Cat in Heels

Quarantine Diaries- day 23

2020-04-08T22:56:00.000-05:00

It feels like day 300 of the stay-at-home order, but in reality it's only been about a month. 23 days since everything closed according to the numbers on the doors of my kids school.

23 days of working from home, long days, home schooling twin kindergartners and being with the husband 24/7.

The dog is confused and has been on more walks in the last week than in the last couple months. My vow to workout while working from home was a giant joke and workouts have been replaced with 16 hour work days, time with the kids and Netflix.

I vowed to bake and instead have made one loaf of blueberry bread. From a box. One kid hated it.

My sleep schedule is fucked, I go days without showering, only put on makeup for a conference call once a week, and I don't have enough casual clothes to comfortably have a quarantine wardrobe without wearing the same shirt multiple days in a week.

Still I consider myself lucky.

I'm still working and the girls do their school work, generally without complaining. Husband still does all the cooking and most of the cleaning, and sometimes I even try to help (though I got chastised for putting condiments on the wrong side of the burger bun). I have stress shopped, I stress eat, I forget to eat, try to walk the dog, pretty much gave up on meaningful exercise, and drink too much.

It's a new normal. We're all getting used to the new normal. Hopefully we won't have to stay this way for long. A few more DSW sales and I'm going to run out of space in my closet.

Twins: Half a Decade Later

2019-03-20T15:27:00.001-05:00

That’s how long it’s been since the twins were born. Five looooong years. Or five short years. It feels like a couple months ago they were infants. Now they’re full blown children. Big kids, as they now refer to themselves.

Kids who are reading and writing and soaking the world up like a sponge. Kids who are arguing and developing opinions, a sense of style, and a very serious set of likes and dislikes. Kids who want to be part of everything and do all the stuff big kids do, but still tell me they don’t want to be adults because they don’t want to not live with me.

Twin Powers, Activate!

This is an amazing time. This is magical. This is what I never could have imagined during those long days and nights of that first year.

Twin parents, hang in there.

Five year olds also means that Husband and I have survived as the parents of twins for five full years. We may not have slept a lot, and some of it was hard. Like really, soul wrenchingly difficult. I can’t compare to something else, but I do know that holding two kids at once and nursing two kids at once is hard. Then there was the week and a half that they both had a stomach bug and it was just exploding diapers and crying babies and laundry constantly. I’m pretty sure that experience alone left Husband with some kind of PTSD.

But now five means they tell me all about their day and read me books and try so hard at everything in the world. They try and mimic and you can almost see effort emanating from them. Even when they’re making up stories (we do a lot of that) they’re giving it their all. Those magic little girls, weaving a world through play and imagination that rivals any writer I’ve ever read.

As I tucked them in after a full day of birthday stuff, they each got hugged and kissed and then I made sure to take a minute with each of them and reinforce all the things that sometimes get lost in the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Reminders that they are smart and strong and can do anything. That I love their imagination and they should never stop. That they are wonderful and can be and do anything they want in this life. Except live with me forever. Pretty sure eventually they're going to have to move out.

Me Time

2018-11-01T08:54:00.001-05:00

Cue the mid-life crisis.

Or not quite yet. I did have a birthday this summer, but it hasn't pushed me to 40 just yet. And it's not so much a crisis as it is a revelation and the decision to do something to take myself back.

In the last year so much has happened and I haven't written a word. Well, I have written, but then I get a draft, get busy and move on. By the time I think about posting it again it seems dated and like it needs a total rewrite, which I don't always have time for.

Now I'm making time. I'm taking charge of something in my life and I am making time to write. I feel more like me when I write. I have so much to say, and yet I'm a very private person who isn't the best at doing things like going out or making friends. I always joke with my extroverted husband that I only have like eight friends. That may be an exaggeration now and the number is actually lower, but they're all really, really good friends. The kind I can call if I need a body buried who would show up with a shovel and a bottle of vodka and ask questions later. Those friends.

But those friends have their own lives too. And now that we're all adults and have jobs and kids and families and stuff (so much stuff) there isn't as much time for our friends. In fact there isn't as much time for my anything. Exercise, reading, TV shows, drinking... instead it's all work and kids and birthdays and school, and snack day and bringing the computer home for the 4,826th day in a row and conference calls and, and, and...

This is life. It's mine and it's yours. And like me, you probably wouldn't trade it for the world, but sometimes you just want it all to freeze frame and stop for a minute so you can have one minute, just one without all that stuff.

So that's what this is. This blog. My writing. It's my effort at making it all stop. Of making time for myself and having a moment. Of putting my thoughts into the computer and inexplicably sharing my private, introverted life with total strangers. Also it's affording me some time with my thoughts that isn't spent working out, waiting for it to be over.

I'm a wife, a professional, a mother, a friend, a daughter, sister...so many different roles constantly being filled. Let's all resolve to find the moments we can be ourselves. I'm finding my moment where I can just be me.

Eyebrow Polish

2017-06-04T00:07:00.000-05:00

Every morning as I get ready for work the twins come wandering into my bathroom, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and telling me about their crazy dreams. I finish my hair and start doing my makeup and they crowd around me, grabbing at makeup brushes and asking what everything is as I apply each piece.

About a month earlier at Ulta trying
not to touch everything.

D: "What's that for?"
Me: "It's foundation so Mommy's skin isn't blotchy."
D: "Oh. You put it on with a cat egg?"
Me: "It's a beauty blender, sweetie. Cats don't lay eggs."

S: "What's that for?"
Me: "It's an eyebrow pencil so Mommy has eyebrows again because she waxed them into oblivion in the '90s."
S: "Oh. Oblivion? Do I have eyebrows?"
Me: "Yes bay, they're right here above your eyes, and they're beautiful so don't ever mess with them even if thin brows come back into style."

And on, and on, with every thing I put on, until I roll up the brushes and put them away and we all brush our teeth.

I should have known that the constant interest in my morning makeup routine would bite me in the ass.

Saturdays are the worst for naps. They generally don't want to because I'm home so it's all happy fun time with Mom. This Saturday was particularly bad and after going upstairs what felt like a million times, S came down and as I looked over I noticed there was something on her face.

The first thing I wondered was what lipstick I left upstairs, because it looked like it was a red color, but I keep all my lipstick in my purse in a gigantic makeup bag. Then I caught a faintly chemical smell and called her over to me.

As she got closer I should see the texture more clearly and saw that smeared across her eyebrows was burgundy nail polish.

Eyebrows still intact but some polish still there.

"I did my eyebrows."

Ohhhhh fuuuckkkk.....

The worst part is that in order to even get to the nail polish she had to climb up shelves, so there was a lot of effort into this. There would have been less effort to get my actual eyebrow pencil. It also would have been a lot less harrowing to clean up.

I wish I had gotten a picture of the before, but of course I was panicking because there was nail polish by her eyes, and I had to figure out how to get it off without ripping out her eyebrows or getting anything into her eyes. A billion q-tips, some polish remover, a washcloth and some soothing words we got everything mostly cleaned up. We also had a very serious talk about how she cannot ever use my makeup without me.

As we finished washing up before bed and I kissed S goodnight and I reinforced again that she can't use my makeup she grabbed my hand and looked my my recently manicured nails and said "Mommy, can you paint my nails?"

Yes baby. I can. And this time we'll put the polish on your nails and not on your eyebrows.

Maybe in 2017...

2016-12-30T13:25:00.000-06:00

I’ve really sucked at this blogging this this year. Sometimes I feel like I kind of just half-assed it through part of the year. Or like I’m running after my life, which is speeding ahead of me, my fingers just brushing it as I reach forward at a full sprint.

Maybe this is just adulthood. Motherhood. Career.

Frosting Face - or "How my kids became the Joker"

Celebrity deaths and politics aside (which so much has been written by others, I have nothing to add) 2016 was not a bad year. I got a promotion. My children and family are happy and generally healthy. My younger sister is engaged. I finally got some medical stuff figured out and started to lose some of the baby weight (plus some put on by a sluggish postpartum thyroid) and got rid of the brain fog that came with it.

