Mommy Confessions

Kenmore Blogger Summit Day 2

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 02:37:00 +0000

Confession: I had an even better time than I thought I would.

I know my day 1 recap was a little on the jokey-jokey side, but I'm all about short and sweet when it comes to these things, so I'm not going to deviate too much from what I did after Day 1.
For me, Day 2 went pretty much like this:

I met a bunch of people. Okay, I met a bunch of awesome people.
A bunch of stuff happened.
And then I won THIS:

And really, I could just end this post right there. But in all seriousness (yes, I do that every once in a blue moon)...

Day 2 of Kenmore Blogger Summit took us down to the Kenmore Live Studio in beautiful Chicago. There we were treated to such wonderful things as a cooking demo with The Spicy Chef, Chef Suzy Singh of Master Chef. And then there was the whole oven winning thing.

A real live "Chopped" style, slow cooker competition amongst all of us bloggers. Congrats Fox Force Five for the big win. I'd like to say The Cool Kids (my team) was robbed, but after tasting them all, I had to admit that what they made was really good.
And then there was the whole oven winning thing.

We got a smoothie demo from The Green Grocer Chicago. We had a yummy lunch courtesy of Truffleberry Market Caterers, which curse them for being in Chicago and not New Jersey because I really wanted to marry that salad! And then of course the whole oven winning thing.

I got Jessica Gottlieb to make me an alien hat so we could film a vacuum cleaner commercial. And I am pretty sure I'm now committed to making a large turkey, possibly 2, for both Backpacking Dad and Redneck Mommy. I'm not going to mention the oven thing here. But let's just say I won something big and it rhymes with lovin'.

We heard from some execs at Kenmore who provided us with a host of information about the Kenmore brand, ideas, innovations, products, and technology. My personal fave was Kenmore's Marketing Director, Samuel Monnie. His clear passion for the brand and for seeing it continue to evolve was inspiring. Plus, totally dig the cool British accent, so, bonus. We were also treated to an excellent keynote from Wired Magazine's Editor-in-Chief, Evan Hansen. And then of course, there was the whole oven thing.

Seriously though, I have to tell you that if it was Kenmore's goal to get a group of people to use their reach to sing the praises of Kenmore's new and innovative appliance line, I would have to say: mission accomplished. I mean, I tend to think that bloggers, for the most part, are not the easiest group of people to impress. So when a man opens up a refrigerator door and 40 people squeal like giddy school girls (including the guys), you know something good is going on. I can honestly say that Kenmore impressed me this weekend. A lot. And they impressed a whole lot of other blogger's as well. And I'd say that even if it weren't for the oven. But let's not overlook the oven.

Oh and how could I forget, we got a real treat from Mark Beier of Chicago Fit Club, who, along with Rookie Mom Whitney and Tanis from Redneck Mommy performed what was supposed to be an example of how we can combine simple house cleaning tasks like vacuuming with fitness, but I think it might have actually been fodder for one of those Showtime After Dark movies.

Lastly... the winning idea for the oven! We were asked by Kenmore to write down on their white board throughout the day any ideas or innovations we might have for Kenmore appliances. The folks at Kenmore picked 10 that the loved, and then we the bloggers voted via text or tweet for our faves. My idea: having the front panel of the door on the side by side fridge be a dry erase board (and/or a chalkboard). So tell me, what are some of your ideas for innovations with Kenmore appliances?

Kenmore Blogger Summit Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 07:41:00 +0000

Confession: This whole being alone in Chicago thing isn't too bad.

I'm here. No kids. No spouse. Just me. I flew alone. Except not really alone. Made it to Chicago in the snow for Day 1 of the Kenmore Blogger Summit 2012.
Here's a swell recap:
Morning. Stress. Coffee. Bye kids. Airport. Hey it's Rob! WTF was that noise underneath us? Snow. Oooh pretty hotel. Popcorn. Dressed. Popcorn. Cocktails. Food? Food. Cocktails. Oh hey it's Kenmore. Oh hey it's Google +. Wait, how many +1 hits does Google get every day? Cocktails. A blogger's 9 year old daughter almost makes me cry. Room. Popcorn. Check alarm. Hopefully Sara wakes me up. Check alarm. Shower. Check alarm. Sleep.
I bet you can't wait for Day 2.
And now the fine print: Actually, this is where I have to use some full sentences...
As part of our welcome bag, we got a nifty coupon that you too can use if you'd like.

30% off all regular-price Kenmore small kitchen appliances, cookware, bakeware and kitchen gadgets! The coupon is valid from January 22, 2012 – February 4, 2012 and is valid on regular price merchandise sold by Sears on Sears.com and by Kmart on Kmart.com only.

Enter coupon code 30KENMORE

While I'm writing in full sentences, now would be a good time to tell you that you can follow along with all the fun on Twitter too, by following the hashtag #KBS2012.

Thank you to Kenmore. Sears. Google. The Sofitel. Garrett's popcorn. The lady who made my bed. Whoever was responsible for booking my flight early enough that I got here without incident (since so many others were NOT so lucky). Oh and the creator of these showers.

Tomorrow I'll put up pictures since it's what all the cool kids are doing.
G'night.

Realizing the Dream (and the full text of Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' Speech)

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 18:32:00 +0000

Confession: I can't read this without crying. Can you?

