Mom's Crayon - By L. Klonsky

Precision is Key

2010-12-14T16:43:00.000-05:00

Precision is key. I’m pouring the fluid into a measuring cup, my concentration absolute. Slowly the liquid reaches the 2 ounce mark…then the 4 ounce mark…then the 8 ounce mark. Perfect. I transfer the cup’s contents into a cup. Now I know that that vessel holds exactly 8 ounces.

Is the liquid medicine? Is it a highly-concentrated explosive? Nope. It’s a $5 bottle of wine. But I’m on Weight Watchers. And every thing I put in my body counts.

On the current Weight Watchers program, nourishment is given a point value based on calories, fat, and fiber. Anything I eat and drink needs to be accounted for (basically, “if I nibble, I’ve got to scribble”). I’ve been told that if I eat a certain amount of points per day, I’ll lose weight. So for me to have this 8 ounce glass of wine, I’ve had to allocate 4 of my very precious points toward this moment. It would be the same if it was fruit or cake or a tiny piece of chocolate. All things are allowed and all things must be counted.

It is anal? Yes. Is it a royal pain? Completely. But it works.

Years ago I lost 80 pounds on Weight Watchers. 80! Granted I was much younger and that was before I had give birth to a child. Also, I’ve been on this program five times since and after losing maybe ten pounds, just didn’t have the desire to stay on it. But this time I am. I have to. My life depends on it.

My 50th birthday is coming up and I know that if I’m going to live long enough to see my youngest child grow up (she’s five), I have to lose weight. I’ve been unhealthy long enough. Doritos and cheesecake are divine, but eating them will rob me of the precious time I have left.

Weight Watchers doesn’t deny me anything. Again, it’s all about accountability and being responsible for what I put into my body. It’s about breaking the mindless eating habit. And it’s giving me power over the child in my head who wants to eat everything in sight because of stress, or boredom, or both.

I’m really mad that I’m on the program…again. I wish I could eat like a “normal” person (or what I perceive as a “normal” person) and not gain weight. I wish I didn’t have to think about fat and calories and portion control. I wish I hadn’t let myself get this heavy in the first place. I wish I wasn’t turning 50. Reality says otherwise.

Interestingly enough, now that food has a limit, I savor it. I’m eating more fruits and vegetables and, shockingly, liking them. Because I can’t rely on fast pre-processed food (unless I buy the Weight Watchers frozen stuff which, although perhaps lower in calories, is still chock full of salt) I’m having to cook more and it’s kind of fun. I’ve become addicted to sautéed mushrooms with a small sprinkle of seasoned whole wheat breadcrumbs. And red peppers! Who knew that roasted red peppers were so amazing! My husband says I’m more fun to eat with because I take such pleasure in what’s before me.

How has this affected the kids? Well outside of the first week or two when Mom was… especially ornery (I don’t change habits gracefully), the kids are now used to my being on the program. They’ll ask “Mom, how many points are…” before they grab a snack after school. My daughter has become adept at making fruit salads and reminding me of the veggies we need. Tonight’s drawing of a cardboard cake was “two Weight Watchers points, Mommy.” And my son (age 10), because he’s being exposed to healthier foods, actually tried his first piece vegetable EVER (thanks Birds Eye Asian Medley) and liked it. I guess I didn’t have to wait for Hades to freeze over to get the kid to eat broccoli. I just had to get more of it in the house.

So sure, I’ll keep measuring and counting. As tedious as Weight Watchers is, if it saves my life and makes my family healthier, it’s completely worth it.

Note: This article first appeared on the website http://technorati.com/lifestyle/family/article/precision-is-key/

A Nice Thought

2010-10-01T22:18:00.000-04:00

So, as I previously blogged about, I did, indeed, follow the Inner Mean Girl Cleanse. I was aware of my inner voices and how biased they are. I am cognizant of how damaging they are. And I'll give the Cleanse credit for that awareness. I'll also give the founders the benefit of the doubt that their intentions are to help women. But I kept looking for the bottom line and I found it.

Apparently there are tapes you can buy and all kinds of self-help stuff you can pay for. And I'm sorry, but money's tight and commercial self-awareness is just too expensive right now.

On the other hand, I did glance through my library's copy of Debra Norville's book on gratitude. It seems that research is proving that having an "attitude of gratitude" or counting your blessings every day is healthy not only emotionally, but physically. Studies are showing that those individuals who are grateful for what they have tend to have lower blood pressure, better moods, and better relationships than those who don't give thanks.

The book was FAR longer than it needed to be, but, once again, it made me aware of something I already knew. Banishing the "mean girl" is hard and, if I were to buy into the merchandise, expensive. Gratitude? Hell, I can do that every day on the cheap. And it's easy.

Thank you for reading this.