Yet with all these things, time seems to go so quickly and the days fill up so fast. Lunch hours are dedicated to the gym or work meetings (because who doesn’t love a working lunch). Evenings are set aside for dinner and a couple whirlwind hours with the twins, bedtime, some unwinding time with the husband (we will never get through the Netflix queue), sometimes more work, and then my bedtime. Wake up when it’s still dark and do it all again. Weekends are spent with the twins, extended family, or doing all the things I don’t have time to do during the week because days are only 24 hours and my body still thinks it needs sleep.

Really all my issues would just be solved if I could get a couple more hours out of every day. I don’t care if that’s via less sleep or slowing the earth’s rotation and adding some actual hours to the day, it would be super helpful. There’s lot of things I would do with the extra time, and lots of goals I have for 2017.

Maybe in 2017 I’ll get my shit together and manage to write more. I’ll capture more moments with the girls. I’ll pick up my real camera again and take more pictures with something other than my phone. I’ll slow down and enjoy everything a little more.

Maybe in 2017 I’ll get some time alone with Husband. We’ll go on a date that involves wearing something fancy and it’ll be just the two of us eating and I won’t have to say things like “Don’t touch your hair,” or “Please use your fork,” or “Chew, chew, chew,” during our meal.

This doesn't count shoes I have in filing cabinets.
I mean, who has paper files anymore?

Maybe in 2017 I’ll have the chance to spend more time with my sisters or my mother and father. Sometimes it feels like even the time with them is so busy making sure no one hurts themselves or someone else you never really get a chance to visit.

Maybe in 2017 I’ll manage to get this new project at the office I’ve been tasked with totally under control and underway, turning it into a success.

The again, maybe in 2017 I’ll just continue to chase life. I’ll do all of the above things, some days with more ferocity and dedication than others. Maybe one day I’ll get close enough to grab on to life for a second and treasure a moment. I’ll get time to stand still so I can appreciate a frosting covered face, a kiss, a laugh, a breeze or an accolade. I’ll be able to grab that second and file it away with all the other moments you keep, and when you think back on them they make you smile. Or maybe in 2017 I’ll just try to clean out the shoe collection from under my desk, because this shit is getting a little out of hand.

Books, Bedtime and Bad Things

2016-07-15T16:22:00.000-05:00

After dinner yesterday I was playing with the girls when the first reports of the terror attack in Nice, France started showing up on my phone. News alerts, Facebook; I wanted to know what was going on. S wanted to wear one of my bracelets to bed and D was trying to decide if she was going to wear a tutu to bed.

I finally decided that I need to focus on my twins and the precious little time I get with them every day. The horrors of the world will still be unrolling on Facebook and every major news network when they’re sound asleep. As I put my phone down D walked up to me and handed me a book.

“Night-night book,” she said sitting down next to me.

I stared down and felt a lump in my throat. The book was “Brush Mona Lisa’s Hair.”

France is under attack again and here I am staring at one of the most famous paintings in the world, which resides in the French’s most famous museum…and my little girl has no idea. She just likes interacting with the pictures.

We are reading about Frans Hals’ The Laughing Cavalier, playing with his collar, and over an ocean she doesn’t know about other children are dying because of the evil that exists in this world. How do I save them from it?

Even in bed they're in constant motion.

How can I keep them innocent? Thinking that all it takes to be a princess is to wear a tutu or a dress, that they are always beautiful, that their momma is a princess, Daddy is the funniest man in the world, the dog is as much a part of the family as anyone else, and every color is pink.

How do I ever look into their eyes and tell them about the world that exists now when their chief concern is if I’m ok when I cough or if their sister is ok when she is crying. These are girls who climb into each other’s crib during nap time so they can be close to one another.

As one blows on the feathers of the angels in Raphael’s Sistine Madonna the other one picks out another book. Night-night books are plentiful now and there’s always one more they try to slide in to delay bedtime just a few more minutes. And you know what, I’ll let them. Tonight we can have just one more book, and then maybe another one after that, because someday I will have to talk to my girls about the bad things in the world. Bad people, bad events, bad days, things that make us sad, things we can change and things we can’t. But right now, tonight and tomorrow, there’s time for one more book. The bad things will still be there when it’s over, so let's do something to keep them at bay for just a few more minutes.

Once all books are finished and put away, and kisess have been doled out, they have been tucked in, each to their individual liking, as I shut the door sweet little voices from their cribs say, “Momma, I love you a moon annnnnd back.”

I love you too baby girls. All the way to the moon and back...and back....and back again.

Dropping the F-bomb

2016-06-29T08:34:00.001-05:00

Why are four letter words so easy to say?

I mean for us adults they just roll off the tongue in a variety of situations. I haven’t counted how many I use in a day, but it’s up there. I tried to stop once but it turns out not swearing is bullshit that other people do. It’s like cooking or running marathons. Great for some people, but totally not for me.

It turns out that four letter words are equally easy to for toddlers to say.

How is it that the kids say “beek-a-poo” when playing peek a boo, but “Fuck” is loud and clear. Monkeys are commonly referred to as “on-keys” but “oh shit” doesn’t seem to be tripping them up.

Husband said in their defense we probably say “fuck” a lot more than “peek-a-boo.” I'm not sure about that, but the two may be neck and neck. My two-year-old twins are dropping f-bombs at the dinner table while I have a post-work cocktail. They have also recently learned to growl back at the dog when playing tug, which means at least we’re not the only ones who are being mimicked for lousy language. I’m sure those growls have some cuss words in them. I mean they must after living with me for the last 8 years even my dog curses, right?

So how does one change their whole way of speaking so that I don’t raise potty-mouthed children? And do I even want to? Studies show that swearing is good for you and people who swear have a larger vocabulary and have greater verbal intelligence.

Learning everything...including the bad things.

Maybe I should be proud of them and their f-bombs. I mean, I wasn’t too much older than they are now when I stomped my foot at a librarian and told her “Shit, I forgot my puzzoo.”

Can’t form the appropriate sounds for “puzzle” but “shit” came out ringing like crystal. And to a fucking librarian?! Pretty sure that was one of the first of many times my actions made my parents hope the floor would open up and swallow them. Then again, depending on her vocabulary maybe that librarian had a total potty mouth too. She probably just didn’t exercise it in front of patrons and their small children.

So go on kids, rock out with your “shit” and “fuck” and maybe a random "damnit" here and there thrown in for flavor. Your dad and I will try not to laugh, and we’ll tell you not to say those things (and seriously, don't ever say them in public). Even long after you have learned how to pronounce the “m” in “monkey” and stop adding another “w” to “flowers” (fwo-wers), when you’re hiding your swear words from us and cussing on the playground or via text messages (or whatever it is by then) whenever we catch you we’ll tell you not to talk like that until you’re an adult, and don’t take examples from your potty-mouth parents, but deep down we’ll know that with every “damn” comes the ability to pull out a word like “confabulate” and “largesse” and properly use them in polite conversation. Maybe each “shit” is a direct reflection of your love of books, and that A in English was brought to us by the letter F.

Maternity Leave and Meternity - Not even close

2016-04-29T12:48:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while a woman comes along, hopping around, flipping hair and flashing manicured nails and spouting off about the dumbest shit in the world, and all you can think is “You’re the type that makes women look stupid.”

Enter Meghann Foye, a woman who has written a book and spoken on the topic of “Meternity.” It’s like maternity leave, but without the baby. You know for single people without babies because it’s not fair that only people who have babies get all this time off.

I’ll let that sink in for a minute.

According to Ms. Foye, taking maternity leave is a wonderful time that allows women to reflect on

Spend vacation hooked up to this every 3 hours. It's fun!

life, learn to advocate for themselves and their family, and generally recharge.

You moms seeing red yet?