What makes the full text of Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech fodder for a mom blog?
I have children. Chances are if your are reading this blog, you may too. It is my hope that my children will always keep the message of Dr. King close to their hearts. I hope that they will understand it- embrace it- help to realize it. Because even today, we are still not there. Not all the way. I hope that when they are my age, they will still get tears in their eyes and pains in their hearts the way I do whenever I see it. But, my hope for them is that they will read it with tear-filled eyes as a reminder of what was; of how far we have come- and not, as I have, as a reminder of all that still needs to be done.

Full text:

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”¹

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest — quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”2

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

More Kenmore Stuff? Will the Fun Ever End?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 06:20:00 +0000

Confession: I'm not much of a cook. Or much of a housekeeper. Or laundress. Is that a word?

Luckily, I rock in other areas!
And luckily, I have readers that are good at those things.
I think.
I hope.
So here's the deal.
This whole Kenmore thing.
Not only do they want to bring me out to Chicago...
but they want to give YOU stuff too.
They seem super cool that way.

But, time is of the essence.
So, if you want a chance to win...
you'd better get cooking.
haha
No pun intended.
Okay totally intended.
They make stoves and stuff.
Get it?
Of course you do.
Anyway...
You know I don't do giveaways any more but this is a good one.
And you know since they're paying for my hotel and airfare and all that....
Here's what you can win:
$100, $50, and $25 Sears gift cards.
And
Here's what you need to do:

Submit a short video showing your most unusual, yet practical use of a common household appliance.

Submit your video via email to michellewolfson1 at yahoo.com with the subject line “Creative Uses Giveaway” on or before January 18, 2012 at 7 pm CST. I'll select five (5) entries from those submitted and forward them to Kenmore who will determine the prize winners.

But Michelle, it's not much time.
I know dude. That's why you need to totally get on that, like right now.
Wait.
Before you go.

THE RULES:

1. Unless the brand name of your appliance is Kenmore, it cannot be visible in the video. Cover them with tape (or anything else), or just turn it so you can't see the name- whatever. Pretty please!

2. Format: Uncompressed Quicktime files at 1920×1080 16:9 are preferred. Any uncompressed file would be best, and the bigger the format, the better.

3. Entries close at 7pm CST on January 18, 2012.

4. This giveaway is for U.S. residents only.

So, um, I guess happy videoing.
If I had any creative uses for appliances myself, I might submit a video too.
But I don't.
Ooh but maybe after this summit I will!

Good luck.

Is Kenmore Going to Be Mad that I used the Word "Hell" in This Post?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 01:16:00 +0000

Confession: I may have sold out.

Nah. not really. But....
I've been blogging for 5 years now. In the course of that 5 years I have been invited to many, many blogging events, boot camps, seminars, summits, and all facets of things blog related. And although SO many of them have been really fun and enticing offers, I have been extremely limited in what I have accepted over the years. For one thing, I never leave my kids. I know there is a mixed bag of opinions on this. That's for another time. Besides the kids, I have a whole host of other reasons why I have limited myself to a very select few local(ish) events over those 5 years.

And although the coveted invitation to Disney has continued to elude me all of these years (hey Disney if you're reading this- you should totally invite me), I have had a few very nice offers that I have had to decline. And by the way Kenmore... if you have any friends over at Disney and wanna put in a good word... just sayin'.

Call it serendipity. Call it kismet. Call it overworked mommy-itis. But, as luck would have it, an offer came in the other day that I was actually willing and able(ish) to say yes to. Kenmore has invited me to be a part of their 2012 Blogger Summit in Chicago later this month.

Kenmore. You know Kenmore. You are probably thinking of your Grandma's washing machine right now, aren't you? Well, let me ask you this- does this look like your Grandma's washer?

Didn't think so.
So yeah, I'm actually excited to go out to Chicago, meet with 43 other bloggers, and hear and see what Kenmore has to offer.

So yeah, 43 other bloggers are heading to this summit too. So allow me to spill the beans right here. There are more reasons than 3 little bundles of joy that keep me from hitting every major blogging event in the country.

I have anxiety issues. At present I am trying to bribe someone to drive me to the airport AND hold my hand until I get on the plane. I'd buy a ticket for them to hold my hand all the way to Chicago too if I could afford it!

I hate not sleeping in my own bed.

I worry the whole time I am gone about what is going on at home in my absence.

In other words, I am the life of the party!

All of this- but wait, there's more.

I drink.
I have tattoos.
I choke on everything.
I snore.
I swear like a truck driver.
and If I drank milk, I'd probably drink it right from the carton.
Basically, you're gonna love me.

**If there's a roommate situation, I apologize in advance.**

Last year I heard there was some shenanigans where they put the mommy (and daddy) bloggers up against the food bloggers in some sort of competition. Now it IS Kenmore, so presumably this could have been some type of cooking event, I am not sure. But, I will tell you this- putting me in any type of cooking event, is a potentially dangerous proposition. I'm 99% sure that show Worst Cooks in America is loosely based on my life story. Anyway...

So, about the 43 other blogs that will be represented in Chi-town- Is it okay to call it Chi-Town? Or do people in Chicago hate that as much as people in San Francisco hate it when people call it Frisco?
Ugh... train of thought.... train of thought. Right. The blogs... Some I've read. Some I had heard of but had never read. And some are brand new to me. But after this, I will know them all. And I am sure in just a few weeks, we can all call ourselves old friends. Or maybe we can all call each other terrible names behind each other's backs. We'll see how it pans out.

You Want 55 Bucks to Do WHAT?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Confession: I don’t really get into all the high-maintenance girly stuff.

I’ve tried. I’ve tried to be into fashion; to keep up on what’s in style. I’ve tried to get with the latest beauty tips and trends and try to keep up. But, who has time? Or money? Or TIME?