Inner Mean Girl Cleanse

2010-08-22T21:29:00.001-04:00

I have a mean little girl inside my head. She whispers things like: You're fat! You're A fake! You're a lousy mom! You're a rotten person, so no wonder you don't have more friends! You yell/eat/watch TV/loaf around too much! I HATE THAT LITTLE BITCH!

So when I was invited to participate in the Inner Mean Girl Cleanse, I was intrigued. They claim they can help me "stop feeding (my) inner critic and start nourishing (my) inner wisdom." Right on! I'm ready for change. I just started Weight Watchers a little over a week ago and I'm ready to tackle more personal goals, mainly because I've had the same frigging' goals for the past 40+ years.

The cleanse, which takes place for 40 days, means taking 6 toxic habits and replacing them with 6 healthy ones. Sounds good so far. I'm in a "wait and see mode." But they say, "It's never too late to stop being so darn hard on yourself." I couldn't agree more. Let the cleansing begin!!!

Lisa Quinn You're Right...Mostly

2010-07-26T10:16:00.000-04:00

When Lisa Quinn’s publicist sent me a copy of the book Life’s Too Short To Fold Fitted Sheets, it was with the understanding that I needn’t feel obligated to review or even like it. Not a problem, since I’m not a “tit for tat” person anyway.

Now, the book claims to be “Your Ultimate Guide To Domestic Liberation” and although it wasn’t the “ultimate” guide, it was certainly helpful. Ms. Quinn has a no bullshit approach to domestic chores, explaining that trying to be Martha Stewart-like is a waste of time. Hey, I’m on board! The first two chapters of the book, “The Lackadaisical Lifestyle” and “Not So Good Housekeeping” had me dog-earring pages and underlining especially pertinent sections.

I especially enjoyed the tips on “Rediscovering Your Self-Esteem” which I’ve heard a gazillion times but probably need to hear a gazillion times more. Her “Just Say No” piece detailing how to get out of saying “yes” should be mandatory for every mom of school-age children about to encounter the local PTA. But I really loved her idea of donning a tiara to show the family that you’re taking some time to yourself and going “off duty.” “Tiara Time” is great concept with the list of suggested activities for that time a nice resource. Sometimes, when I have a rare moment to myself, I forget what non-domestic, non-child-related things I actually enjoy doing.

It was after the “Housekeeping” chapter that Ms. Quinn lost me.

The chapter entitled “Slacker Chic” was cute and had some useful information, but nothing I hadn’t heard before. “Good enough” shortcuts and cheats are tactics we’ve all discovered on our own because we need them to get through life without being deemed slobs by our friends and family. And “The Half-Assed Hostess”, again, didn’t present anything earth-shattering to me.

Overall, the book is a quick, easy read. And it’s something I’ll probably refer back to…I’m just not sure when. It may, ultimately, be tossed, in a fit of domestic liberation.

Skipping Started The Clock

2010-07-16T16:08:00.000-04:00

I was one of those rare women who never wanted children. Didn’t know a thing about kids. Didn’t want to. Honestly, didn’t see what the big deal was about kids. Everyone looked at them as if they were miracles. They subjected themselves to the tyranny of these little megalomaniacs who wanted everything NOW. I mean, adults who wielded power over millions of dollars, doctors who saved lives, allowed themselves to be at the beck and call of two-feet tall midgets. Why? How stupid were they?

My husband and I got married with the understanding that we would have a dog. He wanted kids, I did not, but we agreed on the beagle. For nine years, the man told me I would change my mind while I adamantly refused. He said I was the “type” to have kids. I assumed he meant warm and loving, not insane. Once, I broke down and almost agreed while on a trip to Bermuda, but I REALLY wasn’t ready (translation: I cried a lot).

Then, one day on my way to work, I saw a little girl…skipping. It was like one of those scenes you see in a movie. Something about the kid just hit me. She must have been 6 or 7 and I never did see her face. I just saw her…skipping.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I never saw her again, or if I did, I didn’t know it was her. There was nothing special about her. It was just the site of her and what she was doing. I still get chills thinking about her because she literally changed the course of so many lives.

My husband and I went off the birth control (really I went off birth control) saying, “if it’s God’s will” and two months later it was. I was pregnant.

I love motherhood. I love kids. And now the woman who “didn’t want kids” has two. One biological (“the will of God”) and one adopted from China (another “will of God” just carried out in a non-biological way – and EVERY BIT a miracle).

What brings this to mind is my daughter has been…skipping. A LOT. She skips to school. She skips from the car to the house. She skips from the den to the bathroom.

And in some way, I feel she’s paying tribute to the anonymous little girl who started it all.

Note: This post originally appeared in June 2010 on the New Jersey Moms Blog.