I’m not sure about everyone else’s experience, but I went into labor at night, was emailing my boss from the hospital before they wheeled me into an operating room to cut me open, pulled everything out, including two babies, and put everything back together. I then spent three days in the hospital, and came home to a constant cycle of nursing, pumping, diapers, crying, bodily fluids, no sleep, more nursing, more crying (it may or may not have been me), lots of bleeding, and some more pumping. There was also that whole healing thing I had to do since I had what amounts to a major abdominal surgery. I managed to fit some of that in as well. At week six I left my twins to go back to work because my husband and I really felt that living indoors was important and we needed the money of my full salary.

A few weeks later I took my first business trip and was gone from them for two nights and was introduced to the wonderful world of pumping while traveling.

How I started my "vacation" (This is not me).

Sounds awesome right? Still want a maternity leave? Did I mention they didn’t sleep through the night for 13 months? What about pumping at work? That’s a lot of fun and not at all awkward as you sit in a meeting that’s running late and pray you don’t start leaking because your boobs feel like painful rocks strapped to your chest.

About the only thing that I came off my maternity leave realizing was that I didn’t want to travel as much and I wanted to make more money, and I felt like that before I had two kids ripped from my abdomen. So you know what I did? I got a different job.

Screw you and your “meternity.” You want time off, save up your PTO, or take and unpaid leave of absence. That’s pretty much like a maternity leave. Time off without pay. Sounds awesome, right? Also, why should only women get this? Don’t men need to soul search and figure out what deep meaning things they have to do with their lives? Hopefully it’s not write silly books about shit they don’t understand.

As for advocating for yourself, that’s a skill you can get without having kids or taking sabbatical, and doesn’t require soul searching. It’s called being confident and assertive. Figure it out. Men and women can both do it. Believe in yourself and the job you’re doing and then figure out how to get what you want. If your current company won’t accommodate find another job. It’s not easy, and it takes balls, but you can do it without vacation or pushing a baby out of your lady parts.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably figure out what work I’ll be taking home this weekend since I leave on time every day in an effort to see my kids.

Reebok Stomps on Women's Dreams

2016-04-27T16:22:00.003-05:00

Happy Alien Day!

A few weeks ago it was announced that on April 26 (Alien Day) Reebok would be releasing a replica of the the Alien Stompers Ripley wore in the 1986 movie Aliens, which were originally made by Reebok for the film. For those who wanted something that isn’t a mid-calf gym shoe, there was a lower version, worn by Bishop, also being released.

So here we are, April 26. Everyone is celebrating Administrative Professionals Day, and a few are

also celebrating Alien Day. (For those who don’t know the date is a reference to the planet LV-426). Let’s go get our Alien Stompers on.

Oh, except all you ladies. Yeah. All you ladies that wanted a pair of Alien Stompers like the ones Ripley, our female hero, wears in the film… Reebok says “fuck you.” Alien Stompers only come in men’s sizes.

Yep. The shoe worn by one of the strongest, most iconic women on screen, a woman who unapologetically kicked ass movie after movie, who took out the Alien queen, cared for a child (RIP Newt), and proved that women can carry action movies and kick ass long before strong females were something we all so desperately looked for, is not made for women.

Reebok released a statement saying that the Alien Stompers are unisex, but apparently they were all sized for men because unisex shoe sizing isn’t a thing. Then there was also the issue that any sizes lower than a women’s 8 didn’t even appear to exist.

Creating a shoe based off of a female character and sizing it for men is idiotic. If you want it to be inclusive why not size it for women and let the men do the math on that one?

Of course there were also only 426 pairs made, all of which have already sold out, so even if you want a pair and can wear a man’s shoe, you’re shit out of luck.

“Game Over, Man.”

Dear Reebok, Ripley is pissed.

Balance it All

2016-04-04T16:43:00.003-05:00

Every month I say I’m going to write, and then every month goes by with me writing less and less. I am still active on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram if you follow me there, which I hope you do because if this is how you get your Cat in Heels updates, then you’re woefully behind.

So what’s been happening? The twins turned two, I still work a lot, I haven’t been shopping and have bought zero new shoes for me (the twins on the other hand…) and I continue to stress about every little thing because I’m a generally anxious individual and a mom, which makes you more anxious, so really if there was an Olympic sport for anxiety, I would totally be a contender.

In all this working and moming and being a wife, there’s not a lot of time left for me. This weekend I sat with a friend as my twins and her two children tore her house apart and we discussed the woes of moming. There’s the working mom guilt that you never get to spend enough time with your kids, and then on the weekends you try, but you also need hubby/family time, but then there’s you a time and you could really use a trip to the salon or a few hours to buy new bras because pregnancy and breastfeeding has forever changed your boobs; but then you aren’t with your kids; and you need new Spanx because summer is coming and dresses and inner-thigh-chub-rub; so you need time for the gym, but then you don’t see your kids, but those yoga classes would be great; and I want new shoes, but my kids got new shoes; Husband says buy something and treat yourself, but shouldn’t I be starting a college fund; and oh my god my roots, seriously, that hair appointment; and I really just need a minute to not be grabbed and yelled at and stop shrieking; wow I’m gonna miss this Monday; damnit your head is hard, I think I lost a tooth… Aren’t they precious when they’re sleeping?

Happy 2nd birthday to these two monsters.

That sums up about 20 minutes in my head. The good thing is that after talking with my friend this weekend I know I’m not alone.

This is the eternal Mom Struggle. The idea of “having it all” when in reality all we should really be striving for is a little balance and to avoid getting our teeth knocked out by toddler heads (why are they so hard?). No one ever asks men how to have it all, or how they balance everything, yet in many homes men take on equal roles, helping with housework and kids and so on, and no one ever asks them about “it all.”

What the fuck does that mean anyway?

It’s some arbitrary bullshit people made up to be able to say dumb things to women when they work and have kids, when in reality that just makes us parents. Whether your job is in the house, raising kids, going to an office, traveling for work or whatever, you have to make it work, and that includes getting some me time (which also applies to dads).

So take some time. Get brunch with friends, fix those roots, buy a new bra that actually fits your boobs, wax something or just shut the bathroom door after the kids go to bed and drink wine while sitting in the bathtub. Whatever it is get some, and then make sure your significant other gets some too. It’ll help everyone be just a little bit better at that whole life/parenting thing.

Western Inspired Makes Me Sick, and other reactions to trends

2016-03-07T16:28:00.003-06:00

I’ve always been a little iffy on trends, and since having the twins, I have fallen into the black hole of working motherhood and I don’t know anything anymore.

My younger sister had to explain Snapchat to me last summer. Needless to say, I still don’t have one. I have just accepted that in some ways I am totally, and completely out of touch.

Who What Where always seemed a little more down to earth when it comes to trends, pricing and things like that. I mean, they have a line with Target. It doesn’t get much more consumer friendly than that. So when I saw a recent article about “7 Shoe Styles You Should Definitely Wear in 2016” I took the bait. I don’t want to be totally off trend. I am wearing clothes from last year because I’m convincing myself my body is going to get with the program and loose weight soon. I haven’t bought many shoes because I’m waiting on this amazing wardrobe I’m going to buy my new skinny body…

Jesus, I wish I hadn’t looked.

This isn't a sandal. It's bullshit.

First off, sneakers are not new and different just because Gucci makes them and we all started calling them “Fashion Sneakers.” They’re still just sneakers and Adidas and Converse have been making them for decades.

Mule slides are generally a no. The chunky sandal mules of the ‘70s had a reprise in the ‘90s and went away again. Why do you think that is? It’s cause they’re ugly. Please stop trying to make this happen. Again.

Rope shoes… What the fuck? We are officially running out of ideas if fashioning shoes out of old rope like we’re taking fashion cues from the movie Castaway sounds like a good idea. Also, $800 is too much to spend on rope, even if it is in the shape of a shoe.

Western Inspired needs to stop. I feel nauseous when I look at

I hate these with the fire of 1,000 suns

anything “western inspired.” Seriously, it makes me physically ill. Western mules actually made me barf in my mouth a little. I haven’t been this spontaneously nauseous since I was pregnant.

The next trend I give a big fat maybe to, which is backless heels. I have a pair. They’re not awful. They’re comfy, rather cute and made me realize how badly I need a pedicure from a professional. They’re currently waiting to be worn until I manage to get said pedicure.