I’ve frequented some really good beauty on a budget sites. I’ve scoured over some of the better blogs about how to stay fashionable and stylish after the frumpy mommy syndrome has set in. Truth is, I just don't think I have it in me. Never have. Well, maybe not NEVER. But the last time I was genuinely concerned about something like matching my purse to my shoes, or if I was wearing the right lipstick shade for my skin tone, I was probably about 15. No lie.

Sure, if I’m going out I’ll ditch the sweat pants I’ve probably been wearing for 3 days in a row. I might even fix my hair and throw on a little make-up. But most likely, it’s going to be simply throwing on a pair of jeans and boots. And a quick bun and a little mascara and lipstick are probably all you’re going to coax from me. Because really, at the end of the day, I just don’t need it. I don’t need the extra work, the extra effort, the doing and undoing, and all the extra expense, to feel good about myself. I am a low-maintenance girl.

There it is. It’s out in the open. My husband would likely argue this fact all day. He would likely tell you that I am most definitely NOT a low maintenance girl. In fact, he believes me to be rather high maintenance. However, I believe this stems from the fact that he has never actually had any long term interaction with a truly high maintenance chick. Plus, his view of what constitutes high maintenance and mine probably differ greatly, I’d like to think I will still win this argument.

Case in point, I still shave my legs- and other “stuff” too. Now, how many high maintenance mommas still shave? Probably few. Chins don’t count. They are all waxed or lasered or electrolifyed, or somehow otherwise professionally groomed. Hubs needs to have the full appreciation that I still use a $5 pack of pink disposable razors to get the job done, just like I did when I was 16.

And he should be glad of it. I mean, not that he wouldn't appreciate the smooth and silky results of one of those other high maintenance approaches- I think he would. But I don’t think he would be thrilled by my spending half a week’s grocery money to have a veritable stranger assault these gams with a hot wax bath, in what can only be likened to what they must use to get stoic captive spies to give up secret intelligence. And I know that I wouldn't be thrilled having Svetlanana, the barely intelligible hot waxer, elbow deep in my hoo-ha with her wax strips to do monthly maintenance. Sorry, but no frackin’ way! And yes, I know there are options that don’t have to be considered assault and battery in 12 states, but I venture to guess that they cost even more!

So yes, this is one reason I consider myself low maintenance. I mean, don’t even get me started on my $7 box of hair color from Target. Or my do-it-at-home for free manicure.

So, he can call me high maintenance allll he wants to. But at the end of the day when I go out, I feel fine about how I look. And hopefully so does he. And I didn’t have to spend 200 bucks like some of my more well-groomed counterparts.

**200 bucks is a guesstimate based on a leg and bikini wax, hair color, and manicure. I have no idea how much any of these things *actually* cost since I don’t do them. Could be higher. Could be lower, Though based on the sad faces of my male friends whose wives spend a lot of money on this stuff, I am guessing it is *not* lower.**

Love ya honey. Now, you better recognize.

If You Give a Mom a Laundry Basket...

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 03:15:00 +0000

Confession: Some days it is just plain hard to get things done.

Am I the only one who sometimes feels like my days are like the book If you Give a Mouse a Cookie?

Not familiar? Let me run it down for you. Basically it is a series of cute kids books that describe a whimsical and funny chain of events that occur when you try to do one thing, but each of the things that you do, leads you into a continuing chain of events that actually preclude you from doing the very thing that you wanted to originally do.... sort of... well, that's how I'm telling it any way.

My husband sometimes wonders why it takes me an entire day to fold a basket of laundry. Yes, one basket. Maybe because what transpires usually goes a little something like this:

Pull clothes from dryer and put in basket. Place basket down on my bed for a second to go help yelling son wipe his butt. Come back to get basket. Notice on the way back to basket that dog has chewed up contents on trash can and strewn them throughout the family room. Start to clean up mess. Phone rings. Answer phone and converse briefly with sister-in-law on other end. What was I doing again? Oh right, folding the clean laundry. Have to finish picking up that mess the dog made first. Go to grab a trash bag. Notice while getting a trash bag from the cabinet that I am out of dish soap. Go to write dish soap on my grocery list. Where is my grocery list? Note that middle child has taken grocery list and turned it into an art project. Follow trail of crayons and markers to her room. Pick up crayons and markers from floor. While picking stuff up from floor notice seven pair of underwear underneath her bed. Remove said underwear and place in hamper (Is it dirty? Probably not, but I'm not taking any chances). What was I doing again? Oh right, folding the clean laundry. Back track down the hall, putting grocery list back, and finishing picking up dog's mess on the way back to where I left that darn laundry basket. Begin to fold laundry. Fold two shirts. Doorbell rings. It's a package. Put package aside. Walk back towards laundry. Here the calls of my son. He wants me to open the box. Spend 5 minutes explaining why I can't open the package it's not addressed to me. Listen to 10 minutes of how he needs said box to complete his fort masterpiece he has been working on for the Fort Olympics. Agree to help him find another box. Locate another box in garage. Oh hey there's more dish soap! Come back to the laundry basket, fold two more shirts... that's 4 if you're playing along at home. What was I doing again? Hear the bus... here come the other two. Time for after school snack... homework... dentist appointment.... dinner.... showers.... dishes . Gotta get back to that laundry. Stop to pick up the wet towels. Get everyone ready for bed. Distribute drinks of water to the parched masses. Collapse in a heap on my... oh hey what's that?... the laundry basket!
Better luck tomorrow!
So, which kids book is most like your life?