What I Want For Mother's Day 2010

2010-04-27T15:45:00.002-04:00

Every Mother’s Day for the last ten years, my husband has asked me what I want. EVERY year I’ve said the same thing: sleep. And he always tells me “that’s too expensive” and buys me something instead. The gifts are very nice and much appreciated, but I’m starting to see that I’ve got as much chance of getting sleep as I have of getting Sofia Vergara’s body (she’s the very hot mom on the TV show Modern Family).

So here, for all the world to see, is what I want for Mother’s Day 2010:

- A universal mute button that works on children, spouses, extended family, Stepford Wife PTA-moms, and anyone else I don’t feel like listening to at any given moment.

- Fat-eating chocolate.

- Dust bunnies that clean house.

- An intravenous coffee drip.

- Clothes that automatically make me look 20 pounds lighter and launder themselves.

- A block full of neighbors who can get together without drinking alcohol in public and don’t allow their children to stay out, screaming, until 10PM on school nights.

- A Woomba (see http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/woomba/229062/)

- Android playmates for my kids for those days when all I hear is “I want a playdate” and the neighbors have barricaded their doors.

- A bed that automatically regulates itself to my body temperature.

- A bed with an ejection button for those times when I want to sleep alone.

In lieu of the above, I will welcome any phone/gadget with technology that will allow me to write my blog and upload it without barricading myself in our computer room after the kids go to bed.

Thank you.

Strong Legs, But Never Quite Sure Where I Stand

2010-04-25T21:24:00.000-04:00

As a mom, you have to be strong. Actually, just by being a mom, you are. You recover from the birth or adoption process by landing firmly on your feet and taking care of the needs of your child. When your kid is sick, no matter how severe the illness or what orifice is spewing at that particular moment, you never show how bad it is. You never show how utterly grotesque what you’re seeing makes you feel. When your kids make mistakes, you don’t show disappointed you are. When they mouth off, you temper the hurt feelings you have by saying, “Well, they’re just kids.” When they wrestle or bite you (while playing), even if you express dismay, you rarely, if ever, tell them how brutal the pain is or how many aspirin you needed to take to get on with your life. When your children have tantrums, they get over the episode much quicker than you ever will. My kids may be over the outburst; my stomach will churn for hours.

So while I need to stand strong, there are many times that I’m not quite sure that what I’m doing is correct. Sometimes I just don’t know where I stand. Two recent instances bring this to mind:

1) Junior is pitching in his baseball game for the first time. He’s on the mound, staring intently at the hitter. He’s chewing his gum as if it’s tobacco and he looks, for all the world, like he should be in the middle of a major league stadium. I’m SO proud of him I could cry. I yell out, “Go Pitcher! You can do it!” thinking I’m being supportive only to be lambasted by said baseball player later for “embarrassing” him. Ok. New rule, Mom – don’t talk to the pitcher (or him when he’s a catcher) during a game. Sorry, dear. I was just trying to encourage you.

2) Junior is running for an office on the Student Council. Once again, I’m SO proud of him for challenging himself. I’m proud of him for putting himself out in public. So little sister and I, with the candidate’s permission, make signs encouraging voters to vote for him. We attract attention hoping it’ll spill on to him, along the lines of any attention is good attention. I go to both assemblies and give him the “thumbs up” while he’s on the stage. I want to be there for him. I want to show him, as much as I tell him, that I’m proud of him no matter what. Again, I’m reprimanded for “embarrassing” him.

Now I’m not a Mrs. Benson (ask your kids about the character of Freddie’s overprotective mom on ICarly) and I try not to hover. I keep an eye on him when he’s playing with his friends – but from a respectable distance. I keep an ear out for what’s going on during playdates – again, without getting in the kids’ faces. I only videotape and photograph public things the kids are in when I can get a clear shot. The latter is an important point because I was yelled at by Junior when I failed to record his Winter Concert. Sorry, but the violin section was blocking you, kid. I give him plenty of decision-making power, provide ample opportunity for him to make choices (and live with the results of those choices), and refrain from showing his baby pictures to his peers.

I just wish I knew, specifically and on a moment-to-moment basis, where responsible parenting and healthy child independence meet. That seems to be territory that varies daily. I wish kids came with some kind of visible approval meter, like a traffic light, so that I, as a parent, would always know where I stand.

Going Solo With The Kids

2010-01-25T22:20:00.001-05:00

The thing I miss most about my pre-children life is traveling. Hubby and I saw much of the world before kids, but now, due to school schedules and PMS (Preschooler Mood Swings, not Premenstrual Syndrome), we don’t travel nearly as much. That’s to be expected.

But I do miss traveling, so when hubby recently announced that he was going down to Florida with a friend of his, I seized the opportunity to plan a weekend away with the kids. This was a little intimidating since Dad is the one who usually plans these things while Mom is the one who implements them. I needed to get over that and remember that I used to plan jaunts like this all the time. Still, I’d never planned one ALONE with two kids.