Flatforms are another trend that I feel like someone is trying to make happen along with “fetch.” I wish they would go away. It already happened in the ‘90s. I am now having flashbacks. Make it stop.

The last one on the list wasn’t even a trend so much as a heel height. “Low heels” have been around since the invention of heels. There’s always been varying heights of heels and while I personally don’t mind “low” I hate “kitten” unless you’re a little old lady at which point it’s totally cute.

All this bullshit makes me glad I’m not making an effort to be trendy. Maybe I am getting old and therefore out of touch in many capacities. Maybe kids, work, the house and general adulting have taken over my attention to trends; or maybe, I’m just not a slave to fast fashion and have more sense than to wear anything Western inspired.

Toddler Fashionistas

2016-02-24T08:52:00.001-06:00

Is a love of accessories genetic?

The girls have gone from shoe obsessed to everything obsessed. They love when I let them pick clothes. They like the My Little Pony socks Santa put in their stocking best ("pony, pony") are super excited about shoes and hats and tutus and getting their hair done…

Maybe not the last one so much. They actually hate getting it cut, but they love doing hair flips and mugging in the mirror as soon as we say, “All done.”

Pre-bedtime toddler selfies.

Seriously, what two year-old does hair flips?

Playing in my shoes has now elevated to playing in my shoes and dragging my giant Voodoo Vixen bag around. Literally dragging because they can’t pick it up because it doubles as a diaper bag and is full of all of our crap. I’d consider cleaning it out so it’s toddler weight, but then the bag may disappear and I’d never see it again, and I would like to wait a few years before my handbags go missing out of my closet.

I’ve even recently shut down meltdowns with hats. When they’re both so tired they can’t even, and are throwing themselves all over the floor and making these horrid whining and crying noises while rolling around (they are seriously sooooo dramatic about it), if I ask “Who wants to wear a hat?” they both immediately stop, get up and come over to me. “Hat. Hat. Hat,” they say patting their heads.

That purse weighs as much as she does.

Of course then they have to go to bed wearing their hats (or tutus or mittens), but it’s a hell of a lot easier than fighting with them and dealing with another meltdown because they don’t have a hat.

So how did all this happen? How did my two girls become so insanely girly so early on? Was it the sparkles of the necklaces literally rubbing on my belly when I was pregnant? Shopping trips when they were babies? Shopping trips now? They fact that they play in my closet? Mimicking me?

My duck boots and a devil hat.

The other day S was sitting nicely on the couch flipping through a recent copy of In Style magazine she took off the coffee table. Just sitting there like it was totally normal, this tiny girl with a big magazine on her lap, gingerly flipping through the pages. The child who can destroy a board book in the time it takes to go to the bathroom was nicely flipping through the pages as if really taking in the fashion advice on them.

Who knows, maybe she was. Maybe I have some kind of fashion geniuses on my hands. A style obsession that begins when they can barely walk sounds rather genuine. Neither one can say S’s name, but they can both say hat, tutu and shoes.

Maybe it’s a sign of things to come, maybe it’s just a phase, or maybe it’s a sign that I better keep kicking ass at work because I have two very fashion conscious girls to clothe.

Mom tip: All those clothes take up a ton of space, so when they outgrow the stuff (a month later) resell it on Totspot. Join with code QAMOXA to get $5 towards a future purchase. Bonus: They have women's and men's clothes too so you can use the money to treat yourself.

F**k Cancer

2016-01-14T22:19:00.000-06:00

What the fuck universe? I’m tired of opening Facebook every morning at the train station and seeing someone who died. The last 30 days has been a bad time to be a celebrity, particularly if your British and I am a fan of your work.

First it was Lemmy, the Motorhead frontman who prided himself on how much he could drink and toured right up to the end, passing away from an aggressive cancer just before the new year.

The Goblin King watches over my babes

Next we famously had David Bowie. When I saw it I thought it was an internet hoax, and after some frantic Googling I realized it was real and choked back tears as I sat waiting for a late train on a bitter cold Chicago morning.

Now Alan Rickman. The voice of God. The bad guy from Die Hard. The Sheriff of Nottingham. Most famously, Snape. This is a really long list, so I’ll end with that one since almost everyone but me has seen all the Harry Potter movies.

All three great. All three taken by aggressive cancer before the world was done with them.

Bowie was perhaps the biggest shock to me. As a child I remember finding the Goblin King oddly attractive. As an adult I decorated my twin’s bedroom around a Labyrinth movie poster with the Goblin King prominently looking down over them as they sleep. Through the years his music was a constant. Always pushing boundaries. Rarely making a song that wasn’t likeable, danceable, and somehow new and fresh. Bowie told us it was OK to be weird. It was OK to be different. It was totally OK to want to turn your younger siblings into goblins and become the Goblin Queen.

A sorry not sorry to my younger sister, who totally would have been made a goblin if I had the opportunity.

Motorhead was one of those bands that would have been prominently featured on a soundtrack of my 20s (which would have been a box set). From hanging out in a punk/industrial/metal bar to seeing Motorhead perform live at one of the shittiest venues in Chicago with the man I now call Husband, they were pretty much a constant. I just assumed they were immortal. Lemmy Lived a hard life with all the smoking and drinking and playing music so loud that my ears were ringing for two days after the concert. I assumed because he wasn’t already deaf and dead he’d live forever.

Movies were always a little better as soon as you knew Alan Rickman was in them. From the brilliantly evil Sheriff of Nottingham in the Kevin Costner Robin Hood movie I can’t decide if I love or hate, to the neutered voice of God in a Kevin Smith film, and his epic death in Die Hard you never got the same thing from Alan Rickman. Sure, he was a bad guy in a lot of movies, but he was a different bad guy. Since I’ve never actually seen the role he’s most known for as Professor Snape I have no opinion on that, but I can only assume he played the role brilliantly like all others.

Here’s to hoping that we don’t lose any more greats this year. Here’s to hoping that their legacies and deaths prompt more cancer research to help the millions of people currently fighting. #FuckCancer

Click here to donate to the Cancer Research Institute.

Closet Purges: My favorite sites

2016-01-13T09:30:00.000-06:00

New year, same resolutions. Actually, I don’t even bother making resolutions anymore because they’re just the same damn things I try to do every year, all year.

Lose weight
Be healthier (fruit is a better snack than a Reese cup and I'm already failing at this)
Be more organized (at home, my office is fine)

I actually started the whole organized thing before the new year by cleaning out everyone’s closet. The girls fit in things for all of 3 months and then they’re on to the next size, and if I’m lucky everything got worn once.

While pregnant my feet went up a size and none of my shoes fit, so I started selling all of them. I also recently came to the conclusion that even if I do manage to once again fit into all the clothes spilling out of my closet, a lot of them won’t be in style, aren’t my style or are something I’ve been holding onto for far too long for no good reason (sequin mini skirt, I’m looking at you).

Husband has managed to miraculously lose weight by doing basically nothing at all except chase the twins and start exercising a few minutes a day. He found two things in his closet to get rid of and I seriously considered strangling him with a shirt because he lost weight so effortlessly and because I know there’s a hell of a lot more than two shirts in that closet that don’t fit.

With all these extra clothes sitting around I have found the perfect sites (all available as apps) to take care of all these things at all levels of luxury.

A screen shot of Tradesy

Totspot: You guessed it. They sell kids clothes, and they recently expanded to men’s and women’s clothes. Everything from the gently loved to new with tags (NWT) and original pieces that smaller designers sell, it’s a one-stop for the whole family. When something sells they email you a printable USPS label so there’s no guessing about postage. Just pack and ship. Use code QAMOXA to get $5 when you make your first purchase. Click here or download the app and sign up with code QAMOXA to save $5 off your first purchase.

Poshmark: Everyone knows this one. Post pics of your clothes, people buy them, print a label, pack and ship. Super easy. Women’s clothes, shoes, bags and accessories and maternity only. Easy to share stuff and be seen. Click here or download the app and sign up with code PKFUO to save $10 on your first purchase.