*Lovingly dedicated to Donna. Why? Well, because she liked it, and I'm that easy, that's why*

Mission Accomplished

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 05:10:00 +0000

Confession: I'm not afraid of as much as I thought I was.

I've always felt afraid. I couldn't really put my finger on what I was afraid of, but I knew I was afraid.
It's funny, when Megan said that you don't even realize it but every day you are faced with confronting your fears- some that you didn't even know that you had- she was so right. Every day facing your fears isn't necessarily about staring down a tarantula or climbing to the top of the Empire State Building. Facing your fears could be as simple (or as complicated) as putting yourself out there, oh say, maybe writing a blog?
I've been trying to think of what I have done in the past few weeks to make myself worthy of Operation Eleanor. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what my biggest fears are. And I realized that this right here, is right up there. I'm talking real close to the top. Putting myself out there each and every day. The fact that I opened myself up, let my guard down, and put my life out there for anyone and everyone to see, is mind boggling. The fact that I've been doing it for 5 years, astounding.

For me, today, facing one of my fears meant nothing more than posting a blog post.

A life full of Eleanor...

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 04:56:00 +0000

Confession: I am really bad at facing my fears. I'm talking really bad. Really, really, really, horribly, miserably, almightily bad.

Did I mention bad yet? It seems to be a recurring theme. Another recurring theme for me? Eleanors. So let me explain how my fear of fear, and my love of Eleanors mesh.
It's all about facing your fears. I've mentioned how much I love to face my fears, right? And as I found in a visit to Megan's blog the other day, I am not the only one who lacks in the whole confronting your fears head-on department. As a matter of fact, their is a whole slew of us. A big, scardey-cat slew of non fear-facers. And then their is one blogger, who is trying to stare down her fears, and drag us all kicking and screaming with her. Now mind you, this was supposed to be a 30 day endeavor. You know, like tackle a fear that you have every day this month. Even if I had arrived on time, I don't know that I would have the stones to face down 30 fears in 30 days. But, since I came to the party 35 days after it started, I reeeealy didn't have a prayer.

But even though Megan's month-long Operation Eleanor endeavor is technically over, I still feel like I need to face down at least one of my fears. ONE. One, I can surely do. And maybe one will turn into 2. Perhaps 2 into 3.... I mean it's the holiday season- that itself is chock full of fear-facing opportunities, right?

I have to do it. I have to do it because I like and admire Megan. I have to do it because I am an asshole, who despite being a friend of hers on Facebook, a follower on Twitter, and a fairly regular blog reader of hers, did not know until like 3 weeks ago that she was getting a divorce (as of like a YEAR ago).

And I had to do it for Eleanor. For all the Eleanors. Because, I knew as soon as I heard the name of this endeavor that it was right up my alley. Eleanor was my Grandmother, my heart's, name. Eleanor is the middle name of my famous daughter #2. And Eleanor's Angles is our brain tumor Race for Hope team.
So it seems only fitting that I would have to be a part of Operation Eleanor.

So now I will start my own 30 day Operation Eleanor endeavor. I can't promise that you'll hear from me every day, or even every week. What I can promise is that in the next 30 days, I will face at least one of my fears, stare down one of my demons, or do something that makes me otherwise ridiculously uncomfortable.

Stay tuned.....

A Smart Girls Guide to the First Mammogran

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 14:59:00 +0000

Confession: I was so nervous about my first mammogram that I actually dreamt that I got stuck in the machine.
But, you need not experience the same panic. I am here to tell you that it will all be okay.

This will undoubtedly be, ~~hands~~ nips-down the best boobie squishing story you will ~~ever see~~ ~~see today~~ get in the next 3 minutes! Guaranteed or your money back.

You may already know that I had my first mammogram yesterday. I blogged a few weeks back about preparing for my appointment, but turns out I had to postpone that appointment because ~~my son had a cold~~ I'm a big fat chicken! But, yesterday I could put it off no longer.

Really, it wasn't awful. You know I will always give it to you straight. It was weird. It was awkward. It was a little embarrassing and mildly uncomfortable. But, it wasn't painful and I survived. Truthfully, the worst part was the fact that I was old enough to need one.

Of course it helps that I had a nice mammographer (I have no clue if that's what they are called)- and I am pretty good at breaking the ice with people. When I walked into the room she told me that she had to ask me a few questions. I naturally asked her if the first one was, "why are you here since you're clearly too young to be having this procedure?" She laughed, promised to go easy on me, and the rest was history- really, really fast history. The whole thing takes about 3 -5 minutes. And here I give you the a play by play of my visit. It will likely take you longer to read this than it took me to have the whole procedure done.

This is where it all begins. Looks innocent enough.

Presumably this is an exit map so that you can plot your get away. Notice all the lines and arrows drawn on. Obviously they make it look all complicated so that you can't escape. I'm pretty sure there is teeeeny tiiiiny print at the bottom that reads: You're not going anywhere sister!

This rule is obviously made up so you can not call for help!

Look what I get to put on! Ralph Lauren's got nothing on the guy who designed these things, baby. Well, as long as my doctor cares....

In the dressing room.... perhaps a kindly gesture for those who must bring their infants with them? Nope. This is for all the newbies who don't know that you're not supposed to come with deodorant on. Me? I didn't need these because I m smart like that. That and my sister in law asked me if I remembered not to wear deodorant when I dropped my son off to her. Naturally I said, deodorant? Me? Of course not. Then I quickly proceeded to scrub my pits off in the bathroom.

