Claudine M Jalajas

Repurpose an Old Box For Cool Storage

2012-01-22T18:11:00.001-05:00

So I am somewhat a Pinterest fan. (There’s no such thing as “somewhat”—you’re either sucked in with the rest of us or you don’t use it. You’ve been warned.) I saw a really cool idea of taking a large box (like for diapers) and covering it with fabric to make it look like a nice storage item. Being someone who gets a LOT of things delivered.. my garage is lousy with boxes. I thought I’d try it.

Source: designsbymke.blogspot.com via Claudine on Pinterest

The Project

You’ll need:

Fabric
Box
Spray Adhesive
Scissors
Hot Glue Gun & Embellishments (if you want)

I have plenty of scrap fabric around and, like I said, tons of boxes. The only thing I needed was the spray adhesive. Thankfully, Michaels is 1.34 miles away.

I wanted to do a test run—see if this was as easy as the blogger said it was. I didn’t have a lot of time to invest. I chose a small box and as it turns out, one of the linen napkins I have fit perfectly. After all the measuring, I did iron it. I couldn’t imagine forever looking at wrinkles.

In order to get nice lines, you’ll want to make sure the box is centered in the fabric and that it goes all the way up to the top on all edges. Then you cut the fabric. Now this part is important (but I wasn’t paying attention and did it wrong and had to chuck my first piece of fabric). You make a rectangular cut towards the edge of the box BUT NOT ALL THE WAY. In the blogger’s directions she said 2 inches but I was doing a smaller box, so I did 1 inch. (You know, after I screwed up the first one).

I drew, using marker, where I needed to cut. Then I folded the fabric in half and cut. This way each corner was identical (and I’m basically lazy and would rather cut 2 times instead of 4). So, you cut out that rectangle of fabric and then on the diagonal, just a straight cut.

Alright, time to start gluing. The spray adhesive is pretty stinky but it’s not like spray paint. You can do it in the house. If you’re careful it won’t go all over the place. It can be pretty accurate. (By the way, I got some on my fingers from pressing the fabric in place. It’s STICKY. So I had to use goo-gone to get rid of it. Soap didn’t work.)

1. Spray the long sides first. Press into place.

2. Spray the little edges and wrap them around the corners.

3. Do short sides.

4. The instructions said to cut the tops. The blogger made a basket liner. That was more effort than I was willing to put into my test subject. I’m going to be honest with you here: I don’t sew. It was never going to happen—test subject or not. But THIS really annoyed me—the fabric didn’t cover the edge. Turn the box so I couldn't’ t see it? Maybe, but I would KNOW it was like that.

So I started looking at some decorative cording that I had on hand. I put it along the edge and my son Max said, “No, mom, put it the other way.” And I pointed out that what he was suggesting is putting the cording wrong. You’d see the edge. And HE pointed it out that it didn’t look bad AND would cover up my gap.

What a smart kid.

So I got out my hot glue gun and went to town. The result.

Now, the marks you see are from the spray adhesive I used. I’m not sure if it will go away once it dries. THAT’S why I did a trial run first. But for now, this works in the office as a disc holder.

Thanks to Pinterest for finding this cool project.

My First Cruise

2012-01-06T17:52:00.001-05:00

I just returned from my first cruise. I have friends that have gone and come back glowing from all the rest and wonderful food they had. Let me tell you about my experience.

Getting There

First, while you can use the various cruise line websites to book a trip—it’s easier to use an agent. I didn’t know anything about cruise ships and our room location could not have been better. I went with Ann Marchese (ann@powertravel.net) who specializes in cruises. She kept me updated when the price went down on our already booked trip and we were issued credits.

We were excited to leave from Cape Liberty (Bayonne NJ). We were all psyched about not having a flight involved; both for cost and hassle factor. It took about 90 minutes for us to get there from Long Island. We could see the ship, Explorer of the Seas, when we crossed the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. (Incidentally, we learned they cannot have a ship any larger or it won’t fit under the bridge.) My kids had no idea how large the ship would be. All they could imagine is that it might be slightly larger than the Port Jefferson Ferry.

Boarding the Ship

We arrived early because everything I read said to “get there early and avoid crowds.” They were right. It was worth it. We arrived at the port and fairly quickly moved through the security checks. After, we were instructed to wait until we were called to ride the bus to the ship. It was a very short wait and the kids enjoyed the free lemonade and cookies. The bus ride to the ship is about 300 feet but you’re not allowed to walk. Once you arrive at the ship you’re greeted warmly by all the staff. They give you a sail pass card (like a hotel key) and take your photo. Every time you board or disembark they make sure the photo matches the card.

The problem with getting there early was that you’re not allowed to your stateroom until 1:30. They take this seriously. They have people watching the hall doors and you can’t even sneak a peek (I tried it—trust me). So we walked around with our carry-on bags and heavy winter coats for a couple hours. The restaurant opened for lunch shortly after we boarded so we went and got a bite. Pretty soon though, we wanted to check the ship out. Still, it was annoying to do with all our crap in tow. At exactly 1:30pm, they opened the doors and we went to our staterooms.

Staterooms

Now, I knew they wouldn’t be as big as a nice hotel room would be—but they’re really small. Seriously. You cannot open a closet door and bathroom door at the same time. It reminds me a lot of being in an RV. Super compact space where beds pull down from ceilings and sofas turn into tables at the flip of a switch.

We had to have two rooms because you’re not allowed 5 in one room. Now that I saw the room; I couldn’t imagine sharing it with my kids. Our rooms were both balcony rooms that were joined by a door. I have to be honest, it did make me a little anxious that the kids had a balcony too. Some people had suggested an inside stateroom for the kids and us on the outside. No way. Maybe if they were older—but not at 6, 8, and 13 years old.

Activities for the Kids

In my opinion, this was the best part of the cruise. They have a program called Adventure Ocean. Depending on age, kids go to their programs (morning, afternoon, and evening sessions) which is included in the ginormous price you paid for the cruise. The counselors all have degrees in psychology, education, and background in running programs for kids. This was not babysitting. This was like the best summer camp EVER. They were fun. They did experiments. They played games. They went on scavenger hunts. They took tours of the ship and came back telling ME about rooms I didn’t know about. They performed shows for the ship on the main promenade. It was awesome. My daughter would literally RUN to the program’s door everyday. In addition, you could sign them up for a special dinner option. They would get their food right away and then they would be picked up by the counselors at the front of the restaurant and brought to Adventure Ocean and my husband and I could enjoy our meal without listening to whining about whose feet were touching whose. (Also, that was included. No extra charge). There were a couple of surprise days where they were invited to lunch together or dinner and they went to Johnny Rockets. This restaurant has a surcharge normally but not when they went with Adventure Ocean. Did I tell you yet that it was awesome?

As for my teen—I saw him when we boarded and every night when he returned from the teen center around midnight and sometimes 1am. They had programs back-to-back all day long. It was so great to have my teen meeting other kids his age, from all over the world, and having a gang of friends right off the bat. They also had dinner together several nights. Had I known this in advance, I would not have packed so many dress clothes for him since he ate dinner with us only one night. They had pretty good security on the teen center. They stopped my husband when he tried to go in there to tell my teen it was time to come back to the room.

Activities in General

Our ship had a giant rock wall, ice skating rink, rollerblading area, mini golf, basketball courts, 8 hot tubs, 3 large pools, and multiple bars and casinos. We happened to have mostly crap weather—so being outdoors (which is what we wanted) was sometimes painful from the brutal wind and cold temps. We are not into casinos and we don’t want to sit in a bar and drink the day away. The weather did not stop my kids from conquering the rock wall though. Even my little peanut got all the way to the top (complete with a cheering crowd).

My youngest also participated in many onboard shows (below she is in talent show and telling jokes).

Dining

One thing you always hear about with cruises is all the food. It’s true. There’s a lot of it. You can eat 24 hours a day. Some of it is good and some of it is “eh.” Our dinners were not buffet—they were in a dining room with a waiter and assistant waiter. We also had a head waiter. The food was just ok. Every steak I ordered was tough. I ordered pork medallions one night and they were really dry and overcooked. The wait staff was very nice and polite but they were not what you’d find in a fine restaurant. Our glasses were frequently empty and sometimes we all had menus and sometimes we didn’t. It was very hit or miss. There is a fancier restaurant you could go to but it had a surcharge (I think about 25/person) and I wasn’t convinced it would be that much better given the regular restaurant. Plus, I already spent a bundle—why should I spend more?

A few different nights the wait staff (and there’s a LOT of them) would march through the whole dining room clapping. They called it a parade. They said they were doing it for us. I have no idea why they did this. It was one step away from the annoying happy birthday songs at any of your Chilis, Applebees, or TGIFriday chains. In my opinion: Royal Caribbean, nix the dining room parades.

If you order a bottle of wine they mark it as yours and cork it for another night if you don’t finish it—which is cool. On the second night my husband went to drink his wine and noticed a small bug doing the backstroke in his glass. He pointed it out to the waiter and he said he’d replace the glass. He assured my husband the bug was from the glass and not the bottle. How did he know that? I think they should have replaced the bottle.

Guest Services

There is always a huge freakin’ line at Guest Services. I’m thinking it’s because they never answer their damned phone. I have to be honest—that was really REALLY annoying. I hated that they didn’t answer the phone and I hated that I had to wait in giant line (for at least 20 minutes sometimes) just to ask a question. If you asked anyone on the floor about an issue they would automatically say, “you need to go to guest services.” Not for nuthin’-- Disney would never do that. Any employee at Disney would help you find the answer. They never push you to someone else or say, “that’s not my department.”

Weather

Unfortunately, just because you’re going to the Bahamas doesn’t mean you’ll have nice weather. The first two days we traveled were REALLY cold. NY was cold and add an Ocean breeze and you will be staying indoors. Which, on a cruise, doesn’t work for me. The only adult activity that is indoors is drinking or casino. So that kind of sucked. My kids had a lot of fun and me and the husband were actually pretty bored. Had the weather been nicer, we could have sat in the Solarium (adult only pool/spa area) and relaxed. There were very few indoor spaces to sit and relax too. Once we arrived in the Bahamas we found out that late in the evening we were expecting some pretty rough weather. They tied down the ship with extra ropes. A Carnival ship actually had significant damage when their ropes snapped and got tangled in their propellers. The ship crashed into the pier and caused damage to both the pier and ship. We were unable to go to our next port of call and stayed in Nassau. I had imagined Nassau would be nicer for some reason. We took the kids to the public beach. I was very uncomfortable there—constantly swarmed asking if I wanted my girl’s hair braided (that would be total punishment in my girl’s eyes!). Did I want a lounge chair. And then a 6 year old boy asked me if I wanted a drink—a Bahama mama. The wave runners were zipping right past swimmers. We didn’t stay long.