Tradesy: If you have a lot of luxury labels or you don’t feel like dealing with finding boxes, then Tradesy is a good fit. Tons of designer items, it takes forever to search through stuff. When something does sell you can print your own label or they’ll send you a pre-addressed poly bag to pack your stuff in. Super easy and they take women's maternity, bridal and accessories. Click here to get $20 off your purchase of $50 or more.

My Poshmark closet.
Seriously, this could not be easier

ThreadUp: Perhaps the easiest one of all. After creating an account you can order a clean out bag, which they mail to you. Once you get the bag fill it with clothes for women or children (sorry men), but be sure to check the labels to make sure it’s an accepted brand. Once the bag is full, have USPS pick it up and it ships off (for free) and someone goes through your stuff and they give you money for the items they accept. Items they don’t accept are upcycled. The whole company is very green and philanthropic, and while you won’t get a ton of money for your clothes, it’s by far the easiest of all the options, especially if your closet is full of good brands that are barely worn. Plus they pay you upfront for most items, so if they accept something and it doesn’t sell, it doesn’t matter. Click here to sign up and get $20 towards a purchase.

Of course at all the sites you can also use the money you earn to buy stuff from other people, including that designer handbag you've had your eye on or a designer coat at an amazing discount simply because it's pre-loved. I have gotten some really amazing deals on each one of these sites at various times and I constantly keep a list of items I like saved for the occasional splurge.

When all that's done whatever is still at home that you want to get rid of can of course be donated to any number of wonderful charities, many of which will come and pick up at your house.

If you want to follow any of my closets, you can always find me by following the links above or by searching for Cat in Heels.

My Holiday Card to You

2015-12-30T15:08:00.001-06:00

Tomorrow is officially the last day of the year and I feel like Christmas came in and took over my life like some kind of light and tinsel-covered tornado, and then it was gone…and here I am holding the remnants of tamales, homemade truffles, an extra pound, wrapping from 1,000 toys and my holiday cards.

Not my holiday cards, but you get the idea.

Yep, I didn’t send holiday cards this year. I bought them, but I just never really got around to it.

Months ago I made the proud declaration that my family was going to get together and we would do pictures that didn’t suck to the level that they were OK for a holiday card. Each weekend I would think of these pictures and how I really need to bathe the twins and get them to sit still for 20 seconds, and then the thought would leave and move on with whatever else was going on in my life. Some days I would dismiss the thought because I was tired, the kids were dirty, I didn’t feel like fighting with them, someone is cutting a tooth and drooling, I don’t want to do laundry and there’s nothing clean so they spent all Saturday in their jammies…

Jesus, I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Finally at the beginning of December I gave in to the reality that the whole photo card thing is never happening, I’m just not that adult yet, and I picked up a box of cards at Target. For weeks they sat on the dining room table so that I could write them out and send them.

I’ll do it at night
I’ll take them to work and do it on lunch
I’ll write them while watching TV Saturday night
I’ll write them after wrapping presents cause then I’ll really be in the Christmas spirit (this one failed worst of all)

Someone is about to have a meltdown and this is
why we can't take nice pictures.

Eventually Husband got tired of looking at them, knew I wasn’t going to send a freaking card to anyone, and put them in our office for next year.

Pretty sure I just failed Adult 101. Not only can I not get the obligatory “Look, we’re all still here,” Mom holiday card out the door, but I can’t get any holiday cards out. Not even one. My parents and sisters didn’t even get one. I’m pretty sure I’ve done better than this in previous years.

Maybe it’s the job, or the kids, or some combination of it all. Maybe it’s the fact that I’d rather crawl around on the floor with my kids and binge watch Jessica Jones when they go to bed than write out Christmas cards. Maybe I just can’t figure out how to be a real adult and it’s my subconscious’ way of giving two middle fingers to the establishment of my mind and my mid-30s.

More than likely though it’s because I’m sometimes just not motivated. Because sometimes, despite the job and house and kids and the fact that I never leave the house without makeup, I’m a mess who can’t totally get her shit together. So, whether or not I know you personally, regardless of what holiday you celebrate and where you are celebrating, consider this my holiday card to you. Happy Holidays and have a Happy New Year.

Carting the Kids

2015-12-22T15:32:00.001-06:00

Lots of stuff about having toddlers is challenging. Like keeping your clothes clean and making sure they don’t eat the dog kibble. Another challenge that seems to not be getting better is shopping.

The first problem is that anywhere we go seems to have only two double carts, both of which are currently being used by someone who has one child and a giant purse that obviously needs its own seat. At Target the don’t even get the excuse that the cart is shaped like a car and Little Timmy was having a meltdown if he didn’t get to ride in the car. Nope. Target has this monstrosity of a double cart that is an extender with two seats facing forward with a basket on the front. It looks like you’re pushing the kids on a roller coaster, except that there’s no rails, the thing can’t turn for shit and it’s not at all fun.

Considering that it’s never available, I guess I can’t really complain about it.

Instead I make the choice to put one in the seat and one in the basket. That was great until D got crowded and started launching things out of the cart in protest. Or when S opened the box of Cheerios and was chewing on the top of a bottle of Listerine while I’m trying to find the best price on paper towels. Plus there’s the whole safety thing about them standing and pitching out of the cart, or a sudden start and they go flying into a pile of stuff and bonk their head on a bottle of lotion or the cart itself. We’ve already had one cart induced injury that resulted in crying that could only be quieted with a snack.

Basically this setup is guaranteeing your child will cry in Target, which is pretty much already guaranteed, so now everybody cries twice.

Target, if there’s 2 kids in a cart crying, it’s your own fault for not having better carts.

if i don't get to the car soon that tissue paper will be toast.

When they were smaller I used to use the Buggy Bench, which is ingenious, and the inventor was a twin mom who had to go to the store and was apparently tired of cart shenanigans. It’s a semi structured fabric seat that straps onto any cart, adding a second seat. The downside is it takes up about 50% of your cart space and gives your child the opportunity to stomp all over the bag of frozen vegetables that slid under their feet. God help you if that happens to a package of ground beef or a container of body wash that can’t handle the pressure of the toddler stomp. There’s also an increased chance of hair pulling, but I’m chalking that up to toddlers and not the seating arrangement.

The other issue with the Buggy Bench is that everyone wants to stop and talk about it. Considering it takes an extra 20 minutes to do anything anyway just based on twin questions (yes, I am aware they aren’t identical) the bench will add another five. I should really just start carrying business cards because all moms of two small children, regardless of whether or not they birthed them on the same day, are fascinated by anything that may assist in making their lives a little easier and further restrain their children.

This weekend of that whole convenience went to hell of course when S decided she was going to try and get out. Luckily she couldn’t but D could from the regular seat (and of course the seat belt was broken), and so began a negotiation through Target about bouncing in seats instead of standing. I must have looked like a lunatic walking through the store bouncing up and down while pushing the cart with two manically laughing children who were covered in graham cracker crumbs.

What has happened to my life that I don’t even care about looking like an ass anymore?

I also can’t be the only one who has this issue with carts, two small children and nothing ever working. If it’s not a crazy wheel, it’s a broken belt, or crying child, or any other number of things that make what will already be a long, expensive trip even more long and possibly more expensive. Also, you will need to feed multiple snacks to keep them from totally revolting, which means cracking open that box of Cheerios while walking down the booze aisle hoping a good bottle of wine is on sale.

One day this won’t be a thing anymore and they’ll be actually walking on their own, too big for the cart, and I’ll be chasing them through the store into clothing displays and really, really missing that buggy bench, but until then, this is my life; multi-snack meltdowns and all.

Fighting Back to Pre-baby Body

2015-12-07T20:44:00.000-06:00

I am not one of those women who looked at my post baby body and thought “My body did something amazing.”

Nope. I looked at my post baby body and wondered what in the ever loving hell happened. Why was my waist gone, where is that curve between by butt and my back, and for the love of all things holy, where did all this back fat come from?! It did something amazing in making twins, but it also paid a price.