Uh.... what?

Wait. You want me to throw my what up on that tray?

At this point, I told the nice woman that she'd better back up if she didn't want to get hurt....

The rest of the procedure is censored for your own protection. Suffice to say that there was no screaming, no yelling, and no mammographers were injured in the process.

That little clear tray you see? It gets lowered down on top of your girls, one a a time, and gives it a ~~gentle~~ squish.

A few seconds, a turn here, a turn there, and some funny noises on each side, and ta-da.... done!

I must admit I had no idea they did it one at a time. I thought you just threw those babies up and they lowered the boom!

What? You didn't think I was actually going to post pictures of my actual mammogram on here did you? Sorry to disappoint. But trust me, it is nothing to worry over.

It's over and done until next time...

Baby on Board?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 15:00:00 +0000

Confession: I want a baby.

I have mixed feelings about becoming a mother over 40.
I'm not going to lie, there are moments where I can barely tolerate the 3 kids I have. Moments where, despite my unwavering and intense love of my children, I feel like if I have to spend another second in mommy-mode, I may actually die. Dramatic? A tad. True? Absolutely. But the majority of days, thoughts of having a 4th child is consuming. Granted, these thoughts are usually a lot stronger when the existing 3 are sleeping- but still...

When I look in the rear view mirror while driving, all I can see is the one lonely, unoccupied seat behind me. When I look at our 6 seat dining table, I focus on the one unoccupied chair at the end of the table. And when the kids are playing together, and inevitably one of the three always gets left out after the other two pair up for something, I think of how much easier life is in even numbers. And I try to cherish and be ever so thankful for the 3 glorious, beautiful healthy children that I have- and I am. I truly am beyond blessed with my babies. And yet, I feel like something is missing. Someone... missing.

My pregnancies were not extremely enjoyable. I had gestational diabetes with the first. And was on complete bed rest for 20 weeks with the second. But the third was uneventful and normal, and after all the memory is short. I get sad when I see pregnant women, or sniff powdery-scented newborn baby heads. I feel defeated at the thought that I will never experience that again. I don't think about the morning sickness, the leg cramps, or the lack of sleep- oh the lack of sleep. And as everyone so likes to remind me, I am not getting any younger. I am finally beyond midnight feedings, diapers, potty training, and all of the "chores' of early childhood. And it could be that I look back with rose-colored glasses, but I just don't remember it being all that bad. Or at least, I refuse to let myself remember it that way.

Even if it weren't for the naysayers, and oh there are a ton of those (you wan't to do WHAT, are you CRAZY?) my age and my husband are right there nipping at my heels and whispering in my ear- NO WAY. There's a book called You're Never Too Old to Raise a Little Hell, and apparently that might be true. But it seems as though there comes a time when you are too old to raise a little child- and if you ask around, I seem to have hit that time straight on.

The statistics about having babies in your 40's glare out at me from every magazine and website. Increased risk of this, higher chance of that... and my dear, sweet husband only half-jokingly telling me that if I get pregnant again we won't have to worry about having enough room for one more, because the baby can take his spot. And he or she might just have to. With the 2 of us, 3 kids, 2 dogs, and our seemingly ever-growing mountains of stuff (though we're not approaching Hoarders status yet), we barely have enough rom in the house as it is.

After losing the "baby weight", reclaiming some spare time, ditching the diapers, turning 40, and
constantly feeling cramped and crowded, it seems less than logical that I would even want to have another baby. Most people would say it's better to just bide my time until I'm a grandparent. But, I got a later start then some, the first baby at 30, then 33, then 35. With any luck, and if she knows what's good for her, my oldest won't be giving me any grandkids for at least 15 years. And I don't think I can wait 15 years to have that baby smell pressed up against my nose on a regular basis.

Still though, I know I have about as much of a chance of getting pregnant as I do of becoming the next American Idol. Not because biology is against me or anything like that, but because, let's just say that my husband is having no parts of it- and short of going all psycho and pulling some sort of secret birth-control strike, it's simply not going to happen. And I know that. Deep down, I know that I am done. And one day, the fantasy will fizzle, and the reality will finally be set in stone. But for now, I hold on to the teeniest flicker of hope- a hope that with every passing day- becomes fainter and fainter as I move away from 40, and "into my forties". Because as young as I feel, time will eventually catch up to me. I don't ever want to be the "old' mom. I don't want to be slurping my food through a straw when my kid graduates college. And I want to dance at my kids weddings, not watch from the sidelines with my walker or my cane. And I want to toast the birth of my first grandchild with champagne or tequila, not Metamucil.

So, I'll keep squelching my baby cravings until they subside and eventually disappear altogether. For now, this would be a really good time ask me for a babysitting favor.

They Know I Could Be a Hooker, Right?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 04:40:00 +0000

... or worse- a crackwhore. Wait- is crack whore one word?

So, I'm thinking of changing the format of this blog from the "confession" style as it has been for nearly 5 years -this style implies that I am doing something irritating or embarrassing- to "pet peeves" which rightfully implies that other people are doing things that are irritating or embarrassing. Because really, this blog has become a lot less bout me and my foibles and more about my observations of all the crap that is wrong with everybody else- and truthfully, well, that's just a lot better for me. It gets exhausting outing yourself as an idiot on a regular basis. It's far more fun to out other people as idiots. Okay, I am joking. Well half joking. I am totally serious about the changing from confessions to pet peeves part- and I am half serious about taking pleasure in other people's shortcomings. Okay, I really don't take any pleasure at all in other people's shortcomings. Still, it doesn't mean I wouldn't like to point them out to you here. Consider it... constructive criticism. It's like I'm doing a public service. Yeah, that's it... a public service.