I chose Lancaster, PA for several reasons: 1) it’s relatively close 2) it’s known to be extremely family-friendly 3) I’d been there before, and 4) it’s so pretty. I chose a place we’d never stayed before, The Fulton Steamboat Inn. This lovely hotel is located right where two major highways meet. It has a ship theme to it, which is novel. It offers rooms with bunk beds for the kids – a big selling point for them since they’d never slept in bunk beds before. It also had the ESSENTIAL for any weekend away with my children – an indoor, heated pool. Basically, my kids don’t care where they go as long as there’s an indoor, heated pool.

I was meticulous in my packing and planning. The children were absolutely perfect for the whole trip. Really. They looked out for each other and even played in the pool alone so “Mom can relax.” Fighting was minimal. And we didn’t need the portable DVD player any time during the trip.

They relaxed, I relaxed, I rose to the challenge, and now we all realize that we can get away even if Dad isn’t with us. Pretty cool.

Kinda Fa-La-La-La-Lousy

2009-12-28T21:25:00.000-05:00

There’s something about a doctor looking at my test results and saying, “Hmmm…” that makes me nervous. So when the cardiologist I was sent to looked at the results of my stress test and said, “Hmmm…oh, that’s not good” I really WAS stressed. It seems that my heart decided to race up to 300 beats per minute, enough to make me pass out. She suspected a blockage which lead her to suspect that an angioplasty was in my future.

Ahhhhh!

While my kids were getting excited about the big fat man coming down the chimney, I was freaking….um, I mean concerned about this somewhat curvy mamma being around for her kids. It’s funny how before you have kids, you abuse your body. It’s the old bad joke about, “Well, I’ll die a good-looking corpse.” Then, when you have your kids, EVERYTHING changes & you’ll do ANYTHING to live longer so you’ll see them grow up.

Eight agonizing, worry-filled days later, I took the nuclear stress test the doc recommended. I wept the whole time (which probably wasn’t good for my heart), and at noontime on Christmas Eve, I got the call that everything looked normal. EXCELLENT news, WONDERFUL news.

And now, I’m tired. Stress’ll do that. But like George Bailey in “It’s A Wonderful Life” I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. I’ll lose the weight. I’ll get healthy. Because not everyone is given a second chance.

(By the way, my minister at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation Of Montclair, Charlie Ortman, told a great joke at the Christmas Eve service. Here it is:

While a family was at church one night, a burglar broke into their home. As the burglar went about his business, he heard a voice say, “Baby Jesus is watching.” The thief shone his flashlight around but saw nothing. Again, he heard the voice say, “Baby Jesus is watching.” Getting a little panicky he shone his light again until, in the far corner of the room, he spied a parrot.

He approached the bird as it once again said “Baby Jesus is watching.”
“You’re the one who said that,” the man exclaimed. “What’s your name?”
“Moses,” replied the bird.
“What kind of sick family names their parrot ‘Moses’?” the man asked.
The bird said, “The same kind that names their mean, angry rottweiler ‘Baby Jesus.”

Happy New Year!

Goyification

2009-12-04T22:42:00.002-05:00

Tonight I completed the “goyification” of the house. That’s what my husband, who is Jewish, calls decorating the house for Christmas. He marvels at how long it takes to get the house ready for the holidays and lately, I’m becoming more aware of it, too.

Take, for instance, the other day. While the menfolk were at work and school, I managed to get the large, cumbersome faux Christmas tree down from the attic while the 4-year old was playing here with her friend. I also managed to get the lights and ornaments down and assemble the tree. I was pretty proud of myself. My daughter’s friend, who had been mourning the fact that her family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, saw all the effort and declared, “That’s too much work!” Ah, another case of goy-envy nipped in the bud.

Later, after The Boy got home from school, we managed to decorate said tree. This, despite the fact that he was screaming his guts out because the Diva had managed to erase the scores on one of his DS games (“Do you KNOW how hard I worked on that?” he wailed. “No,” I thought, “I try not to think about how that stupid machine rots your brain and takes you away from constructive activities like, say, reading War & Peace. And I try not to think about what a stupid posterior of a mom I am for letting you play the bloody thing!”). After the tree was decorated, my kids INSISTED on posing for holiday card pictures under the tree wearing Santa hats. If that isn’t schizophrenic behavior, I don’t know what is. And note that even though everything on our cards screams “Christmas” I did manage to sneak in some clip art of a menorah as a nod to my husband and his traditions.

Today, while The Boy was home with strep (giving him ample excuse to play the DS and me quasi-valid excuse to let him), I put up the Christmas lights. Sounds easy, but by the time I checked to make sure that everything is working and remember how the timer works (where ARE those instructions), hours have passed. And I really could write a book called How To Rig Up A Holiday Display When Pieces Were Lost Or Broken Last Year.