I’ve never been a skinny girl. Instead I have always been the curvy girl who is always one bag of Cheetos away from chubby. In college I crossed over that line straight to fat, and then fought my way back. Post baby I decided to avoid mirrors and let breastfeeding do its thing. Except that it didn’t.

Thanks for the false hope world. I am one of those women whose body wants to hold onto every damn calorie for the baby (or in my case babies). At least I’ve got Salma Hayek in my corner on that one.

I don't know why I bother to try to take pictures
with toddlers anyway.

With those hopes dashed around month six, and still kinda fat, I just threw in the towel and decided to wait until I was done breastfeeding. Then it turns out I had to wait another six months for my body to “return to normal.” That’s what the doctor told me. He stopped short of saying “twins fuck you up,” but I could tell that’s where he was going.

Nine months on, nine months off my ass. The girls will be two in March and I’m hoping to be back to pre-pregnancy by then, and if I am it’s because I worked my ass off in the gym in one hour intervals during my lunch hour. And if I’m not I’ll blame it on the hormones that linger from gestating, birthing and breastfeeding babies. Everyone is so damn eager to tell you all about how much birth hurts, but they make that whole “bouncing back” thing sound like a breeze.

I’m apparently one of the ones who needs to claw their way back. Through back fat and blown out ab muscles. Back muscles that just gave up at some point and a metabolism that decided to go on an extended vacation. It was so bad at one point I actually went to the doctor to find out what was wrong with me. The answer: I had babies. (I'm not kidding, this was actually the answer they gave me).

The good news is you do eventually start to feel like yourself again. Finally some of my old clothes are fitting. The curve in my hips is more of a curve and less of a saddle bag. I’ve also figured out how to better dress like myself in this new size. How to better hide that extra tummy I have, what kind of fabrics are the most flattering and where to buy Spanx in bulk.

Most importantly though I've realized that while I'm waging a personal battle with my view of myself I shied away from the camera. Suddenly I realized that there are tons of pictures of my girls and none of me and the girls, and that's not fair to them. I want them to look back and see pictures of us all having fun, laughing and making memories because while I will worry about how fat my arm looks in a picture, they'll just smile and see a picture of themselves with their mom.

Screaming for Shoes

2015-11-17T12:10:00.000-06:00

Trips to Target are practically a weekend ritual at this point. I obviously need laundry detergent, hand soap and a new coat all at once, and it’s a one stop shop for almost everything.

This weekend I tossed the girls onto a cart, one in the seat and one in the basket, and headed inside (where I found the only double cart occupied by one kid). I gave a brief look through the clothes and where they leaned out of the cart in an effort to touch everything, and we headed to the shoe aisle.

Cute stuff but nothing earth shattering, let’s move along.

They really liked these.

Oh, S needs winter boots, let’s check those out here.

As I slowly navigated the cart into the children’s shoe aisle both girls started getting visibly excited. They stood up in the cart, leaned over, and then both started yelling “SHOES, SHOES!!!” in screechy toddler voice while desperately grabbing at all the shoes they could reach.

S pulled her shoes off and threw them to the floor. The loafers with the dogs on them were way better, sizes be damned (and never mind that she can’t put her own shoes on) . D took off one shoe, and then realizing she couldn’t reach anything began to cry, standing in the cart with one sock foot. I handed their own shoes back to them and all shoes were promptly cast to the floor again. The shoes they loved so dearly a month ago were now total garbage in their minds.

I found a pair of black ankle boots (which are not what we were looking for) that were on clearance and tried them on S. They were a touch big (she has the larger feet between the two) but they should be fine in the next month the way the kid is growing, so I started to take them off and she started to scream.

Let’s just pause here for a minute and talk about screaming. I don’t mean she started to cry. I mean scream. And I don’t mean cry-scream, I mean someone is attacking her scream. This kid could be a horror film soundtrack with that ear-piercing howl that erupts when something doesn’t go her way.

Just wear the shoes and stop screaming.

In an effort to minimize the scene we have already made with the carnage of dropped shoes, yelling the obvious (SHOES!!!) and screaming, I out both shoes on her, still attached to one another via the stretchy band, and we moved right along to the ice cream aisle.

For the record, ice cream is way less interesting than shoes and everything else was so much less eventful than when we were in the shoe aisle.

I have to admit to sympathizing with them. Walking into the State Street Nordstrom Rack kind of makes me want to run up and down the aisles, grabbing things while yelling "shoes!" Throwing them up in the air and letting them rain list confetti on me.

Note: In this fantasy that wouldn't hurt like getting hit with a shoe in real life.

But seriously kids, get ahold of yourselves. We don't actually do those kinds of things in polite society. Yes, I have the urge to lick the window of John Fluevog whenever I walk past, but I don't because that's weird and someone may call the cops. And germs, but mostly polite society. You can't just go around acting like a maniac whenever you're excited. Or you can because you're a toddler and in an effort to make you stop screaming Mom bought you shoes.

Well played little brats.

How these two came to care about shoes that much is beyond me. It’s not like they have a closet overflowing with shoes. They have play shoes and dress shoes. That’s it. No in between shoes. No choices in colors of play shoes. They have black DCs to play in and glitter Mary Janes (from Target and OshKosh), and now the ankle boots. The snow boots D will wear are hand me downs she hasn’t even seen yet, so really kids, what’s with the obsession with shoes? Is the love of shoes genetic, or is it the fact that it’s one of the few words they can say? Then again, they also say “duck” and we don’t have a meltdown in the bath aisle. Perhaps they heard me talking about shoes and the loss of my legions of lovely shoes while still in utero. Or maybe they just happen to be total girls who love something that they can touch.

The fact that there’s a good chance sparkles are also included can’t hurt either.

Sounding Crazy

2015-11-06T16:26:00.003-06:00

Daylight savings time is nothing to parents. Except maybe a pain in the ass. It’s just another day where things are all screwed up from the first squawk out of the baby monitor, which is an hour earlier than they normally wake up no matter what kind of crazy voodoo you’ve been trying to work the previous week to make sure they’re on a schedule.

This year was particularly bad on Sunday. Maybe it was a Halloween hangover or something, but I walked in the twins’ room and S, who is the Houdini of diapers, is rocking the deep v Elvis look and I marvel at how cute she is before realizing the reason she looks like that is because she has figured out how to work zippers overnight and taken her wet diaper off.

What the hell is she doing?

The whole day pretty much stayed on that trajectory and I found myself saying some really insane things.

“Stop coloring on your sister.”
“Why is there ham on the dog?”
“Who pooped?”
“Did you seriously just poop in the tub?” (She did. My bathroom has never been cleaner).
“No, you cannot play with dirty Kleenex.” (This was said to a kid and the dog).
“What the hell are you doing? Quit playing with the mower.”
“Stop kissing the Welcome mat.”
“Where is your diaper?”
“Fine, be naked.”
"That's not hugging, it's choking."

Who am I? I can't decide if I sound like a crazy person, a mother, or my mother. Those last three may be all the same thing (love you mom).

Parenting is fun. I think. Maybe I'm just tired and delirious. I would like that hour of sleep back that they robbed me of. And also maybe a drink.

Housebreaking the Kids

2015-10-15T11:30:00.000-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that toddlers have a lot in common with pets. Both are entertaining, loving and generally mischievous. Especially the toddlers.

The second you're not looking is when they get into something, and with twins it's really easy to not have one in your sights at all times, which means someone is into something at all times.

One kid is trying to dig in her diaper, so you focus on that one and preventing the impending gross event and the other one is eating a dog treat.
One is running around with a dirty sock in their mouth, and while you’re trying to catch them the other one is chewing on a book.
One has managed to open a container of wipes and is pulling them all out and the other one is dumping out a toybox.

We may be spending too much time playing
with the dog if this is how we carry toys.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

There’s more too. One minute they’re all fun and cuddly, and want to sit on your lap, and the next they’re screaming to get down and run around like assholes even though you've told them to stop running 128 times in the last 10 minutes. They come over an randomly drop toys in your lap, spit out food, play with things that aren’t toys, put random shit they find on the floor or ground in their mouth, lick things, lick each other, bite...

