm more worried about my husband and children realizing/appreciating/falling-in-love with what a mother really can do. (Read: home-cooked meals in a clean house with kids in socks curing them of runny noses). My "tossing aside housework to appreciate all the love" gig might have an expiration date when my loved ones realize my mother can do it all.

Have fun Mama. You don't have to pre-soak the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher. The doors on the minivan automatically open. The kids won't eat veal no matter how much you disguise it. And I like the feng shui of my house just as it is. Remember to toss aside the housework and just enjoy the grandchildren that are so eagerly awaiting your kisses. This is what they will remember most. It is what I remember about you.

***

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