So hubby will come home tonight and know that the goyification of the house is complete. It waits for our menorah in the window to add even more light next week. Yes, I do the light display for the kids. But I also do it for me. There’s nothing like coming home on a dark night and seeing the glow from your own yard (secure in the knowledge that it’s not from your house being ablaze from one of your home cooked meals). And I hope that people who pass by our house “Oooh” and “Ahhh.” Tis’ the season of light!

Big Whoop…It’s A Turkey

2009-11-21T20:36:00.002-05:00

A few months ago, I had a family of six turkeys in my backyard. The kids and I were enthralled. Day after day, we watched the parents: birds who rarely relaxed and were always vigilant, nervously protecting their young (I identified with them). We watched the chicks: goofy, not knowing what to do, fighting amongst themselves (gee, what sibling pair did that remind me of?). The family hung out in our yard, on and off, for about two months.

Where are they now? Thanksgiving is five days away and there are NO turkeys in my yard. Who says these birds are stupid?

So much is made of cooking the “perfect” turkey. I don’t get it. My husband cleans out the carcass (he does it quite well), I shove it in the pan with some water and spices, pop it in the oven, and hours later the bird is done. Big whoop. Gives me something to do while my DH pretends to listen to his mother while actually pining to watch the football game.

When we were looking for a house, I remember my wonderful spouse looking in the ovens of the prospective houses to see if the ovens were big enough for Thanksgiving dinners. I knew then I was dealing with a serious carnivore.

Rather than focusing on the food, I focus on this concept of being grateful. Experts now say that those who are grateful live longer & are healthier. With my figure, that’ll probably buy me an extra 10 minutes of life and I’ll take every minute. What the experts should say is that being thankful for what you have also makes life richer.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Taking Time To Breathe

2009-11-12T13:03:00.000-05:00

It’s been almost 2 weeks since Halloween and I can finally breathe. The final tally:
Junior had 1 parade and 3 parties to attend. Diva had 1 parade and 4 parties to attend. Oh, and they both trick-or-treated, of course. He had only one costume, a paper one at that, which survived the intermittent rain on Halloween. She had 4 costume changes, the most important being the one I made for her. Candy has been sorted, consumed, given to Dad to bring to work, and put aside for the school collection involving sending some overseas to the soldiers.

Ahhh….

Then my husband went to the hospital for elective brain surgery. And, despite his convictions that the removed growth and operation would either A) kill him, or B) render him with fewer brain cells than he had before, all seems to be well. Except for a few staples in his head (the kids & I think they look cool, he, understandably, disagrees) and some barbaric memories of the procedure, he’s fine.

Ahhh….

Now we’re gearing up for Thanksgiving at our house. Then Chanukah. Then Christmas. Then New Year’s.

I’m not complaining, just breathing.

Many years ago I volunteered for a hospice. I participated in 6 weeks of intense training regarding religious beliefs about death, rituals, and the physical symptoms of a patient’s impending end of life. And, boy, did I get perspective.

People in nursing homes, people whose lives have been shattered by tragedy – would give ANYTHING for the normal, albeit hectic, life I’m living.

So much to be grateful for. Now, mom, breathe…..

Curvy or Skeletal? How About Healthy?!

2009-10-29T09:21:00.003-04:00

My sincerest apology to anyone who reads this. My local newspaper asked for my blog to appear on their site (gratis, of course), so I've been writing there. I will endeavor to update both sites at the same time. Here is my latest tirade.

--

Curvy or Skeletal? How About Healthy!

In the 10/15 issue of The Newark Star-Ledger, the column Vicki's Dish posted a quote from fashion designer, Karl Lagerfeld. Mr. Lagerfeld was "responding to a German magazine's decision to ban ultra-skinny models from its pages, to the German magazine Focus." The quote reads:

"No one wants to see curvy women. You've got fat mothers with their bags of chips sitting in front of the television and saying that thin models are ugly."

Really.

Considering that the average American women is a size 14, obviously SOME PEOPLE want to see curvy women. Curves make women more interesting and desirable, perhaps because men don’t have them. When you think of curves, think Mae West. Think Venus DeMilo. Think Marilyn Monroe. Women were meant to be curvy...and healthy. Not the emaciated stick figures that appear in most magazines. In fact, I think most women would like to see models with a bit more meat on them to accurately reflect what clothes would look like on real women.

And as for "fat mothers with their bags of chips," most stay-at-home moms that I know are far too busy taking care of their children and their house to be sitting around munching chips. That just feeds into the stereotype that all we do is sit around all day eating bon bons. I would challenge Mr. Lagerfeld to take care of my 4-year old and house and find time to squeeze in a bag of Lays. Ain't gonna happen pal.