Ironically, Thor, my seven year-old Chihuahua is often better behaved than the girls. Initially weary of them he has new friends in them as toddlers. They often chase one another around the living room and the girls bring him his toys so he can play when they play, they share their snacks, taught him how to eat out of a snack cup (which sometimes gets caught on his nose) and they feed him the treats he hides around the house when they find them.

My sister's reaction to this was,
"My cat does the same thing.'

Kids and animals also find something magical about the bathroom, and it’s apparently the toilet. The magical porcelain water holder. Not so much my dog because he’s short, but my twins have been enchanted with the toilet since they could walk. Of course the immediately want to stick their hand in it and touch it. Then we started introducing the potty so they can get out of diapers as soon as humanly possible, and they understand it flushes and want to say “bye” and wave as the water goes down.

A few weeks ago I was escorting them upstairs for a nap, when S got to the top first and was running around the upstairs, which of course included the bathroom. When I walked in I found her hollering “guck, guck!” as she tossed rubber ducks into the toilet for an afternoon swim. As I cringed, plunged my hand into the toilet to take out said ducks and wonder what the hell has become of my life, D started running around the bathroom waving a dirty Kleenex above her head like a flag.

Seriously kids are so gross. Animals are gross. I have both. What is wrong with me?

Eventually I know the kids will grow up (be housebroken) and stop putting everything they pick up that looks like it may have at one time been edible into their mouth. They will start actually using their forks instead of just holding it in one hand while shoveling food into their mouth with the other hand, and they will stop shitting their pants and start using the toilet to go to the bathroom and not as a swimming pool for rubber “guks.” And as much as I never ever want to plunge my hand into toilet water again or stick my finger into a mouth to scoop out some mystery object (usually dog treats), even thinking about them being just that much more grown up makes me kind of sad. Luckily I still have that gross dog to drop drool covered toys on me, steal Kleenex from the bathroom trash can, and spit kibble all over the kitchen floor.

Changing the Routine: Tyrant Toddlers and Drunks

2015-09-29T09:34:00.000-05:00

I should just give up entirely on writing about something interesting and instead just write about my everyday life. It goes like this:

Wake up when it’s dark
Shower, get dressed do hair and makeup
Take out the dog (This gets its own line because the dog is so freaking slow in the morning I have to block out 10 minutes for him to pee).
Go to work and work all day (If I'm lucky I get a lunchtime workout in)
11 hours later I get home, eat dinner, play with kids and put kids to bed (this is all about an hour and a half)
Watch TV and talk with hubby
Go to bed
Repeat

I could never make a dinner like this.
Not pictured: a glass of wine

I’m going out on a limb here and saying that my schedule looks pretty much like every other working mom’s schedule in the entire world, except that I’m really lucky in that I don’t have to take the kids to daycare or cook dinner. Husband stays home with them and cooks. I used to cook when he worked a million hours a week in an office, but it turns out I’m not a good cook, and so when the opportunity to work from home and not eat my cooking was available he jumped at it. I’m much better at drinking wine than cooking with it. Plus you don’t usually put wine in Hamburger Helper.

Sometimes I do the dishes, but that generally just pisses him off because I don’t do it “his way” or I put things back in the wrong place.

We’ve struck a balance with the kids and housework and going to work and it was working great for everyone. And then the girls turned into toddlers. Now the game has changed.

Where we used to have nice, quiet little girls who would play with toys, we now have 18-month-old monsters who know a dozen words, can climb things like lightning-fast monkeys, have obviously likes and dislikes, and those likes and dislikes change daily (or hourly). One has decided to fight us at every nap and bedtime. The other yells the second she is hungry. Both are independent, though one will let you help and the other won’t. At home they will hold hands and give kisses. In public they will run around like assholes, ignoring you, and scream bloody murder as soon as you pick them up.

Cupcake facial mask.

Sometimes I am convinced that all the drinking I did with friends in my 20s was some kind of parenthood training. Sometimes they’re happy, then crying, then distracted, then asleep. They peed on their feet and may or may not vomit on any given day. For some reason at least one of them is never wearing pants. If they eat, there’s a 100% chance there is food in their hair and a 110% chance there is food on the floor. As soon as they’re done crying they love you even though they just hated you, and then they just pass out.

This weekend, after wresting them into their pajamas and carrying them upstairs, one under each arm like screaming footballs, I put them in their cribs. Later I admitted to Husband that I didn’t brush their teeth because I just couldn’t take another fight. He shrugged and said, “Who hasn’t gone to sleep without brushing their teeth?”

Yep, we’ve all done it. Especially after a long night out. Maybe my friends just partied a little too hard, but there were definitely some nights I let a friend fall asleep with their shoes still on. Drunks and toddlers. Eerily similar. The biggest difference is that these two are not going anywhere and each morning when I wake up after a few precious hours of sleep, I peek in on them before I go to work and they are precious, sleeping angels and I already can’t wait to come home and do it all over again, and if there happens to be a cocktail waiting when I walk in the door, even better.

Adulting in Logical Shoes

2015-09-16T14:31:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time I walked everywhere in heels. And I mean everywhere. I would walk miles in platforms or 5 inch stilettos. Sometimes 5 inch platform stilettos. I took the bus and train in heels. I wore heels in rain, snow, sleet, day, night. If needed I could run in heels. More than a couple times I fell asleep still wearing heels.

In my late 20's I slowly started favoring shorter or thicker heels heels when I knew walking was going to be a thing. Then I found myself worrying about things like the pitch of the shoe, the level of the platform or lack thereof and whether or not my foot slid forward after hours of wear. Slowly I found myself favoring certain styles and spending more money on one good pair of heels than two or three shitty ones. Slowly I found a cobbler I love and started worrying about what kind of materials were used to make my shoes and what type on insole they have.

Slowly I was getting older.

Under my desk used to be empty. Now it's full
of shoes for every occasion.

Having just celebrated by thirty-somthingth birthday and being securely settled into the mid-thirties, I find myself walking about a mile to the office from the train every day. I find myself chasing after toddlers who don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not you can wear heels on the grass. I find myself traipsing all over multiple floors of a downtown skyscraper, going to the gym at lunch and then walking a mile back to the train.

You know what’s awful for all these activities? Heels.

Sure, I still wear them in the office and to meetings. Sometimes I wear them through the airport so I can go straight off the plane to the office. I wear them when I go out with friends or my husband. I wear them shopping and whenever I’m not with my girls, but I am much pickier about what kinds of shoes I wear now.

I was talking to a colleague about shoes the other day and how the heels of your 20s retire and become more logical, more expensive, and are worn less often once you start to realize things like cheap shoes are bad for your feet, frostbite is not your friend and can do permanent damage, the sidewalk grates in Chicago are heels worst enemy, and there is no good way to ride a rush hour bus or El in heels if you don’t have a seat.

I still don’t fully embrace this new, logical, adult me who just bought a pair of supportive and logical walking shoes for those one mile speed walks to and from the train everyday. I still kind of hate the Sperry deck shoes I bought because they were a cute, sensible summer shoe to wear out with my girls. I shudder when I lace up my low wedge gladiators because there’s a sky-high pair that have only been worn four times this summer because it’s just not logical for me to be almost 6 feet tall to go to the park. I shed a tear when I think about all the shoes I don’t buy because they just don't make any damn sense in this new reality of being an adult.

I guess this is all part of growing up though. Everyone told me it was coming when they would say ‘I don’t know how you can walk in those,” and “Just wait until your my age.” Well, I’m not quite that age yet, and I’m not ruling anything out, but it’s my plan to keep rocking heels for decades to come. They may get shorter, or more comfortable. Hell, maybe my entire work shoe collection can consist of Cole Haan Nike Air heels (seriously, you can run in them), but I hope that I’ll still have some shoes that make people stop and stare. And leopard. Every woman should own at least one pair of leopard heels. Also snakeskin. If I have to be an adult I'm at least going to keep it interesting.

Office Upgrade, Decorating Fail

2015-08-20T10:03:00.005-05:00

This year I got an office for my birthday.