Because of the lousy weather, all the excursions we had booked (like snorkeling and kayaking) were cancelled. I did manage to score a couple of tickets to the Atlantis Aquarium for my daughter and I. It was the biggest aquarium I have ever seen. Really impressive.

The Skinny on Tips

At the end of the week they lay out a chart of how much you should tip. It’s a lot. They have you tip the waiter, head waiter, and assistant waiter as well as your stateroom attendant. Not that I wouldn’t tip these people anyway, but, my chart said I should tip 12/day per person in our party. We are a party of 5. We stayed 7 nights. Can you figure that out in your head or do you want me to do the math? That’s about $420. I did not like the idea of tipping the head waiter (who does NOTHING but come by your table once or twice in the week and smiles asking you how you are doing). If she is a manager/boss, she should not be tipped. Do you tip the owner of a restaurant? The owner of a beauty salon? Never. To be honest, the one group I felt deserved a tip were the counselors who had my kids all week. I did tip them even though they were not included. (I tipped the others—but I just grumbled about it more).

I will say though—it appears that these people never sleep. They work all day long. I mean, ALL DAY LONG. It’s incredible.

Shows

They had shows pretty much every night. We didn’t get tickets to the ice show and I heard it was good. It’s first come first served on tickets and I’m too much of a brat to wait on a long line for tickets. We did go to the other shows that were in the large theater and they were really very good. They were always at 9 and the kids needed to be picked up at 10. Husband and I would go to a show and watch it in peace. It was pretty nice that way.

Would I Cruise Again?

I think mainly the weather ruined our trip and so I don’t think it’s totally fair for me to judge it because of how things went. I especially hated the ship rocking from side to side and front to back. It rocked so much they drained the pools. Can you imagine the force of the ocean rocking a ship this large? In our staterooms you could hear the hangers banging in the closets and the ship would make the most bizarre noises and shakes. The walls and windows would creak from the wind outside. My two youngest kids were very upset when the weather was at its worst. When all that’s going on I just dare ya not to think of The Perfect Storm.

I hated being so isolated. I hated that I couldn’t get on the internet (without paying insane fees) or text my family on the ship. We had “lost” my middle son (who is 8) for a short period and it was really difficult to try and find him without being able to communicate. (I was about 2 minutes from hysterical blindness during this ordeal). I found out later that Max had gone to the room to find us. The stateroom attendant did not let him in the room and told him to go to guest services. Now, my son is 8 years old. Our room was on deck 10 forward and the guest services desk was deck 5 aft. Most adults took a week to master getting around the ship. It was a lot to ask of an 8 year old on the first day of sailing. In my opinion the stateroom attendant should have called down to guest services or brought Max there. Luckily, Max wandered back and forth on deck 5 and I happened to see him. I had nightmares for the rest of the week.

Honestly I just don’t know if I would do it again. I’m not saying definitely not—but it will be a while before I book another. I would do it differently. I would only travel in Spring so I could be more sure of better weather and I’d go farther south than the Bahamas.

Got Parchment?

2011-11-18T20:50:00.001-05:00

Several years ago my sister in law and I were talking about cooking. I told her about a new recipe and she sighed saying, “I’m so sick of cooking dinner.” I was shocked. I liked cooking and thought she did too. What was the problem?

The problem was three kids and a husband and the day in/day out cooking for them. Now I am her.. I’ve got three kids and a husband and after 20 years I’ll be honest: I’m sick of cooking for them. But.. I can’t afford a full time chef. Honestly, if I could, I think I’d rather have the full-time nanny. Or maybe the full-time house keeper. I digress…

I found this recipe, Chicken with Broccoli and Cheese, recently on the blog No Pot Cooking by my friend Brette Sember. (I swear, she’s my friend). I have a few picky eaters (who doesn’t?) but the three main ingredients were ones they’d all eat. It looked really simple to prepare and almost no clean up. COOL. I made the dish and my kids ate so much that I actually ran OUT. My daughter Annabelle was yelling, “more broccoli please!”

What could I do? I bought her cookbook, The Parchment Paper Cookbook: 180 Healthy, Fast, Delicious Dishes! The first one I tried was Chicken Dijon. I LOVE Dijon, je suis française you know. The Greek chicken recipe was also great. But the most recent favorite is the cheese and artichoke stuffed chicken.

What I like about the packets is that I can customize them. Someone doesn’t like broccoli? Eliminate it from their packet. Someone like extra cheese? No problem.

When Annabelle sees me take out the parchment paper she literally claps and says, “OH!!! You’re cooking with those little packages again!” She even likes to help me and has mastered the technique for folding the parchment paper.

I bought a copy for my mom and she called me saying, “Oh it’s so delicious I just went to BJs and bought more parchment paper!”

If you want to able to whip up healthy meals that taste great and leave no mess behind, get this book. Seriously. Get the book. Go now. Why are you still here? You should be on amazon clicking the “submit order” button.

Christmas Ornaments

2011-11-18T19:57:00.001-05:00

I would call them “holiday” but let’s face it—these are Christmas ornaments. Anyway, the kids have had 1/2 days most of this week (it’s why I have that nervous tick again) and I’m desperate to keep them busy. Today I said, “You want to do a craft?” and Annabelle and her friend Emily started screaming, “ yes!” Max’s interest was piqued from all the fuss and he did one too.

Supplies

Ornaments--I bought the glass ones from Michael’s (which are on sale this week). They have newer ones that are plastic (so they won’t shatter). They’re pricier though so I opted for glass.
Fine glitter--I also bought this at Michaels. They had a collection of 4 tubes by Recollections that had some really pretty colors in them. You can buy large bottles but you really don’t use that much. I went with small tubes and more colors.) Michael’s has a nice coupon this weekend and you can get it here.
Liquid Floor wax—I bought this at Walmart. I couldn’t find it anywhere else.
Paper plates
Yogurt tops—I have my kids save the yogurt lids from YoCrunch Yogurt. These little tops are AWESOME for beading but they’re also great for crafts in general.

Directions

1. Take the tops off the ornaments. Pour small amount of floor wax in one of the ornaments. Swirl it around so that you have the whole ornament covered. What I did was pour the excess from the ornament into the next one, and so on. You use VERY little of the floor wax.
2. Put ornaments in the yogurt lids. It just helps to keep it from rolling away. Pour a little glitter in the ornament. The recollection tubes were great because we could pour directly from the tube. Otherwise, you’ll need a funnel.
3. Cover the top of the ornament and shake. Pour excess glitter back into the yogurt cup so you can reuse it later.
4. Put top back in the ornament and wait for it to dry (takes no time for it to dry). All in all this craft didn’t take long, wasn’t that costly, didn’t cause too many heart rate spikes for me, and was not that big of a deal to clean up.

I Cancelled TV Service

2011-09-24T17:37:00.001-04:00

Yes, I cancelled my satellite service. Everywhere grandparents are applauding me and saying what a good mother I am because, clearly, there is too much violence and sex on TV. Hopefully, they won’t read the rest of this post.

My action was not a platform for not watching TV (although I think most kids watch too much—but not my point). This summer, judging by other mother’s reactions when I tell them, I had a radical policy of “no screens” from 10am to after dinner. No computer, no iPods, no TV, no DS, no screen of ANY kind. Get up, move your body, DO something. But again, this isn’t about that.

Our satellite TV service cost us 77/month (and we don’t even have anything fancy). We also have TiVo (which I prefer over any bundled DVR program). That was $25 for the two TiVo boxes. In addition to satellite and TiVo, we have ROKU and Apple TV. I can’t decide which I like better. Each does really cool stuff. Each are about 100/each and afterward there is no service fees. Buy it and it works using your internet connection. You can stream Netflix, HuluPlus, Pandora (MY FAVE) and others. (Psst—NO COMMERCIALS). Satellite TV just seemed redundant and WAY freakin’ expensive. In addition, I would have to pay more and get a pricier box to get TV in HD. With Roku and AppleTV I get HD automatically.

A nice benefit to Apple TV is that I can quickly and easily play movies that I own on iTunes. NO MORE DISCS!! I am convinced that DVDs are are like VHS. They won’t be around much longer. We can also rent movies instantly using ROKU and Apple TV for our weekly Friday Night Movie Night with the kids. Most are from $1.99 to as much as $4. No going to a video store (we don’t have any). No late fees. No effort really other than pressing a button.

I realized after Irene (the storm that rocked the east coast recently) that my kids NEVER watch regular TV. We didn’t have power for a while after the storm and that was annoying. We didn’t have internet and that ROCKED their worlds. When my husband hooked the TV up to the generator and we still had satellite service they complained, “Where’s Netflix??!” I pointed at the moving pictures on the screen and said, “Look! TV!” and they left in disgust. No internet meant no Netflix.

So why was I spending money for all this service that no one was using? I also mostly watch Netflix and Amazon. Amazon also streams movies and I’m a prime member so I get quite a few free.

The bottom line is that I cancelled service 2 days ago and NO ONE has said a thing. It’s my little experiment.. let’s see how long it takes before one of the kids notices.

I’ve Been Feeling a Little Tired

2011-07-05T19:04:00.001-04:00

Last November I complained to my doctor about my sinus headaches. They were getting more frequent and more intense. Having already had surgery on my sinuses to alleviate headaches, this annoyed me in more ways than one. I went to an ENT and he did a full blood workup (and other brain scans). Everything came back fine but he did look at me and say, “You know, you’re quite anemic.” And this is how the whole story starts….

After months of taking iron supplements I had another blood test. My doctor’s office calls me and said, “You’re so low you need a blood transfusion right away. This is dangerous. You should also have an EKG. Don’t waste time—go to the ER now.”

I’ve had a blood transfusion before—after my last c-section. I had lost a lot of blood. It was unfortunate but it made sense to me. Why would I need a blood transfusion now? I’m just sitting here at the computer.

Long story short I take my blood work to the ER a few times asking for blood transfusion (please sir, can I have some more blood?) and both times they turn me away saying that while my blood level was “borderline critical” I was not a case for the ER. I was a case for a hematologist. They said, “giving you blood would just be a band aid approach.”