And yes, many thin models are unhealthily thin. Setting them up as an unhealthy image as “the ideal” results in the many first graders I know who want to go on diets. We set our daughters up for failure and then want to know why their self-esteem is so low. Wouldn’t it be better to, as we’ve started doing, encourage them to eat right and exercise in order to be healthy rather than telling them to be thin so they’ll fit society’s (and this fool’s) image of “pretty”?

In conclusion, I would hope that this fashion designer refrains from, in my opinion, spouting further verbal diarrhea and the media from printing it. Stuff like that serves no purpose except as another media myth I'll have the challenge of teaching my kids to disregard.

Goshdarn, It's Just Water Boy!

2009-06-11T19:13:00.003-04:00

It's been raining on and off here for several weeks. The school fair has been pushed off twice already and baseball games have been cancelled. The only ones not tired of the rain are my kids.

If there's a drop of water within 90 miles of home, my kids will find it. If it's condensation on the inside of the window, they're playing with it. If there's water on the table, it somehow becomes the medium for a hockey game. Puddles, by law, must be splashed in, no matter what the splasher is wearing. Tonight, the rain was coming down at the end of a playdate, and Child #1 just HAD to be in it.

So, WHY did we have to fight for 20 minutes just go get him into the shower?!

Child #2 welcomes baths, showers - any opportunity to get wet. Child #1 will fight tooth and nail before washing accumulated scum off his body. As he's standing behind me now, he smells so clean and his skin glistens. He's over the shower fight. My stomach is still in knots.

This child will be at the town pool as much as possible this summer. He'll beg to go to every waterpark in the area.

I just don't get it.

Eyebrows Give Caterpillars Something To Aspire To

2009-05-29T12:54:00.003-04:00

I have always been fascinated by eyebrows. I'm not entirely sure what they do (keep dust away from the eyes?), but they are certainly a fashion statement.

My mother-in-law and women of her generation seem to have eyebrows painted on, most often in a graceful arch. Not the most natural-looking of things. Makes the grand dames look perpetually surprised or put off.

My daughter's are dark and help add to her innocent look, even when she's completely guilty. There may be electrolysis in her future. My son's are growing more pronounced as he gets older. It'll be interesting to see what the final masterpieces will look like. Our late beloved beagle had eyebrows that jutted up, almost like antennae. Considering his disposition, we were certain he used them to communicate with The Mother Ship.

My favorite set of eyebrows belongs to my husband. They are thick, masculine, and soft to the touch. Ironically enough, I often want to shave them off with a butter knife. They come together whenever he disapproves of something and often take on a life of their own during conversation. He may be saying something positive, but I interpret his eyebrows as giving away his real, negative feelings. In our wedding photos, his eyebrows are up, making him look simple and give no clues as to the the immense intelligence and sense of humor he has.

I really don't consider my eyebrows. They're just there. I have neither the time nor the inclination to expend my energies correcting them.

What do you think of yours?

My Friend, Murray

2009-05-24T19:58:00.005-04:00

I believe that spirits, whether human or animal, come into your life for a reason. Most often, they teach us or allow us to be taught. Often, they comfort us. And sometimes, if we're really lucky, they share in our circle of love. Thus, I'd like to share with you a love story.

Murray is the gentlest of friends. He looks intimidating - big, rough, not someone you'd want to meet on a dark street. But his chocolate eyes speak of love. His demeanor is warm, comforting. On a cold winter's night, you'd want nothing more than to cuddle with Murray. As you might have guessed, Murray is a dog; his owners are my friends Tammy and Chris and their wonderful daughter, Emily. And a few weeks ago, we almost lost my dear, dear canine friend.

He had what appeared to be a stroke. We were sure he was at death's door. But his vet, instead of encouraging euthanasia, treated Murray with some antibiotics. One day, when I was afraid I'd get the phone call that my friend had passed, I saw him in his backyard. I literally screamed with delight when I saw him. He was wobbly and you could tell that he'd been through a lot, but the love was still there in his eyes.

With a lot of physical therapy from Tammy and Chris, Murray is almost his old self. So here's the love in this story: it emanates from Murray but was especially vivid for me every time I saw Chris and Tammy working with their dog. I'm not sure many people would have put the time and energy into working with an older dog the way they did. But little by little, through their love, their wonderful pet has almost fully recovered.

So much love. In a world of hate, you've got to treasure stories like this.

Priorities, My Son. Priorities.

2009-05-19T19:10:00.002-04:00

So it's a lovely day outside & I decide to barbeque on the outside gas grill. I defrost the meat, get the 3-year old involved with painting some masterpieces, and the boy is doing his homework. I fire up the grill, put the chicken thighs over the fire, put the cover over the bbq, and start to relax...for all of 3 minutes. All of a sudden I see a LOT of smoke coming from the grill. Kids are still fine, but I'm curious about dinner. I open the grill cover & the ENTIRE grill is covered in flames. Apparently the meat was much fattier than I had anticipated.