OK, so it wasn’t actually for my birthday, but the day before my birthday the IT guy came over and moved my computer and phone, gave me a bigger monitor and a keyboard with one shift key that only works if you punch the hell out of it, and I had to gather up my piles of paper and my drawer of shoes (how does that keep happening?) and moved into my own private space.

Now I have a door and can shut it for conference calls, or so I can eat lunch in private.

Now I can hang my coat on the back of the door instead of in the community coat closet where it comes out smelling of other people’s perfumes, cigarettes and other general odors.

This would be a great picture if someone wasn't crying
and everyone would look at the camera.

Now I have four white walls staring at me, reminding me that I’m a crappy mom who can’t get her shit together and get some damn photos of her kids for her office.

I have a phone that is bursting with photos. There’s pictures of those kids sleeping, eating (they eat a lot), rolling around on the floor, looking at something outside, sitting on the potty, sitting in the bath, playing with other kids, playing alone, playing with each other, fighting, laughing, crying… and those were all taken in the past month.

Somehow despite all those photos I haven’t managed to buy any frames, upload them to Snapfish and have them printed. I can even have them delivered to the office. Or I heard the Walgreens app is good. My boss said if I do that she will walk to the Walgreens a block from my office and pick them up for me so that I have pictures in my office like a normal person. I walk past that Walgreens twice a day on my commute and I haven’t had those pictures printed.

This is all a very, very serious Mom Fail.

Chocolate cake. These kids are gross, I wouldn't put this pic up.

I guess part of it is that I have never been one to decorate my workspace. Then there’s the whole thing where I would actually have to take the time to sit down and sift through the eight billion photos I’ve taken of the twins since they were born 17 months ago. I just really suck at that whole photo thing despite the fact that I love photography and taking pictures. It’s the print part I seem to have issues with.

It’s that extra step. Plugging the camera in and uploading the photos somewhere. Placing the order. It takes time that I don’t have because “uploading photos” never becomes a calendar appointment in my phone.

I guess ultimately, photos are just something that’s never really been a priority. Everything in our house that’s framed, hung, decorated and otherwise not a wreck was taken care of by my husband. He hates having things half done or sitting around in some kind of limbo. It’s how our house got unpacked in a weekend and we have things planned out until the end of the year.

Maybe I should just put him in charge of getting photos for my office. The whole thing would be done in a day. I’ll just continue to hide behind my computer, working, and behind my camera, capturing the parts of my life I never put on display.

The Hunt for Little Shoes

2015-07-22T16:26:00.002-05:00

This weekend we were getting ready to go out and as I was putting on shoes I noticed that S’s toes were almost to the end of her sandals. And I mean touching the very top inside. And they were hard to buckle.

Apparently the kid’s feet grew overnight and her two month old shoes no longer fit.

Of course I work all week, and Stride Rite is 30 minutes away which puts us straight into bedtime assuming I feed them dinner. That’s a recipe for two kids walking around Stride Rite screaming while trying to crawl under fixtures or just making circles while crying.

Yes, they do strange things when they’re tired.

Of course I need the shoes by Saturday because we have something to do, and I won’t have time in the morning with breakfast and naps and what not, mostly because I want to avoid being that person with two screaming children in a store. Of course there’s the internet, but free shipping is 5 days (i.e. after Saturday) and for some reason I feel like I need to see the shoes if I’m buying them without sizing the girls.

Lucky for me (or not) I work downtown, and while I am no longer on the shopping extravaganza that is the Magnificent Mile, I am walking distance from State Street, which has pretty much all the same affordable things and none of the stuff I can only dream of (Ferragamo, I’m talking about you).

So lunchtime at lunchtime I bolted over to State Street to hit up Nordstrom Rack, hoping for a great deal on something fabulous, which wasn’t going to happen because they don’t carry kids stuff. I had to break myself from the magnetic pull of their massive shoe selection and stay focused. What’s next?

Gap. They have kids shoes, right? Sure, if you want your kid to wear one of two shoe styles that don’t bend and may or may not be made of wood. Next.

TJ Maxx; good plan. I got a compliment on my haircut riding up the escalator. This is a good sign. Big kids section, also a good sign. No kids shoes. WTF? Why does Chicago feel kids don't need shoes?

I am now running perilously low on time and am answering emails while walking through crowded stores, attempting to not run into slow moving shoppers who are obviously not on a lunch hour.

Down the escalator and into Burlington. This place is some kind of insane basement warehouse and there are directional signs everywhere. I find the one that says Baby Depot and somehow end up in men’s suits. Back down a small staircase and around a corner I found it, and there they were. Racks and racks of shoes for children.

Of course the sizes I needed was one of the smallest sections, and once you took out white patent leather and anything with a wedge heel (because toddlers don't have enough issues with balance) there were only a few options left. Luckily they were cute and I managed to land a pair of OshKosh glitter shoes and leopard print Keds in the appropriate sizes so each kid now has one size larger shoe. That way when D’s shoes suddenly don’t fit next week she’ll have a pair waiting for her.

Of course when I got home we had dinner, a bath, read a couple books and went to bed, and it wasn’t until later that I realized that all my running around and I didn’t even try the new shoes on the girls. I guess that means we’re waiting until tonight to play dress up.

I also need to find time to go back to Nordstrom Rack and play shoe dress up during lunch and find some new shoes for myself. Mom deserves new shoes too, and there was a pair of gold Jimmy Choo heels that were calling my name.

Answering the Endless Questions

2015-07-14T10:51:00.000-05:00

I wish had the time to do funny and clever mom things, or the creativity to think of things like arts and crafts. Instead I just write this blog, which I can knock out on my phone while riding home on the train or on my lunch break, and half the time it’s not even about being a mom because I figure that’s going to bore all the people who came to read about whatever else I happen to be discussing.

One Australian woman with twins has become my hero though after a bazillion friends sent me links

This is funny. People need to relax.

to the article and posted it to my wall. Seriously, if she was in the States we’d be having a glass of wine together right now and telling our kids to stop doing whatever it is they’re currently doing that they shouldn’t be.

As a joke, this hero mom attached some FAQs to her kids in the stroller, presumably so people won’t ask her dumb questions while she’s out. While she never actually took the kids out with the signs, the internet predictably lost their shit because people don't have a sense of humor. Personally, I find everything not only funny but also true, and I would like to copy both signs right now and tape them to my own twins, who would probably immediately start chewing on and/or tearing up said signs.

Some people don’t mind talking about their twins and their conception, and trying to explain high school biology to people regarding that whole fraternal identical thing and the basics of ovulation.

I am not one of those people. I’m busy, frazzled, and when I’m out with my kids I’m trying to enjoy my time with them while keeping in mind that we only have one snack with us and I am basically pushing around two time bombs. Of course if either one begins to cry or fuss while we’re standing in line at Target answering the same set of questions for the 208th time that trip, said stranger asking a billion questions immediately brands her as the “bad twin.” She’s not bad, she's just tired of your bullshit.

There’s a follow up to the signs that should also be published, and that should be the list of stupid comments people make that elicit eye rolls at best and nasty comments back from me at worst.

They're fighting for control of the elephant.
Of course I take a picture instead of help.

There’s two of them (no shit)
Double trouble (I seriously hear this every four feet when we're out)
They can’t be twins because they don’t look alike (I have heard this more than once)
They can’t be twins because they’re both girls and don’t look alike (The education system has failed us all)
Wait here; I’m going to get my daughter so she can see them. (Apparently we’re a sideshow)
Better you than me (So many things to say, none of them nice)
Oh my god, I’d kill myself (This actually left me dumbfounded and I just walked away)
Two babies - Ugh, I'd end up shaking one of them (What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?)

Yes, all of these things have happened, and while the first few times are fine, time number 6,000 on any of those comments or questions just start to piss you off. So I support the Australian twin mom and her signs answering all the dumb questions. Maybe now people will back off and she can finish her grocery shopping or get ice cream with her kids without people butting in.

Too bad she didn’t take into account people don’t read.