I need someone to explain to me what an ER does exactly. I could have SWORN they were awesome with band aids.

By sheer luck, I get in to see a hematologist the very next day. They do a cbc in the office and says, “Wow.. you’re really anemic. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re coming here tomorrow and getting an infusion of iron. In a week you’ll feel better. In two weeks you’re going to feel great.” This was the magic bullet. The iron would have my body cranking out red blood cells like money shooting out of a winning slot machine.

A week after the iron I get another cbc. Doc comes in and says, “What are you doing with your blood? How are you more anemic than before I gave you the iron?” I want you to see a gastric disease specialist ASAP and get scoped.

Me, “What are you trying to rule out? You should just tell me.”

Doctor, “Colon cancer.”

Me, “Wouldn’t I be sick? I have no symptoms at all.” He shook his head, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “No. Many times people with colon cancer present with anemia first.”

Lesson learned: don’t ask what you really don’t want to know.

Another week passes and still no improvement in my red blood count and my white count is also low. My iron stores are up but I’m not making blood. Hematologist says, “We need to do a bone marrow biopsy. You up for that today?”

I have a semi-serious needle phobia. My brain went on hyper drive and kept saying, “Get the hell out of here NOW.” But I nodded yes and was prepped. I knew that if I left that room I would NEVER be back.

They rolled me to my side and marked my back with a pen. They draped my back and then cleaned the area with betadine solution. I tuned him and his nurse out as they worked on me. The only things that stand out is when he would say, “this is going to feel a little strange..” and “we’re half-way done…” He asked me what I had planned for the weekend and it reminded me of when my husband was talking to me while I was in labor. I was unable to answer and all I could think was, “Seriously? You’re talking to me now? Are you freaking kidding me?”

When he was done he leaned over my side and showed me the giant needle he had just had submerged in my back. He said, “I can’t believe you never said a word. I had this entire thing in there…” and smiled.

Twisted motherfker.

I regarded the needle and noticed that my foot was perfectly positioned to kick him in the face. I could easily break his nose. He has no idea how lucky he is that I was still paralyzed from fear.

Today I met with my gastric disease specialist. This time, I brought my husband with me.

The nurse practitioner reviewed my medical history, checked my paperwork, examined me and then said, "it could be Celiac's." I said, "I've been tested many times... I don't have Celiac’s.." and she said it could have been false negative. Really? Several tests that say it’s not Celiac’s could be wrong but I should trust the ONE test they’ll do? At this point, I feel like I’m done with her. She talked too much and annoyed me. So I say, "am I seeing the doctor?" She said, "Yep, he'll be here eventually."

She decides I need an upper endoscopy to rule out Celiac’s (That’s it, I’ve decided she gets commission for Celiac’s diagnoses) and leaves to get the doctor. I hear them in the hallway discussing me and my probable Celiac’s.

Doc walks in perfectly coiffed and quite tan. His teeth? Freshly whitened for sure. He sits down in a chair and slouches much like a teen caught smoking waiting to see the principal. He says, "You’re probably anemic because of your menses. Did you talk to your gynecologist?"

First of all, grandpa, no one says MENSES. I haven’t heard that since we all giggled at our 7th grade gym teacher trying to explain about how our bodies were changing. Second, yes, the gyn angle has been investigated and “cleared.” The gastric dude says, “I respectfully disagree. We see this all the time. It’s your menses. You need a second opinion.”

So, the gastric dude is also a gyn. Awesome! One stop shopping!

Then he shrugs and says, "I'll do the tests.. upper endoscopy and a colonoscopy. We’ll check for Celiac’s…" I ask when it should be done and he says, "Whenever.. no rush."

Now go get a paper and pen because I’m just SURE you all want his name and contact info…

Don't Call Me Mom

2011-04-22T18:10:00.001-04:00

I’m at the ER a lot. I have three kids; two are active boys. I was recently there with my 5 year old son Max. He had fallen and the back of his head required several staples. Finally in the treatment area the male physicians assistant said, “So what happened Mom?” I looked around for the man’s mother. Apparently he was talking to me. Didn’t he have my son’s chart in front of him? Couldn’t he take a glance and attempt Mrs. Jalajas? No, instead a man I’ve never met, my age or older, called me Mom. I did not warrant a name—Mom was good enough. I was focused on my son’s bleeding scalp at the time so I let it slide.

When people meet me I am instantly clumped into a group of women called Mom. What were you before you had children? Actually, don’t answer that because it doesn’t matter. Moms have been pulled, mashed, and twisted like the multicolored Play-doh on the kitchen table. After a while, all those new bright happy colors have turned to dried out lifeless grey-brown ready for the trash.

While the title of Mom is not a put-down, it doesn’t have the same respect as being CEO, CIO, or C-anything. To be the chief gives you a lot of respect. I am the chief in this family and yet—where’s the love? While a baby smiles simply because you’re their mommy, children get older and let you know how much you disappoint them.

I have three children, I hoped for, dreamed about, and wanted all three. No one was a surprise or accident—I wanted very much to be a Mother. But there are times that hearing, “Maaaaameeeee” from across the yard or through the house can get my blood boiling. It’s usually followed with; he hit me… or, took my toy or is touching me, or is copying me. I love being the mother of these beautiful children. Every day I work hard to make their childhood filled with good memories. But rarely are my intentions noticed or met with gratitude. In fact, if you’re looking at motherhood as a way to experience unconditional love, I suggest you get a dog instead.

Being a mom is more than feeding, cleaning, clothing children and keeping them safe. It’s all about your interests, your needs, your desires being put on the far back shelf in an effort to meet the needs of your child(ren). Once you become a mother you see how unimportant you are and how what you want really just doesn’t matter. When you’re the mom it’s a cold hard fact that you’re the end of the line. Baby won’t sleep? Guess you’re not either. Child threw up all over your bed at 3am? Looks like you’ve got work to do. Someone missed the bus and it’s snowing out? Get your boots on. Did you want to do something today like work or meet up with a friend for lunch? Well, the school called and your child has 102° fever, come and get him.

I went from Claudine McCormack to Claudine Jalajas to Luc’s (or Max’s or Annabelle’s) Mom. I’m okay with all of these transitions—so long as everyone knows that I’m still in here. Society has deemed me the person who will know which diaper or paper towel is most absorbent, what detergent will get my whites whitest, and what fabric softener will keep my clothes smelling fresh days after they’ve left the dryer. I know where the socks are, I know where the other shoe is (trust me, it’s under the couch) my powers for finding that one elusive Lego are unmatched, and apparently I’m the only one who knows how to put the toys away. I swore I’d never be one of “those” and yet here I go driving my kid to lacrosse practice in my minivan.

I am constantly interrupted. Constantly. I cannot speak, I cannot think, I cannot read, I cannot listen, I cannot talk, without someone saying, “Mommy Mommy Mommy….” From the moment I wake up until the moment they are all finally asleep, I will be interrupted. I threaten, “unless someone is bleeding or seriously hurt, do not interrupt me when I am on this phone!” My eye begins to twitch and my heart rate instantly starts to soar the moment the phone rings or at the very thought of having to make a call. At what critical point will one of my children want a drink, help in the bathroom, spill their juice behind the couch, decide to fly, or need stitches?

The university degrees I worked for and the career I have nurtured and built over the past 15 years mean nothing. I have a BS in accounting and technical communications from a stellar school. I have a master’s degree in fine arts from a fantastic writing program. For the past 15 years I have successfully run a small home based business from my home. Many years of networking, maintaining those connections, and my work ethic have allowed me to maintain a decent client roster. Last year one of the other moms at the bus stop told me that once my youngest started preschool I could apply for a job in the cafeteria. The hours were good and you’re off when the kids are off. This woman saw the kids running around my legs and thought I would aspire to work in the cafeteria.

I went from being the person who entered a client’s conference room, considered a person who knew stuff—important stuff—to someone that might consider cafeteria employment. It’s not completely her fault; I haven’t slept in years and my eyes look vapid. I know what clients are thinking when I meet them for the first time, “Can she handle this? Will the kids be an issue?”

If you don’t think being a mom alters what the corporate world thinks of women freelance consultants you’re wrong. I met with a potential new client last year and the meeting went very well. I had secured the deal and was pleased. At the end of the meeting the client and I walked casually towards the elevator and he said that he may be out for a bit because his wife was expecting and due any day. I congratulated him and he said with a large sigh, “Yeah, our third.. don’t know how we’re going to do it.” I laughed and said, “I have three. You’ll figure it out.” Later that afternoon I received a call from my connection chastising me for talking about my children. The client was worried about how I was going to handle the project when clearly; I had a lot on my plate. Why was it ok for the Dad to admit to three children but taboo for me? Because I’m the mommy—and lets face it, we all know that mommy is the one doing all the work.

I went to visit with my son’s preschool teacher for parent/teacher conferences. She pulled out the large binder, which held all my son’s important works from the beginning of school. She turned each page and said; “See how nicely he’s writing his name now?” I smiled in appreciation for all her hard work. Page turned and there was an exercise where he had to finish a sentence. “If I went to the moon I would take along my mommy.”

For me the name mom is reserved for those whom I gave life. It’s a powerful name that should be treated with respect. Every once in a while my husband will look at me in awe and ask, “How do you do it all?” and with a flick of my red cape I reply simply, “I’m Mommy.”

Marital Advice

2011-04-11T10:20:00.001-04:00

I am the only girl with three brothers. Was there a double standard in my home? Well, I was not allowed to go to the prom (or is it “go to prom” I always get confused by this) and all three of my brothers did. My mother would not allow me to even have phone calls with boys while I was in high school. In fact, one boy got my number from a friend and called me one night. She was furious and accused me of handing out my number to boys. I swore I had no idea how he got it but I was punished anyway (and made sure to thank my friend at school the next morning).

Once I started driving she would not let me drive with shorts on. “What if you break down on the side of the road?” When I came home from college I was annoyed to find that she had thrown away all my ripped-up Levis. “I don’t like it that you wear those.. people can see your flesh.” But when I was in college and started bringing home boyfriends she said very little. In general her advice on men, dating, or marriage, were in the form of quips.

“I’d rather see you with a drunk than a jealous man.”

I dated a jealous man. She’s right. They’re trouble.

“I’d rather cry in a BMW than a Volkswagen.”

Let’s face it—marriage can sometimes be.. umm.. difficult. You’re gonna cry. May as well be comfortable when you’re doing it. Money isn’t the key to a good marriage but the lack of it doesn’t make it better either.