So allow me to introduce to you my first ever pet peeve in lieu of a confession- oh by the way, the blog will still be called Mommy Confessions because, well, Mommy Peeves doesn't sound as good, and I don't feel like buying another domain name.

Also, if we could think up another name for a "pet peeve" that isn't so annoying, that'd be great. Because frankly, the words "pet peeve" are kind of a pet peeve of mine. So, let's get on that okay?

Meanwhile...

Pet peeve: Parents who don't want to meet me before they send their kids to my house to play.
What is UP with this? I mean I am talking like not even a phone call. Not a quick visit to my casa. Nothing. Zip. Nada. I am talking about a kid calling my kid and saying, "can I come over?" and then a car dropping off the kid and shouting out the window, "I'll pick him/her up around 5, okay?" And yes, that is pretty much how it's gone, on more than one occasion. Not always. Occasionally I get the mom who will ask to speak to me just to confirm that it is, in fact, okay for her to bring her kid over. But yeah, for the most part, parents have no interest in meeting their kid's friend's parents. This is a huge thing-that-we're-not-calling-pet-peeve of mine.
Of course there are exceptions- take me for example. If I have never met or spoken to you, my kid isn't coming over. If our kids are making plans to get together, I want to speak to you, And if my kid is going to be playing in your house, I want to meet you, face to face, and I want to see your house. If we're getting right down to it, I'd also like your full name, social security number, and full background check, but I'll settle for a brief 5 minute conversation where I can assess your core values and beliefs. Or at least make sure your arms aren't covered in track marks.
'Cause for real, these parents who drop their kids off sight unseen at my house, they have no. freakin'. clue. I could be a hooker. I could have clients in my bedroom while the kids are building a Lego tower in the den. I could be a drunk. Or a druggie. You could be leaving your kids in my care while I am pounding back vodka and tonics and popping Xanax like they're going out of style. You could be entrusting your child to come into my safe home, and if you're not there to at least take a little glance around, how do you know that my coffee table isn't covered with AK47's and big pile of blow? You don't. You don't! And that's what I'm saying....
A big fat pet peeve- or whatever yet to be determined word you guys are gonna come up with.

So if your gonna let your kid play with someone you don't know, talk to them first. Maybe stop by. Hell, bring a quiche. Or maybe a bottle of gin. At least then we can get drunk together while I'm watching your kids.

the one in which i tell the cold, hard truth, thereby alienating many of my neighbors and ruin any chances i ever had of being inducted into any type of mom clique.

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 22:09:00 +0000

yeah that's right- a title with no caps. deal with it.

Confession: Some parents just don't seem to give a crap what their kids are doing.

The title is a little wordy, but in this case, it works for me.

I mean maybe, maybe, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt and say that it's not that they don't care but rather they just don't know.... but is that really better?

Remember when you'd bring a kid home and your mom or dad would be all, "that kid is no good." And you'd be like, "yeah right mom- you can't tell if they are no good." And now you are a parent- and turns out- yeah, you actually can tell. Pretty much from the second my kid brings somebody home, I know whether or not they are bad news. And you would be damned surprised at how many kids in the 7-10 age range are bad news already. Or maybe you wouldn't. And I ask the question I ask myself each and every day when I look out my living room window- what is up with these parents?

When I was in middle school, there was this guy, we'll call him Billy. Okay, no we won't. We'll call him Roman... because that was his name. And I don't think anyone will take offense to me using his real name since 1) he very sadly passed away several years ago and 2) I doubt all that many people who I was friends with in the 8th grade are reading this right now. Anyway, back to Roman.

Roman was like 16 or 17, or maybe 18- I honestly have no idea. As I recall, he was still in high school, although I never actually saw him go to school, and he looked about 35. I was 12 or 13. Probably 13. For some reason, Roman was that guy who was always hanging out with us younger kids. For reasons unexplainable to me at the time, he liked hanging out with us. Sure, he had some friends that were his age; friends who were probably like "dude why the hell do you keep hanging out with these young kids"... but for the most part, he was always around the younger crowd. We thought it was because we were clearly so much cooler than our same-aged counterparts who did not get to hang out with Roman and his pals. As a parent and grown adult, I can probably safely say now that Roman hung out with us for a few reasons. First, he probably didn't really have that many friends his own age, or maybe he just didn't feel accepted by the kids his age. And second, it was probably a lot better to hang out with a bunch of kids who think you are the really cool older guy, that just some average nerd. It kind of worked to both of our advantages though. We felt important because we got to hang out with the older crowd (crowd being Roman and whatever 1 or 2 friends he could convince to hang out with us at any given time). And he got to be a hero. He got to be the cool guy. He got to be the one that we could count on to do all the stuff that we couldn't do yet (drive, buy cigarettes, stay out late, etc.)

Anyway, why am I bringing up some dude that existed to me in another lifetime, many, many years ago? Well, we seem have our very own little Roman here in my neighborhood. A real life high school boy and his "crew"- and by crew I mean 2 little kids that follow behind him and do whatever he says. And for whatever reason, they like to hang out at the park, with the kids in my daughter's class- my 4th grade daughter. Now, I can totally get why these 9 and 10 year old kids want to hang out with this kid, but for the life of me, I could not understand why he wants to come down to the park day after day and hold court to these... children. And then I watched out the window one day. I watched as this boy did tricks on his bike, as a gaggle of 10 year old girls sat in awe. I watched as he climbed to the top of the jungle gym and sat on the very top, where no kids are supposed to go- as if he were the king of world. His loyal subjects below him staring up, mouths agape, at his bravery and coolness. And suddenly, it was Roman all over again.