I'm trying to decide 1) do I call the fire department or 2) deal with this myself, when I hear a small boy's voice say, "Mom, where's my Nintendo DS (video game)?" I say, "Mom's a little busy right now" as I make the decision to deal with this myself.

I close the cover, turn the gas off at the grill AND at the propane tank, and wait. Again, the boy says, "Mom, can you find my DS NOW?" His voice is a little angry and more insistent. I say, "Not now, honey." I'm trying to keep my cool. Thank God the 3-year old is completely engrossed in her Picasso moment.

All of a sudden, I see flames shooting from under the COVER of the grill. I'm getting even more freaked out. I open the cover, and figure that if I take the source of the fire away, it'll have to go down. So I methodically start taking the chicken off the grill. "Mom, can you PLEASE go get my DS?!" comes the voice. Now the kid is outside. He can see that Mommy is dabbling in firefighting. I'm not sitting with my feet up, popping bon-bons. "No!," I say, "Go get it yourself."

Finally, the flames die down. The chicken is not cooked, ironically, but I've definitely got the bbq flavor on it. The toddler has produced several fine works of art. And The Boy is MAD. "NOW can you find my DS?!" It's a demand. I take several deep breaths, go inside to find his DS, and ground him for at least a day.

The wailing of the child echoes throughout the neighborhood, as I calmly sit down. And thank God everything is fine.

Mother's Day The Smart Way

2009-05-11T19:29:00.003-04:00

When my son was first born and we began celebrating Mother's Day I used to feel a lot of resentment. I LOVED being a mom & certainly did not begrudge my mom or my MIL her day, but the idea that I had to put the other mothers' needs above my own, to be a good hostess, seemed absurd. I do that every day - that's a natural part of being a mom. Where was the celebration for me? Hubby & I used to argue about this, with him being torn between his mom & the mother of his child (now children). Then I got smart.

We now celebrate my Mother's Day the day before. I get a lovely dinner wherever I want to go without feeling guilty about the jacked up prices. And we do what I want to do. This year we went to an aquarium (yes, I wanted to go there) & then sat on the beach. It was LOVELY! The kids had fun dipping their toes into the water and I watched my daughter treat the beach as a vast, private sandbox. We all played ball on the beach & then, as I said, had dinner. What a wonderful day!

The next day (actual Mother's Day), I was able to give of myself & celebrate the two moms who nourished my husband and me because I had already had a special day.

Real thanks for this, of course, goes to my husband who makes himself subservient for two days instead of one. BTW, my son said on my day, "Mom, it's not all about you." Yeah, kid. Once a year it is.

Cool Mom Or Idiot?

2009-05-06T16:05:00.003-04:00

So my children, along with a playdate, are sledding in the house. They've taken an old mattress that I let the kids jump on & have propped it up on the side of the little one's bed. Then they're taking turns sliding down it, using a boogie board, into a pile of pillows.

They're having a ton of fun & not destroying anything. All 3 are also getting along. It has the feel of "this is something we're not supposed to be doing." This makes me the Cool Mom.

Until something happens. Then I'll be the Idiotic, Irresponsible Mom.

But they're having SO much fun.....

--

Motherhood seems to be full of moments like this. You get SO tired of being the one who says "no" so much that times like this almost demand you be the one who says "yes." My provision is just that we make it as safe as possible.

So no diving off standing up. No sliding down on your back. And no making it steeper.

I'd better go watch.

Susan Boyle: Unwrapping An Amazing Gift

2009-04-14T15:07:00.002-04:00

We teach our children to "never judge a book by its cover," but, of course, we all do. As a woman who is bigger than some, I've heard comments. I've been part of the invisible - people who are not seen because they are less than society deems. Susan Boyle is now one of my heroes.

An average woman (who is also unemployed), Ms. Boyle blew the judges of the TV show "Britain's Got Talent" away with a breath-taking performance of the Les Miserables song "I Dreamed A Dream." PLEASE check out this link: http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/92464?fp=1.

I wish her well & hope she avoids the exploitation of those who will seek to use her for their own profit. This is a woman with talent who deserves only the good that life has to offer.

Peace

2009-04-13T10:38:00.003-04:00

As much as I love my family, I couldn't wait to kick them out the door this morning. The kids were off last week thanks to Spring Break & hubby decided to take off, too. So my darling family was home for 9 days straight. Some of it was quite nice:

* Hubby took Sonny to the Big City while I took Darling Daughter to Build-A-Bear (aka Take My Wallet) where she & I made mother-daughter animals (she - a lamb; me - a bunny; lesson: mothers & daughters do NOT have to look alike).
* I took the kids grocery shopping, something I actually like doing, and then rewarded them for very good behavior by taking them to Chuck E. Cheese.
* We all went to IKEA where I learned how to take measurements on a bookcase, pay attention to my husband who was discussing the pros/cons of said bookcase, while watching Darling Daughter to make sure she didn't dive off the various pieces of furniture.