I learned, very young, that it was best to keep my mother on a need-to-know basis. My husband is 10 1/2 years older than me. I was 22 when I met him. I came home from work deciding I would tell my mother about the man I was now dating. She was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes. I said, “… he’s a little bit older than me.” She said, without looking up, “how much older?” I said, “he’s 32.” (assuming she’d do the math on her own). She continued to wash the plate in front of her and said, “Is he married?”

“No.”

“Has he ever been married?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

She rinsed the dish and began washing the next one. Even though she never commented directly on my boyfriends, and I have a reputation for doing whatever I want anyway, I walked away relieved that she was okay with the age difference.

One year later, on a very snowy day in April, I married him. And 19 years later, depending on the day, I’d say I’d marry him again. My mother was right—while there have been a few tears here and there, I’ve always had very nice cars to do it in.

Overwhelmed

2011-03-10T18:26:00.001-05:00

My son Duke had to have a procedure done today to look for, or rule out, problems. It’s not a life-threatening condition, but the potential is there for life-altering. I feel a little guilty saying this, but of my three children, it’s good it’s my eldest going through it. The other two would never handle it as well.

The procedure was done at the Stony Brook University Pediatric Oncology center. I don’t think we need to consult a psychologist about why I drove to the wrong building. I was very uncomfortable entering a building that said CANCER CENTER on top of it. It’s a really nice facility. But I couldn’t help feeling a little sick to my stomach when I had to go the large glass doors that said “Pediatric Oncology.” The area was full of pamphlets I never, ever, want to have to read. I know it sounds very Pollyanna of me, but, we shouldn’t need places like this. Kids shouldn’t have to go through cancer.

We were the first to arrive. Duke was told he could pick any recliner he wanted to sit in. He was immediately given the remote to the small flat screen TV above him. The nurse explained what she was going to do to him. She would give him an IV. He would get a variety of drugs to take. Every 30 minutes they would come, open the lock on the IV, draw several vials of blood, then refresh the IV with heparin. (Heparin is used to keep the blood from clotting up in the IV). Every 30 minutes they tested his sugar level since he was not allowed anything to eat or drink from the night before.

The first attempt at getting the IV in didn’t go well. The vein “blew” and so it was no longer good. She removed the needle and stuck him again. I squirmed in my seat. Another nurse came over to assist and then they had to try the other arm. By this point I could feel a rush to my head from the stress of this—I am NOT good with needles. Duke remained stoic. Finally there was success and when the blood started flooding out of his arm Duke smiled and said, “cool.” I turned my head and crossed my legs even tighter.

As expected, his blood pressure and sugar levels started to drop. The nurse assured me his sugar level was fine. After a while though, she said, “did anyone mention Sprite Zero to you?” I was wondering if this was some new drink she wanted me to try and asked, “Anyone who?” She said it was the ONLY drink he would be allowed to drink. If his blood sugar dropped any lower he would have to have some. I said “okay” and then she said, “but I don’t have any here.. so you’ll need to go down to the café and buy some.”

No problem. I got up and went down to the café to buy the bottle. The café did not carry the special drink. They carried something like it but not the one they mentioned. I bought it anyway. When I got back they shook their heads and said “no.” I had to get the right drink. They thought maybe the hospital had it next door. So they called for me but they didn’t have it either. Now we were looking at having to drive to a store and search for it… which could take about 45 minutes to an hour round trip if the first store actually carried it.

The first time they checked he was 120 but then his sugar was dropping by about 20 points every time they checked. She said 40 would not be good and now we were at 60. So I got ready to start cruising for the @#$%! drink while they drew more blood. The nurse put the vial in the meter and it came up 20. She said, “No wait.. it must have saline in it.. that can’t be right” and drew more blood (this made me feel oh-so-confident). This time his sugar was back up to 85. I sat back down—relieved.

I was annoyed. Why didn’t they bother to tell me about Sprite Zero before I arrived? I would have brought a damned 6 pack of it and told them to keep it for the next kid. One other thing bothered me. They had a large sign that said, “No Whining.” Normally—I’m right there with you. Whining SUCKS. But.. these are kids getting chemo treatments. If anyone’s entitled to whine—I think it’s them.

About that time a young girl came in. She was there for her chemo treatment. She walked in like it was her living room. I heard the nurses asking about nausea, sleep, diet, and the girl answered as if she was telling her how her cold was doing. They were discussing her cancer treatment and it was all very casual.

It was time for the final round of blood draws on my son when another boy came in for chemo—not much older than Duke. The nurses asked, “Mom’s not here with you today?” He just flatly said, “nah.” Then they asked, “you alone?” and he said yes. I immediately wanted to go ask this boy if I could buy him a car.

On the way out, we stood waiting for the elevator. He’s 13. He’s not crazy about hugs and kisses—especially in public. But I couldn’t help myself and reached over and put my arm around his neck in a mocking headlock, pulled him towards me and kissed the top of his head. I let my arm go loose but he didn’t pull away.

It was an overwhelming experience today. While indeed a nice facility, I hope I never see it again.

Section 8 Nightmare Continued

2010-11-04T21:36:00.001-04:00

Rocky Point is a very nice town on the north shore of Eastern Long Island. We are walking distance to the Long Island Sound. The area I live in is the oldest part of the town. Most of the homes were beach bungalows eventually converted to year-round winterized homes. Our home was built in the early 20s. What is now our living room was the entire house. My neighborhood is a modest neighborhood. There are no McMansions. However, it’s a nice street with nice homes and nice people. The roads are skinny and hilly and perfect for families. Your kids can ride their bikes or scooters and even go out of eyesight. It’s completely safe here. When we were ready to buy a home I completely fell in love.

I was so happy when we bought our house. Yes, it needed work. Yes, we put a tremendous amount of money into it. But everyday I would pull up to our house and breathe a sigh of relief. We had a home. A nice home. A home that I loved and cared about. Our children had a place they could grow up in and feel secure. It felt good to drive up and look to my left and see our place. (Photo below shows corner of my house, patio, and garage up on hill.)

Well, when you look to the left you see our place. (I admit, it looks best when everything is in bloom, leaves are picked up, and it’s not raining)

But if you look to your right, you’ll see this place.

I have spent hours in my yard. When we bought our house there was a collapsed retaining wall and nothing but weeds for grass in the yard. Now there are lots of flowers, border plants, shrubs, and for the first time in six years we had a real lawn.

There is one bad house on the 1500 feet that make up our road. Unfortunately, it’s directly across the street from ME. When I look out my very large and pretty front window—this is what I look at. Which is why I have covered up my big window with drapes instead of leaving it wide open (the way I’d prefer).

Now, I’m not complaining solely because of how the house looks. Yes, that sucks, but the part that really gets to me is all the activity. I would say that the house is about 400 square feet. I’m not completely sure how many are living in it, but there are times I’ve seen as many as 10 come out of the house (usually when the police arrive they all come out of the house and sit along the porch.)

This summer there were frequent fights among the people who lived in the house. They would arrive at my other neighbor’s house, in the wee hours, sometimes several times in one night, sometimes bloody, asking him to call the police. There was a woman living in the attic (which has 6 feet of ceiling clearance and holes to the outside allowing raccoons and squirrels in) with her TWO young (under the age of 5) children. Another woman was taken away because she was wanted for trafficking drugs (that one scared me. She was really feisty and often was the one making the MEN bloody).

Nearly every other day this is what it looked like outside my white picket fence.

I had a suspicion there was drug dealing going on from the house. I wasn’t positive, but I had a feeling. It’s just that, whenever they had company, the people would stay in their cars in the street. The people inside instinctively ran out, leaned in the window for a minute or two, and then their company would drive away.

After 2 years of calling the Community of Economic Development (people responsible for footing the rent) someone finally took interest in the house. My contact there said, “Well, the house is in violation and the person who is supposed to be receiving the benefit doesn’t live there so we’re removing them from the program. I hate to tell you this—but it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

I listened to my answer machine again. Did I hear this man correctly? The person who is supposed to be receiving the benefits ISN’T LIVING THERE?? This is the same crew for the last 5 years. Isn’t this called FRAUD? Does ANYONE care about this?

I called my town again and asked the woman on the phone, “if I write a letter, would it make a difference?” She said, “I doubt it.” I didn’t listen to her and wrote an email to Mark Lesko, the town supervisor. Within a few hours I had a response and they started to investigate the house within days. The landlord lives in Florida. He faces 4 misdemeanors (so far) and had a court date in October (which he blew off). He has a new court date for November and a “failure to appear.” Think he’ll show next week? Yeah, me neither.

As they no longer are getting free rent and heating oil I assumed they’d move out unable to pay the rent. They have not. In fact, there’s more drive-up company now than a burger king drive-thru window.

I called 911 the other night. No one showed up. I called the next morning and asked why no one came. The desk officer assured me that EVERY 911 call was answered. Several minutes pass and she says that there is no record of the call and no record of anyone being dispatched. Then she had the nerve to say, “I urge you to let us handle this.” I laughed and said, “I’d love it if you would.”

People have asked me how I put up with it. I put up with it because I keep hoping that someone with authority will care. The police say, “we can’t just go kicking in doors.” They don’t really need to kick in doors if they just sat on the street at night and watched. The town says they can’t evict a tenant if the landlord isn’t filing for eviction. They can’t force a landlord to appear in court. Here are the people either I have talked to (or friends of mine have reached out to) over the past 3 years with regards to this house:

Suffolk County Police (just about every division and task force)
HEAD of Suffolk County Drug Enforcement Task Force
Suffolk County ADA
7th Precinct Suffolk Police
Town of Brookhaven Supervisor
Town of Brookhaven Legal Department
Town of Brookhaven Code Enforcement
Town of Brookhaven Building Code Department
Town of Brookhaven Fire Marshall

People ask me why I don’t just move. Let me ask you this—do you REALLY think I could sell this house when THIS is what is going on across the street from me? Really?

Technorati Tags: section 8,absentee landlords,drug dealers,town of brookhaven,suffolk county

Section 8—When It Doesn’t Work

2010-11-03T22:40:00.001-04:00

I have a section 8 home on my block. In fact, it’s directly across the street from me. If you know me, even the slightest bit, you’ve heard me complain about “the blue house.” If you don’t have a section 8 home on your block (or right across the street so every time you look out ANY of your windows you see this damned eyesore) you likely think it’s a great idea. See, someone’s down on their luck (and in this economy who isn’t?) and gets assistance (actually, a free ride) to rent a home or apartment. I am not against people getting assistance. I grew up with parents who worked their butts off and struggled (I mean, really struggled) to put food on the table, good clothes on our backs, and never letting anyone know how difficult it all was. I get it. Sometimes people need help. I’m good with that.