Here's the thing with that though: Roman got me in all kinds of trouble back then. I got grounded more than once for breaking curfew with him. I got caught smoking. I was riding around in cars with boys... stuff that if I catch my daughter doing at 12 or 13, I am going to be livid.

Granted my daughter is 10. She just turned 10 last week. She still plays with Barbies. And she is by no means allowed to play at the park with this Romanesque character. But the curiosity is there. She watches out the window as her friends, who are allowed to go out unaccompanied to the park, follow these boys blindly... around the park.. into the woods... and I am lucky- for now. Because she still listens to me.
But it certainly doesn't make it any easier that most of her friends are allowed to do things she can't (i.e ride their bikes around the neighborhood and go down to the park and play there by themselves.) But it's not so much the things they are allowed to do as it is the things they do anyway that bother me. Like cursing like a truck-driver. Or smoking. Or staying out late. Or yes, hanging out in the woods with kids much older than them. And I again I have to ask what is up with these parents? Because I have to believe that no parent is going to let their 9 or 10 year old willfully engage in this kind of behavior. Or maybe they do?
I'm not saying I am perfect... okay I'm not saying it right now... but I have to question the decisions that parents make sometimes. I want to believe that 99% of these kid's parents do not know that they are hanging out in the woods with boys that are several years older than them. And not that they just don't care. But I am tired of being the park police. Keeping your kids from engaging in bad behavior is not my job. And yet if I don't do it, I have to watch it- day in and day out- and allow my kids to be exposed to it. And quite frankly, I don't want to.

I'm no lawyer. And I don't have a clue about the difference between libel, slander, character assassination, etc. but I am pretty sure that if I start putting kids real names up here and outing them for their crappy behavior, I am going to have an angry mob of soccer moms at my door ready to kick my ass (or at the very least run me over with their Honda Odyssey or their Volvo station wagons). Then again, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. At least if they came down here beating on my door to defend little anonymous kid's honor, I would know that they give a shit- which is a lot more than I can say right now for most of them.

Unite to fight brain tumors:

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 22:41:00 +0000

Unite to fight brain tumors:

Attitude Adjustment

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 20:14:00 +0000

Confession: I miss baby problems.

I swear, I will never understand the complaints about all the stress and problems associated with having babies. Sure, you lose loads of sleep. And of course you are forever worrying about whether you are doing things "right"- especially with your first. But, as they get older and older, you are faced with a whole new and ever-changing set of problems to deal with. And as much time as I have spent stressing over whether or not my kids would make it to their first birthdays without choking on a cheerio, I still think those were the glory days.

As tired as I was, as hyper-diligent as I felt I had to be, forever washing clothes, cleaning floors, and changing diapers, the sweet unconditional love I got in return was priceless. Those sweet, innocent little mouths- mouths that would never dare open in some back handed, wise-ass comment...

Please, seasoned moms- moms of teens, tween, and whatever that stage is right before tween when they think that they know everything and you are some poor pathetic peon put on this earth to serve their every whim-
HELP!

Someone tell me what we are supposed to do the first time your kid brings home that friend. That one friend that despite her cuteness, her polite demeanor, and her uncanny ability to appear perfect in front of parenal units, you just know that she is bad news.

I'm talking...

meets

Or whatever the 10 year old equivalent is....

No, I am not worried that she is going to steal my husband or kill my neighbor... but she is definitely bringing a whole new element of, shall we say, maturity, that my daughter didn't have before.

Granted some might see me as overprotective, or my kids as sheltered- they can't have cell phones. They don't have t.v.'s or computers in their rooms. They go to bed between 8-9:00. And they aren't allowed to ride their bikes off of our block- even my about to turn 10 year old.

But these are our beliefs and we stick by them. Unfortunately, there is a whole big world out there, and dammit these girls are bringing that whole big world over to my fortress, uh, I mean house. They with their cell phones, and their 11:00 bedtimes, and their I-can-ride-my bike-to-Illinois- and-be-home-whatever-time-I-want attitudes...

Hold me. I have a feeling it's only going to get worse from here.

Boobies!

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 13:54:00 +0000

Now that I have your attention...

Confession: I may have a slight phobia about getting old.

Sure I like to pretend like I am totally fine with the aging poecess. What's a little line here, or a gray hair there, right?

But today, today is the day that I take that lovely, rite of passage into middle age- the mammogram. Yep, it's the old squisharoo for me today. Awesome, right? I mean not only do I get the joy of tossing the ol' legs into the stirrups for some good ol' fashioned gynecological fun, but then, THEN I get to go have my breasts exposed, smooshed, and radiated too! Awesome. Guys, I bet you're thinking about how good you have it right about now, aren't you?

Not that I don't enjoy my time with the good doc. I mean, everyone knows how I feel about my gyno, right? No? Totally check out some of my other gynecological escapades

But when I got that little card in the mail... the one that told me it was time... time to start doing a little bit more than just feeling my boobies... well, a little piece of my soul just died.