Some of the time was not so nice:

* Why is it that the only free time I had was when I want to the OB/GYN to have my yeast infection treated? Ah....stirrups. What a vacation!
* Arguing, bickering, negotiating, making peace between family members, cooking, making a Seder, etc.

So this morning, after sending/driving them to their respective places, I went to the gym, worked out for 55 minutes, took a shower, am typing this, and will go to the library.

Life is good.

I've Replaced Food With...Craigslist

2009-04-09T19:50:00.002-04:00

My family was somewhat poor when I was growing up. Dad had gone (we found out at his funeral that he'd had a mistress for, oh, 30 years or so) and Mom was sick, so money was tight. I was never wanting for anything, but we had to watch our pennies. I remember going grocery shopping for the family when I was 16 and meticulously tallying up the list of what was in the cart so I could make sure we fell within the $80 Dad "graciously" sent us every week.

Which brings me to my current obsession, Craigslist. Just the free stuff, mind you. And definitely not junk. Plus it has to be worth my while if I'm going to spend the gas to drive to pick it up. But if I can stop something from going into the landfill and if it will benefit the family, I'll gladly take it.

My latest acquisition is a sand/water table for the Diva. This way she can play with water without getting utterly drenched. I power washed the item and voila! Child #2 had a new toy. I popped some sand in it & brother very generously contributed some old cars to use in the sand. It amused both kids the other day for a good 2 hours.

I'm also grooving on Freecycle. I've gotten rid of some toddler stuff on there which I hope will benefit others.

Both sites are my current obsessions. And as obssessions go, I think they're ok. As long as I don't claim the camel (no lie) which someone was recently giving away on Craigslist. :)

When I Was Fun

2009-04-03T21:00:00.002-04:00

I realized today when I was picking up toys for the umpteenth time, that I used to be a more fun parent when I had only one child. I used to play more, read more, and relied on the television for peace less. When playgroups were over, I was sillier and got on the floor more.

I did all of those things because I had the time. In all honesty, I also doted and worried more.

Child #2 has given me less time and more work. She's also given me the pleasure of having a daughter and watching, again, the remarkable growth that happens over the first 5 years. She's teaching my son patience and allowing him to stretch himself in ways he couldn't before (taking responsibility for helping her, showing her things). She is ensuring that he doesn't grow up alone and he's there as her teacher and hero.

I'm still silly (even if it's not as often). And I can be fun (when I'm not channeling Sgt. Vince Carter of the Gomer Pyle Show). And when I get on the floor these days, it's as much to rest as to play. But I really love having 2 kids!

14 Pounds Down, Like 100 More To Go

2009-03-28T19:34:00.003-04:00

Every week I invite the humiliation of getting on the scale at Weight Watchers. I must pee at least 3 times and pray for a bowel movement so I can get every bit of excess weight off. I wear the same outfit and skip breakfast until after the meeting. The clincher: I PAY for this. Rationally I understand that I am not my weight, that my identity does not depend on the number on the scale, but damn! I work so hard during the week that need for it to pay off. And I'm doing well...14 pounds down with like 100 more to go.

As much as I'm struggling, there are several payoffs: 1) people are starting to notice, so I'm getting compliments 2) I've actually gone down a size & no longer have to shop in the Plus department (not that there's anything wrong with that...and how come every time I get out of Plus sizes, I notice how really attractive the clothes are there?!) 3) I don't want to die every time I climb the stairs.

But below is the challenge I would pose to the folks at WW:

How many points are there in a toe?

I Am The President's Mom

2009-03-24T19:34:00.003-04:00

Child #1 had a fascinating school assignment last week: playing the part of a famous person in a "wax museum." He had to research this person, dress as this individual, & report on him when someone stepped on the drawn "button" placed in front of him.

The child took care of the research (easy), but Mom had to get involved when he needed to dress like (drum roll, please) Thomas Jefferson. The blessed (and I mean that) caveat from the school was that no costumes were to be bought. They had to be made from stuff you borrowed, had, etc.

Here's what the finished President looked like:

The blazer was donated by someone on my Mothers & More loop. The neck piece is a handkerchief given to me long ago by a suitor. And the piece-de-resistance, the wig, I made out of a disposable diaper & the fiberfill you find in pillows. I was VERY proud of that.

But I was most proud of my son. He was very dignified as Mr. Jefferson & really knew his stuff.
Sometimes this motherhood stuff really ROCKS!