Here’s my problem: absentee landlords.

About 6 years ago the owner of the blue house decided he’d cash in on a booming real estate market. He kicked the family who was renting out (I miss them dearly). The for sale sign was planted and every once in a while people would pull up and look in the windows. But the market began to fall. Months passed and the house remained empty, the for sale sign fell over, and eventually it was thrown in the trash.

Another year passed and a dumpster arrived in the driveway of the blue house. I was filled with such hope—did someone buy it? Were they renovating? No one wants an empty house on their block. This is great news!! (I was an ass.. I would kill for an empty house). The house is small but honestly could be such a cute little bungalow if someone fixed it up. (Right now I’d like to see it as a pile of smoldering ash.) A man came for a couple days and appeared to be working on the house. He threw his trash in the dumpster.

Eventually a new family moved in; a man, woman, and young teenage daughter.

The man, Matt, had a scrap metal business. What I mean is—do you remember Sanford and Son? He drove around the neighborhood in a piece of crap pickup truck and found whatever metal he could throw in there. Apparently there’s money in this. He even had 3 dilapidated metal RVs in the backyard for MONTHS as they slowly pealed pieces of metal and brought it to the scrap yard. I hated seeing the RVs. I really did. I giggled when the backend of the pickup truck would be dragging across the road because it was full of washers and dryers. We watched the shows from the safety of our living room—what was Matt doing now? Oh look—he’s towing a car which is towing a car. No, it wasn’t what I looked for in a “view” but the guy was working and I have to respect that.

About 9 months after the dumpster arrived the smell became unbearable—like and open cesspool. It had been collecting trash, rain, snow, for months. Once the Spring came and things thawed, standing at the bus stop with my son was horrid. Other families refused to walk by it to bring their kids to the stop. They said, “if I were you, I’d move! I’d complain! This is crazy! How do you handle it!” A dumpster is pretty expensive per day and no-one was coming to pick it up. The tenant said that the landlord didn’t pay the bill. The dumpster company said they wouldn’t pick it up until the bill was paid. I called the town. They said they could not intervene unless the trash was spilling onto the ground (of course it was). The town said they’d tried to contact the landlord but he would not respond. Finally, she said for me to contact the dumpster company again. I did. THEY said that if they picked up the dumpster, they’d first empty it on the driveway because the landlord had not paid. I begged them not to do this and for some reason they took pity on me and took the dumpster away. It took weeks of rain to wash away the disgusting water smell and film it put on the roadway that poured from the back of the dumpster as they loaded it up onto the truck.

I got to know the family a little when the teenage daughter would come home from school to find herself locked out. I would see her sitting on the porch—waiting. I would see her there until 9pm and later waiting. Eventually she’d be at my door, crossing her legs, doing a dance, and begging, “Can I please use your bathroom? I have to go really bad.” I felt guilty but worried that she was casing the house. These little visits only occurred when my husband wasn’t home and I was home with a newborn, toddler, and 7 year old.

One fall night she said she was cold too so I gave her a sweatshirt. I didn’t want this girl in my house. I didn’t REALLY know these people and now my impression was that they were scum. How could this girl come home from school and day after day just SIT on a front stoop waiting for her parents. I called authorities but apparently there was nothing anyone could do. She was a teenager and parents worked. They “forgot” to give her a key.

We found out, over time, that Matt and his wife fought a lot and drank a lot. Paramedics and police were at the house several times a week. Usually they took the wife, who was completely bombed, away on a stretcher. At first seeing the bouncing red lights coming through my windows at night caused us to jump out of bed to see what was going on. Eventually it was so commonplace I didn’t even flinch. I also became very good at knowing the sound of a police cruiser coming down the side street. (Police have a distinctive manner of driving.. they are heavy on the gas pedal).

Matt used to yell things to us when we were in the yard—about the house and landlord. I work in the garden a lot and he took that as an invitation to talk. He told us that a large branch had broken through the roof but he wouldn’t fix it. He said, “I told him I’d fix it but he won’t give me the money for it.” Then he said, “You know, he gets $1600 a month for this place from the county.”

Ohhh really??? The county would NEVER tell you if a house was indeed a section 8 house. But now I knew because Matt flat out told me so. So I began making calls, writing letters, doing research. Is this legal? Can a person live several states away and just cash checks from the county without ever having to be responsible for the home? I filed official complaints with the Suffolk County judicial department.

Stay tuned.. it gets worse. See below? That lovely white picket fence is mine. It was one of the first home improvement projects we ever did to our home. My husband dug every damned hole and put 120 feet of fence in himself. Beyond it is the front yard of the blue house. This was a record that day this past August—5 police cars (some on the lawn) and the SUV (which means, the boss was there).

Technorati Tags: section 8,assisted housing,absentee landlords,slumlord

Holiday Candle Sticks An Easy Gift-Giving Project for Kids

2010-11-02T20:09:00.001-04:00

My kids and I like to make projects. Our crafts really vary by season and genre but the kids always call them projects. Over the years I’ve taught them to make gifts for the special people in our lives. Thankfully, since it’s something I like to do, they do too. We don’t have family nearby so all our handmade items need to travel well. I made cookies once for everyone. While they traveled across the many states they broke and the calls kept coming, “That was really nice of you but they’re all smashed.” Never did that again.

One of my favorite things is a pretty table. Annabelle likes a pretty table too. (Too many Fancy Nancy books I think). These items were done completely by my kids ranging in ages from 4 to 12. Here’s what you’ll need:

Small pieces of wood (about 3x3).
Bottle caps
Hot glue and gun
Various items you’ve found in nature like acorns and pine cones
Cinnamon sticks (and other items you want to add are fine. You can find some decorations pretty cheap at Michaels or other craft stores.)
Glitter
Paints (colors you like are great. We used red and green for traditional Christmas colors)

1. Paint the base of the candle stick holder and let dry. Personally, I like it to be dark brown so it blends with the acorns and pine cones but I got shot down on this idea pretty quickly. What can I say? The kids like flash.

2. The center of the base will be where you put your candle. Hot glue a bottle cap to the center.

3. Arrange your pine cones, acorns, and cinnamon sticks where you think you’d like them to go. Once you’ve settled on a plan, use the hot glue to get them to stay in place. Make sure you leave room for your candle and it’s best to not use anything that is flammable. Even if you’re using tall tapered candles, remember, eventually they burn down low.

4. My daughter liked to paint the acorns and pine cones and then cover them in glitter. My son went for a more natural approach.

5. The project is pretty simple and easy for kids to do. I think that projects should be fun. It shouldn’t look like something from the major department store. It was made with love. So it’s better anyway.

10 Favorite Things

2010-09-21T21:32:00.001-04:00

In no particular order or level of importance I will list my 10 favorite things. These are ten things that I can come up with right now on the spot. I’m sure that there are other things I like. So if I didn’t list something (someone) do not assume that I don’t consider them a big fat fave. Others have done a much better job on their blogs with this. For instance, Jen’s site (rolling my eyes—she’s a classic over achiever. It’s enough already Jen). She was inspired by two other writers, Lisa Bonchek Adams and Kathy Nolan. Read them all—they’re all very nicely done. Mine will be shorter and less-thought out.

I have a rule for this one though: no saying “my kids” or “my husband.” Listen, I love my giggling kid just as much as the next person, but it’s a lot like saying you like to breathe of your own free will. And the husband? Well, he has his moments--I’ll keep him.

1. My Keurig machine. What is it? Well, it’s freedom from thinking in the wee hours so I can get an awesome cup of coffee in a flash. I stumble out in the morning (and I have to say—I look amazing in the morning, not sure how I do it, it’s a gift) put the little cup in the thingy, put the mug under the other thingy and then press the button with the light and by the time I’ve got the creamer out of the fridge I have myself some nice coffee. It’s pretty quiet too so I can sneak to the couch and enjoy the silence.

2. Silence. No one yelling for me. No one telling me they accidentally spilled something and they’re really really sorry but they didn’t even mean it anyway because it was an accident and do I still love them because it was probably Luc’s fault anyway.

3. Emails with the subject line: Your Order Has Shipped

4. The UPS truck, UPS man, and all the packages he brings to me. My UPS man is the best. He even knows that during the Christmas season I hide the gifts in the back “guest house.” He will bring them back for me and tell me to stay inside where it’s warm. He rocks.

5. Online shopping.

6. Peapod (groceries delivered).

7. My smart phone.

8. My gas-guzzling SUV. I feel safe in it. I feel like my kids are safe in it. It’s comfortable. The stereo is pretty damned good. Of all the cars I’ve owned, and there have been a slew, this one is my favorite.

9. Twitter--my friends are there.

10. Laughing uncontrollably. You remember when you were a kid and you started to laugh really loud and you needed to stop but you just couldn’t? That’s something I really love to do. I mean the kind where I cover my face because there are tears running down my face and I don’t want anyone to see what crazy contorted look I have going on. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I just keep laughing. It doesn’t happen that often, but when it does it is absolutely cathartic.

10 Things That Annoy Me

2010-09-20T10:23:00.001-04:00

I’m told I need to limit this to ten items. This is the most difficult part of writing this post. I won’t even mention the neighbor kid down the street that causes fights with my sons, the absent landlord running a flop house on my street, or the people constantly running the stop sign on my corner. Those I will just keep to myself.

1. Doors left open on cabinets (like the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom that I never bitch about but really does make me want to scream every time I walk in there—whatevah).

2. Items removed from cabinet, used, and left on counter under cabinet (which was left open). For example, the one in kitchen that has the sugar jar. Or the one that holds the bandaids and hair brushes. Or the one that has the kid’s vitamins. Or the one with the dishes in it. Or the one with the glasses in it…

3. Clothes, on floor, beside open & empty hamper.

4. My children shouting up into the open air, “MOM!” without even bothering to look for me.

5. Children banging on bathroom door and screaming while I shower asking me if I know where someone or something is.

6. When a cashier acts completely annoyed they had to open another register and treats me like it’s pretty much all my fault.

7. When a school office administrator or banker calls my house, refers to me by my first name, and then refers to themselves with their surname. I get it—Jalajas is a bitch to say. But, I’m not 10 anymore. If you want me to call you Mr. or Mrs., show me the same courtesy.

8. Taking kids to the store. Any store. Any reason.

9. Spending an hour each day when I’m exhausted to cook a healthy meal and have my kids screw their faces, inspect it like it’s dead rat with a side of onions and ask, “What IS this?” and then want something else to eat.

10. Being interrupted.

11. (Sorry, I had to add another one). Waiting 90 seconds on the phone through a series of instructions including “this menu may have changed” to hear what button you need to press to talk to a freakin’ person.

Having a Girl

2010-09-17T11:25:00.001-04:00

About 5 years ago I was in a car accident with my two sons on the way home from their annual pediatric check up. It was a beautiful summer day. I sat at a red light. My 2 year old and 7 year old watched a movie on the DVD player in the van. While I sat, staring at the light above, I heard a loud crash and was jolted out of my trance when my body tried to go forward while the seatbelt held me back. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw a man in his Infinity SUV hanging up his cell phone. My boys were very confused and mostly annoyed about the DVD player shutting off on them. I got out of the car quickly to check on them and saw Max, the 2 year old, had a scrape across his neck from the seat belt. When I saw that scrape I became the female version of the HULK.

I turned, teeth barred, growling, hissing, and pointing my finger while I marched towards the man in his car. "What’s wrong with you? You were on your damned phone weren’t you?!” He stayed in his car and pretended not to notice the crazy lady screaming at him. Suddenly I felt a lot of pain in my lower abdomen. I was 24 weeks pregnant at the time. We spent the better part of the day and early evening at the ER while they monitored my contractions. They did a CT scan of my abdomen assuring me it was in my best interest to check for internal bleeding but I feared for my little girl growing in my belly. There was no internal bleeding, contractions stopped, and I was told that I would likely be in pain for a while.

The next 89 days remain the most painful days I’ve ever had. I had herniated several discs in my back and the bigger the baby got, the more intense the pain became. My son Max was an active 2 year old—even more than your average toddler. I was so afraid I couldn’t keep up with him that we never left the house. To this day, when I watch House, I totally get it. When you have constant pain you feel like the world is your idiot. Everything was difficult and caused me to curse—standing, sitting, attempting to walk. The pain was so intense that the OB put me on Vicodin while pregnant so I could cope. They assured me the Vicodin was safe and I was grateful for relief but it barely took the edge off—so I used it very rarely.

When I got close to 30 weeks I begged my OB to schedule an earlier C-section for me (vaginal not an option for me—it just isn’t. Don’t flame me. It is what it is.) When we got to 32 weeks they did a Fetal Lung Maturity test. While performing an ultrasound they stick a long needle in your belly looking for amniotic fluid. It’s a tricky procedure because they cannot hit the baby. (The doctor doing the procedure literally said, while sticking that needle in my belly, “If I hit the baby it will be a disaster.” I’m not sure if she found that a comfort to me). When an amnio is done in early pregnancy there’s plenty of room but not when you’re 32 weeks pregnant. The test results came back that my daughter’s lungs were not ready. If she were born she would go straight to NICU. I was devastated. My mind wanted her born healthy and safe but I needed to be rid of this pain. I just wanted her out.

Seven days later they were trying again. The nurse prepping me asked me if I was anxious to have the pregnancy over and I sighed saying, “Oh, I cannot wait.” My husband came over, smiling, and said, “I haven’t heard you say that before. I was kind of worried.” Confused I asked him what he was talking about. Haven’t I bitched every single day about how much pain I was in? He said, “I’m glad you’re so excited about having a girl. I heard you tell the nurse you couldn’t wait.” I smiled back but didn’t have the courage to tell him he misunderstood.

While they performed the second, and more painful, Fetal Lung Maturity test I went into labor and they whisked me into the OR for an emergency c-section. When Annabelle entered this world she screamed her head off. I closed my eyes and then smiled when a nurse said, “Wow! Listen to THOSE lungs!”

When they told me I was having a girl I worried. Boys are easy for me. I am an only girl with 3 brothers. I grew up hearing my mother complain, “I’d rather raise another 3 boys than a girl again.” Personally, I don’t know what she was talking about, I was a pure delight. But I’ve been most comfortable with boys. I can talk about money, techy things, and cars—and men make me laugh. Between you, me, and the lamppost, I may have married my husband because he was the funniest guy I had met.

Annabelle has started kindergarten this year. I’ve never been the type to cry when my kids started school. Why cry? I was so looking forward to some quiet time to write, to get the things that usually have to wait until the wee hours when I’m exhausted. And she was over the moon about being a kindergartner and going to school.

It has been 12 1/2 years since I’ve been home alone. When Luc started kindergarten I had a baby at home. When Max started kindergarten, I had a toddler at home. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s the last one or because she’s a girl. But I’m finding it really unsettling how much I miss her. I see the small bouquet of flowers she made for me yesterday and smile. A song comes on the radio and I can hear her voice singing along and see her flicking her long, knotted hair around.

I saw five monarch butterflies, at once, in the garden yesterday and thought, “let me get Annabelle, she will flip over this” and remembered she was at school. Mostly, I miss her constantly needing to be right by my side. I miss her pulling at me to bend over so she can shmush her face into mine, saying, “Mama? I love you Mama. I love you more than anybody. I even love you more than 11.”

Learning To Fly

2010-07-14T13:44:00.001-04:00

The first time I left my son Duke EVER he was about 3 weeks old. I needed to go to the post office and my mom was there. She said, "Go. I'll watch him." I stood at the door and couldn't leave. She asked, "What's the matter?" I said, "I'm pretty sure he's always supposed to be with me."

A few days ago I drove my three kids 420 miles to visit my parents. My husband’s work schedule didn’t allow him the time we needed and I decided I’d take them myself. I’ve been home for 2 days now and I’m still tired.

It became a small family reunion with one of my favorite aunts coming down from Quebec and then my older brother flew up from PA. My brother is a pilot. He arrived and offered rides for all of us which some of us accepted with glee (in a Cessna if you know what these things are. My extent of plane knowledge is limited.)

While we were in the air I was feverishly taking pictures with my cell phone and texting my husband. Then my big brother did his classic big brother shtick saying, “put down the cell phone and grab the wheel.” I nearly choked. I resisted and begged him to not make me do it. I was quite happy just being a passenger. He calmly said, “There’s nothing you can do that I cannot undo.” This did not offer me comfort but I know my brother—I grabbed the wheel. He had me turn (that definitely was a strange feeling) and go up and down the tiniest bit. It was fun and I’m glad I can say, “I flew a plane!” but I was so relieved once he said he’d take over.

My brother and I had talked about my son Duke going to visit sometime this summer. My extended family all live far and wide. My kids rarely see anyone for more than a few days each year. And the only time Duke has spent nights without me is when I was giving birth to his brother or sister. I asked Duke, “Would you want to fly to his house with him in this plane?” He answered yes immediately. I quizzed, “you’re not afraid?” He turned his head toward me and looked confused. He asked, “No, why?” I smiled and said, “ok” and pretended not to notice my mother clutching her chest with one hand and fanning herself with the other.

On Monday I woke my son up at 5am. Duke hopped up, got his clothes on in record time, and was waiting by the door. I drove them to the airport on a gorgeous morning. I watched the sun rise over the runway. Duke was psyched to help with preflight tasks. I watched him put on his headset, my brother made sure his seat belt was on and properly positioned, and then we backed away watching them take off.

After my son took off I called my husband by cell. He said, “I don’t know many moms that would let their kids do what you just did.” He’s right and it’s a shame. I’m not saying I didn’t consider the unthinkable. I think the unthinkable every time my son rides his bike out of my driveway, or when I drive my kids around town in my purposely-large car. I triple-check corners and nearly every time I pull out into an intersection, just for a second, I imagine being hit--hearing the metal twist and the glass shatter. But my son has had the experience of a lifetime and he’s thoroughly happy. What more can a mother want?

My Fantasy: Solitary Confinement

2010-07-07T09:01:00.001-04:00

I have three young children. I work from home. My husband works long hours out of the home. I don’t have a sitter—ever. You don’t have to be a math genius to figure out that I’m almost never alone. The most alone I get is when I manage to carve out time for a shower or use the bathroom. I do require privacy in the bathroom (I know many moms talk about the company they have in there as well—for me, that was a no-no.) Of course, it doesn’t stop them from talking to me through the door the entire time. I know that as soon as my head is full of shampoo they will start banging on the door. I assume someone’s breaking into the house, a fire’s started, someone fell off something and requires stitches or a bone set. Shutting off the water, straining through the door, soap burning my eyes, I ask again, “What happened?”

“Mom! Mom! Do you know where Max is?”

Even when I’m asleep, I am visited by my youngest child on an almost nightly basis. I am so sleep-deprived that I cannot fight her. Desperate not to wake up completely, I don’t open my eyes and try to ignore her knees in my belly and elbows in my neck as she’s climbing over me to get between my husband and I. Once I wake, I cannot fall back asleep, and the morning will bring nothing but a seriously cranky mom with a migraine that no amount of coffee can fix.

There are days I daydream about solitary confinement. I don’t see how this is considered punishment. Unless you’re not allowed to read books, daydream, talk (even to myself) or think without interruption.

I read an article, No More Excuses! Five Easy Ways to Find the Motivation to Exercise by writer Sheryl Kraft. She lists the value of exercise and how to get out of the “I don’t want to” rut. I read the article, nodded along, but all along knew I wouldn’t be out running tomorrow. I did a half-marathon in January and hung up my sneakers about 34 seconds after finishing. Weeks after, I couldn’t continue to say, “I just did a 1/2” anymore and signed up for a 5k in May. I assumed THIS would get me motivated.

Nope.

What was it going to take to get me out, moving my legs, getting my heart rate up, and take care of myself? I had to stop daydreaming about taking naps and get out and exercise. Then it hit me: when I hit the pavement I put my little ear buds in, listen to whatever I want to listen to, and am completely alone. I look at my neighbors flowers, I notice how they’ve arranged the Montauk Daisies around the mailboxes, I smile when I see others out doing the same as me, I notice and “tsk-tsk” the flowerbeds over-run with weeds, I sigh when I see homes I know have children but not one toy in the front yard and know that mine has basketballs, lacrosse balls, odd shovels, and for some reason; Tupperware strewn from corner to corner. And while I’m temporarily annoyed, the next song on my ipod comes on, Run Like Hell, and I smile again and forget the kids & their messes for some other time.

Technorati Tags: running,exercise,family,alone

Little Ballerinas & Dress Rehearsals

2010-06-28T22:53:00.001-04:00

A dress rehearsal is where we pretend it’s as real as the big day. I had to take my girl to Islip Terrace (about 30 miles away or 45 minutes without traffic). My daughter’s hair is blonde and still fairly thin. She has bangs. All of that hair needs to be pulled up tight in a bun—like all ballerinas. No hair on the face at all. Did I mention my daughter complains everyday when I brush her hair that it hurts? She complains about the small little hair clips I put in to keep the bangs out of her eyes. Putting her hair in a bun is a big deal. I put her in front of her favorite show to help with distraction. I soaked her hair, applied about a 1/4 cup of hair gel, slicked into a pony tail, twisting it into a bun and about 47 bobby pins later, it was perfect.

I dressed her in her tights and shorts with a zip up pullover for a top. I put her, the dress, hat and ballet shoes in the car. I would hike the dress on once we got there. (I like to spare myself from hearing whining).

The dress has stitching all around the front of the bodice which my daughter complained about. After picture day I removed the costume and saw how harsh the edging had been on her and knew I needed to cover it. If 20 minutes in the costume did this, I couldn’t imagine several hours. I bought white ribbon, same color as the costume, and began attaching it to the inside of the costume. First I tried fabric glue but it was too slow. Then I tried an iron on tape and that wasn’t working either. So, I decided to just go old school and sew it on with needle and thread. As I went around the front of the dress I decided to go all the way from the bodice to the back and make a nice neat loop. (I like symmetry).

My daughter’s best friend, E, is also in her ballet class. I offered to take her with me since it seemed silly for both Moms to be driving so far and E’s mom had to work that night anyway. (I like logic)

I arrive at the school and keep the car running with AC blasting. It was at least 95 degrees out and I wanted to keep the girls cool while I dressed them. I open the back door by Annabelle and instead of saying, “Ok, we’re going to get dressed now” I notice that my daughter’s perfect hair looks like she’s just spent the day at a windy beach. I cannot control myself and ask with a sigh, “What the hell?” I did my best I could with my fingers to get it back into a bun and jammed the hat down on top of it all. Knowing it was a rehearsal and not the actual show gave me some leeway.

Then I attempted the dress. It wouldn’t go on. I look under the tutu and wonder if her foot is caught somewhere. I say, “Why isn’t this going on?!” She says, “I don’t know mommy.” I keep pulling and can’t believe how tight it is around her body—when it hits me. It’s my little sewing job. By sewing over the back of the costume I eliminated the elastic which meant it would never get on without undoing the work I had done. Thankfully, I keep a pair of scissors in my car. (I don’t know why—you’d have to be me).

I ripped out the ribbon and hoisted the costume on her. Ran to the other side of the truck and got E’s hat and dress on without issue. I was grateful to only have one daughter in dance. By the time I got the girls to the high school I was a sweaty mess. Annabelle’s hair was flowing from beneath the hat and little pieces of string from my sewing hatch-job was sticking out of the back of the costume.

For about an hour I stood in a hot high school lobby. I had a book with me but I was afraid of being overly aloof. So instead I made grueling small talk about the heat and how busy we all were (there’s no way they’re as busy as me.. those are professional manicures for pete’s sake) and waited for the girls. When the girls were done I was reprimanded about the bad hair and lousy hat job on Annabelle. I nodded like I understood and was properly ashamed. But on the inside I was imagining the nice cold Cosmo I was making myself as soon as I got home.

Quick Summer Dessert for Your Next BBQ!

2010-06-17T21:08:00.001-04:00

This is a great dessert that is super quick, requires no baking, tastes fresh, cool, and is perfect for your next summer barbeque. I came up with this recipe one day when I realized I had friends coming over and nothing to serve for dessert. (In my world, no dessert is a sin.)

Ingredients:

Pound cake (I really like the one from Sarah Lee in the freezer section).
Fresh berries (If you can mix a few varieties then it’s even better. But whatever you have on hand, or in the garden, will work)
Creamy yogurt (La Cream has the most dessert/creamy texture)
Whipped cream (Whatever you like works)

Defrost the pound cake according to the package directions.
On top of each slice, add about a 1/4 cup of yogurt, fresh berries, and top with whipped cream.

By the way, I think using yogurt and fresh berries in the dessert means that it’s health food. Have an extra slice.

Her Blankie

2010-06-12T18:42:00.001-04:00

A month before my daughter was born I decided to crochet her a blanket. I brought it to the hospital and used it in her cradle. This is tiny Annabelle wrapped in the blanket the day we left the hospital .

As time went on, she became attached to the blanket. While falling asleep she would have to be touching it or pulling it to her face. This is what’s left of the blanket. The colors are not as rich. She has pulled at stray thread and now the size is much smaller. She doesn’t appear to have noticed.

The Time TSA Was More Delightful Than The Southwest Agent

2010-06-06T22:41:00.001-04:00

I recently flew Southwest Airlines for a family vacation to Orlando (Disney). The flight was an early one and we arrived at 6am. My husband dropped me at the curb with the luggage and three kids and he went to park the car. One of the benefits of a small airport like Long Island Islip Airport is no shuttle is needed from the parking lot.

We got to the baggage check-in and there was a couple in front of me with several bags blocking the way. The Hispanic Southwest agent barked, “Next in line please” and I stood there trying to figure out a way to maneuver a stroller, 3 sleepy kids, and suitcases around the barricade. She barked again, but in a more condescending manner, “Next in line please.”Another southwest agent saw the block and said to her co-worker, “She can’t get around it…” and started to move the other couple’s luggage.

I approached the touch screen and said, “Wow, I haven’t seen these before. What should I do?” The clerk looked annoyed and said, “Just follow the directions on the screen.”

Hmph, I thought, I’ve had a lousy night’s sleep and have been up since 5 with only one cup of coffee. Easy for her to say.

I touched the screen and it asked me for a confirmation number. When I made the reservations I had to create two separate plane reservations for the five of us, so I had two confirmation numbers. I said, “I have two different confirmation numbers…” and she stood with her hand on one hip and said, “Two bags per person.”

Interesting. Maybe we’re playing a word game? I say something and she shouts out whatever comes to her mind?

I press “Next” and see my two children’s names and that we’ve already checked in. I say, “It says they’re already checked in.” She quizzes, “Do you have bags to check?” I answer, “Well, yeah, these suitcases.” She says, “Then follow the directions on the screen Ma’am.” I asked, “but I’m not sure what I should do, should I just press next then?”

At this point I’m getting really annoyed because even the stoned cashier at the Family Dollar will crane his neck and help me with their credit card machines at the register when I’m not sure if I press Cancel or OK when I want to use my card as a Debit card. I am smart. I am technical. However, I do like a little direction every now and again but this bitch has her hand on her hip and she’s standing firm—she’s not helping me and she’s going to humiliate me in front of my children.

I said, “Why are you giving me a hard time? I’m not an idiot. I’ve just never used this system and I’m really tired and I’m trying to be nice but you’re really annoying me right now.”

I press the green arrow and hope that I have done the right thing. Next to each of my children’s names it asks for suitcases and I check off a box for each. I click continue and she prints out the stickers. I say, “So should I enter the next confirmation number to check in the last suitcase?” She barks, “I TOLD you, TWO bags per person.” Now I realize what she was saying earlier and said, “That was not instruction.. that was a declaration. I had no idea what you were talking about.” She walks away, throws her hands in the air, and says, “I even explained it in English.”

She left us.

I stood there, with my suitcases, carryon bags, 3 children and stroller and wondered what we were expected to do next. Stunned I watch the agent go to a group of other agents and overhear her say, “I annoy her!” The agent that helped me in the beginning came to my aid and finished up the check-in process within seconds, smiled at me, and told me to have a great trip.

You know how TSA is—they annoy all of us. And don’t give me the crap that they’re protecting all of us—some of them are flat out rude. You’re ready though when you go to security. You’re ready for the barked orders. Sleeping baby in the stroller? Don’t care, wake her ass up and make her walk through the metal detector. We expect this and we accept it in the name of safety from terrorists. We don’t expect it from the agents; especially not the ones with little hearts on their name tags.

I sent out several tweets to Southwest but they did not reply until almost a week later (when I complained about them not responding on twitter). They asked me to send them a note explaining what happened along with all the pertinent details like my trip confirmation number, flight number, flight time, destination, etc. I received an email a day later saying that I’d hear from them in the next 45 days regarding the matter.

I’d hear back from them in 45 days.

I think the kids call that, “Epic.”

Technorati Tags: southwest,airline travel,poor customer service

How To Get Rid Of Telemarketers

2010-05-26T10:49:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I was teaching a class on persuasion. How to get people to buy into what you’re selling; a concept, a product, an idea. As usual, the class discussions morphed into how we handle telemarketers. Someone mentioned the calls from the Fraternal Order of Police asking for money. One of my favorite attendees said, “Whenever the police call I just tell them my husband’s a police officer and they hang up on me pretty quick.” We laughed and I told her it was a clever idea. She continued, “Yeah, and when the chimney sweep guy calls I tell him my husband’s a chimney sweep and takes care of it. Or anything really.. I just tell them that’s what my husband does. He gets a lot done for me…” (and then she began to belly laugh) “…never mind he’s been dead for almost 4 years.”

Shivah

2010-05-23T20:17:00.001-04:00

I received a text message yesterday that started with, “I hate to send you a text like this..” and before I read further I took a deep breath assuming the worst. As I feared, it was news that a long-time friend, Ben, had died suddenly on Thursday. Ben and I were not BFFs. We did not talk on the phone or send each other chain letter emails. Ben had hired me many times over the years but more than that—he changed my life and the life of my first-born child in a profound way.

Several years ago I received a letter inviting me to an alumni function for Clarkson University. I was starting a business and thought it made sense to network in every way possible. My husband and I went to the barbeque. Walking up the driveway I saw license plates that said, “Form5500” and thought, “hmm… pensions...” (You’d have to be an accountant or tax person to understand) Once inside I felt out of place—everyone clearly already knew everyone else but we struck up a conversation with a couple, Ben and Sue. Ben said he owned a Pension service and I remarked, “Oh! Do your plates say, Form 5500?” He smiled and we continued talking.

The years went by and I became involved with the Clarkson alumni association. Eventually, I had my first child and things got, how you say; nutty. Ben emailed me and said, “Are you looking for a mother’s helper?” Ben told me that his stepdaughter was graduating from high school and looking for work. I was leary at first—what if I hated her? How could I fire Ben’s stepdaughter? But I was really desperate and knowing Ben assumed she was honorable. She came to interview. I was purposely unpleasant. She did not flinch. I hired her.

Alison was more than a sitter. She was with us every weekday for 5 years. My son ADORED her. She asked him to be her ring bearer and I asked her to be his godmother. We are family.

Today Sue was sitting Shivah and I went to pay my respects. I approached the house and in the driveway the car was new but the plates the same, Form5500. I smiled and thought of the day we met almost 15 years earlier. I walked in Ben and Sue’s house and it was hard to keep my eyes from tearing. I did not want to be emotional. I wanted to be a happy and friendly face during a difficult time. Sue introduced me to her “best friends.” They said, “Ohhh.. you’re Luc’s mother…” and we started to talk about how I came into their lives. Sue then smiled at me and said I had been responsible for forming Alison in her adult years—and I began to cry. I would have liked to thank her, but I was desperately trying to get myself in check, and I did not say a thing. As a mother, I know what an incredibly generous thing it was for her to say.

Everyday we meet people and assume that we are casually connected. It isn’t until we look back that we realize those connections can sometimes have an amazing impact. That’s why I went to the Shivah really—so Ben’s family would know that for me, knowing Ben and his family really meant something, and I’m so sorry he’s gone.

Anniversaries

2010-04-21T14:01:00.001-04:00

My son received his first birthday card (for this year) yesterday from my Aunt in Quebec. He asked why it talked about his Anniversaire instead of his birthday. I explained that in French we say that it’s the anniversary of your birth. To most people, anniversaries are for celebrating a wedding (or maybe first kiss, first date, etc). It’s usually relates to something to do with love and sweethearts.

When my husband and I were engaged we made arrangements for the church and reception location. We selected a date in June (I honestly don’t remember what day that was). A few weeks later the reception hotel called and said, “We’ve made a mistake. There’s no way we can host your wedding here that weekend. We only have 2 other dates available.” One was in September and one was in April. I wasn’t interested in waiting even longer but I hated April. I asked her what the date was and she said the 11th. I decided I could handle early April. Still, year after year our anniversary would come and we’d celebrate but immediately afterward the thought of it being April still made me sad.

My father, William (aka Billy), died on April 28, 1982. Actually, that’s the nice way of saying what really happened. I was 14 years old at the time and very much a Daddy’s girl. I didn’t get to see him often but we were still very close. I looked forward to each visit like a child waiting for Christmas. I stood in my mother’s kitchen while my older brother explained what he had been told about the accident to my Mother. I remember few details; he’d been coming home from a party, his wife was found under the dashboard (also dead), and then he said, “They don’t even know why the car blew up.” I came out of my daze and repeatedly asked, louder and louder, “the car blew up?” My brother stared at my mother. My mother fixed on my brother while chewing on her thumb. My sister in law brushed away some imaginary crumbs from her pants. My brother eventually looked at me and said, “I’m sorry. We didn’t want you to know.”

I’ve never liked April.

Max, aka Zilla, will be 7 years old this Sunday. The year I got pregnant with him was one of the toughest for my husband and I—we had significant financial strains at the time. He didn’t understand my need to have another child when we knew things were going pretty badly at the time. I simply said, “I need something good to look forward to…” He, as usual, let me have my way.

Max was due in the middle of May. I liked having something to focus on to get me through the end April. But he was getting big—and fast. A day or so before my regular checkup I had a lot of pain and couldn’t figure out why. Dave asked if it was labor and I said it didn’t feel like labor but it hurt. After a few hours it went away. I explained to the doctor and they did an ultrasound. The tech said, “Oh, I see what happened. No wonder it hurt.” My son, at 37 weeks, was measuring 9lbs 6oz and had decided to turn from the appropriate head-down position to butt down and managed to fold himself in half—feet up by the ears. As it turns out; this was an excellent indicator of his personality. It does not occur to him that he can’t do something, and every once in a while he gets stuck in some precarious positions.

With a previous c-section, frank breach position, and his size, there was no chance for VBAC and they didn’t want me waiting for my due date in case I started to go into labor early. My doctor looked at me and said, “I think we should schedule you right away. How’s tomorrow?” He noticed me panicking and asked, “Would you rather wait for Monday? Do you have things to get in order first?” I asked, “I just need to know what the date would be.” He gave me a sideways look, I’m sure assuming I was worried about astrological signs, but the number in April was important to me. He said, “Well, tomorrow would be the 25th and Monday would be the 28th.” I said, “It has to be tomorrow. There’s no way it can be Monday.”

And while mothers say this a lot, it’s true—I remember it like it was yesterday. Max was the easiest delivery of my three children. He came out screaming like he was angry as hell (another personality trait revealed—don’t separate him from his mother AND he has a bad temper). I laughed and remarked to Dave, “Oh my god, he’s so mad!” I held him in my arms, he calmed down immediately and nuzzled into me, and while I looked over from head to toe and my first thought was, “I want 100 more of him.”

Still, he was born in April and it bothered me.

Several years ago I confessed to a friend that his birthday was always hard for me given how close it was to the anniversary of my father’s horrific death. She sat emotionless looking at me. We were quiet and then she said, “You know what I think? I think your dad decided you suffered enough and made sure he was born in April so you could be happy again.”

My mother promised me, after my father died, she’d never leave me. I was 14 years old and had just seen how uncertain life was. I knew it was a tissue-thin promise—but I accepted it and never questioned her again. My father sent me Max in April; so I could stop suffering. I’ve decided that’s exactly what happened. Thanks, Dad, you always did get me great gifts.

April’s okay.

Keep Talking

2010-04-05T21:48:00.002-04:00

My eldest child doesn’t talk. Oh sure, I get the occasional grunt or head nod but when it comes to a full sentence about something of the slightest importance there is nothing but silence. Most answers from him to me are mumbled, “I don’t know.” It’s not new—Duke has never talked.
When he was 2 I overheard him in his crib say, “bunny” and then he hugged his bunny. I ran in, my up-until-then-silent-child had said a word! I shrieked, “Duke! You said BUNNY!” He smiled at me and when I asked him to repeat it his lips remained tightly shut. I begged him again for weeks but he would only look at me with his giant blue eyes and smile with lips pressed tightly together. He didn’t really speak until he was at least 4 and even then it was only to me or his father in the comfort and privacy of our own home. He’s now 12 and finally speaking in school. I see him hesitate if an adult asks him a question when I’m around. I know that Duke would prefer I answered for him. That was always how we did it—people asked him a question, he would smile, point to me, and I would answer. Some people were offended by this but it wasn’t personal. He wanted to speak—he couldn’t.
I am always watching him from afar, scanning his face, concerned about how he feels. There is a nagging fear that you don’t pay enough attention and someday something horrific happens and everyone points at you saying, “how could you not know?”
I try my best to talk with Duke, even though the responses are so limited. My hope is to keep the door open for him to eventually talk to me—if he should ever choose to. So I take what I get and use the world around him to figure out what’s going on in his life. If he expresses an interest in something I jump at the opportunity hoping that this will be the thing that will give him the confidence he needs. A few years ago he came home saying that he wanted to try lacrosse. I was surprised at the choice—lacrosse is a rather rough contact sport. I never imagined this docile child who loved to sit quietly reading books wanting to play a game where you hit each other with sticks. We tried it and he loved it. I’ve seen how it helped him. The aggressiveness helped all that was bottled up have an outlet. He went from the kid staying away from the pack to someone who jumps in to get the ball and sometimes gets checked so hard I see his entire body fly into the air.
I don’t crowd Duke—I give him space. When I drop him at practice I stay back so there is no pressure for him of his mother watching over him. I watch him with his teammates. They do not interact with him. There is limited communication. Sometimes during a game I see that he’s open and it crushes me when his teammates won’t pass the ball to him. The boys on his team are very tight with each other and they are nothing like my son. They are all 11 and 12 years old and speak with deep authoritative voices, already walking with bow legs, and faces held tight like men going into battle. Duke walks down to the field to practice with his face loose, a slight smile, excited to play a game he adores.
One week ago Duke came home excited to tell me that the Long Island Lizards (a major league lacrosse team) were holding tryouts for their junior team. I tried to discourage him. I said, “It’s highly competitive honey.” My husband and I gave Duke the speech about not getting too excited. He was trying out against a LOT of kids and it was bound to be stiff competition. We told him the story of Michael Jordan being cut from the high school team. We pulled out all the clichés. He asked me, “but isn’t it a good thing to get excited about something you want?” He was right and I was sure that he understood what the risks were and was incredibly proud that he was willing to stick his neck out there. I registered him for the event.
The tryouts happened to fall on the same day as his first game of the season. I emailed the director and said he was caught up at a game—could he be late? They said yes. Husband raced Duke to tryouts immediately after the game. Other kids had 2 hours, Duke had 30 minutes.
A few days ago I received an email from the coach of the Jr Lizards saying my son had done well at tryouts and was offered a position on the team. Finally, someone else could see the boy that I see—a boy with potential and all-out love of the sport.
Duke went to practice tonight and told some of the team members about making Jr Lizard team. They first accused him of lying—because they all had a game that day. Then he assured him he had gone they said he’d probably be given a water boy position. As he told me this we sat at a red light on the way home from practice. I could feel the heat in my face rise as his voice trembled and he picked nervously at his shoelaces. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and I stared hard at the traffic light above.
I make them wear seat belts, helmets, and know where they are at all times. I would not call myself a helicopter mom—I definitely give my kids a pretty long leash. There’s a fine line between protecting injury and preventing injury. I could say, “never ever climb trees” but, then I’d miss out on a cell phone call from my giggling 6-year-old 30 feet up in a tree. They’re going to do it anyway—I’d rather know about it (and have time to get to the bottom of the tree making sure the descent is as uneventful as the climb). I feel I protect them as well as I can. But there are times I want to prevent injury because there are some wounds that a trip to the ER will not repair.
I could have told him they were just jealous. I could have told him they were just kids and didn’t know how to be nice sometimes. I could have said that maybe they were annoyed that their parents didn’t feel the need to race 50 miles to let them tryout as well. But instead, I looked at him and his big blue eyes looked back at me, lips held tightly together, his hair slightly in his eyes as he blinked. And in my best mother-of-the-year voice offered this platitude, “ You know what Duke? FUCK them.”

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