I mean I can deal with the fact that I have a child who will be turning double digits in 2 weeks, and 2 more not far behind her. Because after all, even though they continue to age, I've stayed gracefully at 29. For. ev. er. But this? This is society's way of telling me to close up shop. Pack in the old ovaries, and call it a day. Move along; nothing to see here. Just invest in some track suits, a sensible pair of shoes, and ride it out until menopause.

This makes me sad.

I especially love those old adages about aging, designed to make you feel better... unless of course you are actually getting old, in which case it just makes you feel like throwing a brick at the person who said them.

"Age is only a number." This one is great. Unless of course your number is like 62 and you're being told this by someone who is 23.
"You are only as old as you feel." Oh really? Fantastic! So what do I do on a day like today when I feel about 147? Huh smartypants? What do you say about that?
"Old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative? Seriously? So that's what I get? Why not change that saying to. "Hey, it's this or a box, babe?"

Every time someone talks about how they feel so much better/smarter/sexier/prettier/wiser/ now that they are over 40, I just want to kick them. No really. I want to actually kick them. Not because I feel particularly bad at 40. I feel fine. But, I am not going to pretend for a minute that I wouldn't want to have my 20 year old ass/boobs/thighs/skin/hair back to go along with this new found maturity and wisdom.

The point of this post? Like most, there is none. So let me just take this opportunity to remind the ladies reading to feel your boobies! And if you happen to have the misfortune of being as old as I am, schedule a mammogram. I mean, that's what they tell us we need to do now, right?

And I will leave you with this:
To me, old age is always fifteen years older than I am. -Bernard Baruch

'Aint that the truth!

Rock The (Blog) Vote

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 18:59:00 +0000

Confession: This post has nothing to do with the elections, politics, or voting. Well, kinda voting...

Popularity in blogging, much like high school, is a double edged sword.

How am I supposed to use my blog to complain about the things people do if those same people are now READING my blog?

And so begins the conundrum of formerly anonymous bloggers everywhere...

When I started blogging, a few close friends and family members read my blog. No one that I would have any reason to complain about. Or at least not on my blog. Then it seemed it was mostly other bloggers reading my blog. Women who lived in places far, far away. Women (and men) who were a whole great big Internet world away. Then slowly something happened... word of mouth, newspaper articles, a freelancing gig with the local paper, and suddenly, the lady down the block reads; the next door neighbor is following; the kids teachers, the bus driver, etc. all know about my blog.
Don't get me wrong- I love and appreciate the readers. I never intended my blog to be anonymous. I never hid my identity. I am easily searchable on Google, on Facebook and Twitter- always have been.

I always thought that my focus in this blog would be on MY kids and the dumb things that THEY do. Or better yet, the dumb things that I do. I forgot that there is a whole big wide world of other idiotic people doing idiotic things too. And how am I supposed to write about it, if I am afraid they are going to read it and get mad at me? Don't worry, I'm totally not talking to you. Stop being so paranoid and finish reading this.
I mean, not everyone gets my sense of humor, ya know? Not everyone realizes that this is largely satirical stuff here. And not everyone takes it so well when they think you are telling them, in not so many words, that they are sucky parents, or that their kids are a pain in the ass, or that you wish that they would stop letting their 12 and 13 year old kids hang out at the park smoking cigarettes and using the F word in front of my 5 year old all the time, while you think they are at their friends house...uh...um... I mean... something slightly less accusatory and menacing... and NO I am still not talking to YOU. Man, you are paranoid.

So, it looks like I am left with 3 choices here.
I can change the blog. Rename. Rebrand. Rewhatever. And start over and remain anonymous.
I can write stuff that won't offend anyone- You know, boring shit like my pot roast recipe.
Or I can keep on writing the truth as I see it, and risk pissing off and alienating half the people I know.

Everyone gets a vote. What say you?

One More Thing....

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 04:23:00 +0000

Confession- Ooops.

In all the craziness of the first week of school, I totally forgot to post my annual surefire-way-to-make-you-feel-better-about-yourself-as-a-parent picture! I mean after all, I kind of owe it to you- and I know you've come to expect it from me. So here it is:

Yep. You got it. That is me following the bus to school like a loon on #3's first day of Kindergarten. I know. But come on, cut me a break. He's the only boy, and he's the baby! Hey, at least I didn't sit outside the school for an hour like I did when they all started preschool.
.
.

Not-So-Porno-PTA.

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 13:26:00 +0000

Confession: I may not always wear underwear but at least I teach my kid not to be a bully.

Some of you may remember the post titled Porno PTA. It's right here, so if you don't recall, or never read it, go ahead. I'll wait.
It's the one about me forgetting to wear underwear to back to school night. It's been a long running fave of mine, and several others as well.

No long winded post today. No discussion of all the crazy events going on in the world right now. Let's face it that's not what you come here to see. But I did want to take a minute to mention that tonight is back to school night once again. And I just got showered and dressed (10 hours ahead of time I might add- I know- are you proud of me or what?). Anyway, the point is I PUT ON UNDERWEAR! Yay me! So, while I probably won't have anything interesting to post later tonight, at least you can rest easy knowing that I won't be showing my goodies to the new vice principal, or anyone else I may encounter tonight.

I may however be showing someone my Philly attitude. Seems as though the "mean girls" are giving my #1 a hard time at school again. Not really bullying or anything, but just not including her, or letting her play with them, making her cry. I know it's just little girls being little girls, but it sucks when it's your kid being excluded. I try to teach my kids to behave better than that. Oh well. Now that my blog is super public and everyone and their Grandma now knows that I am the woman behind the blog, maybe some of them will read this and talk to their kids about being mean. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Probably. You know who you are.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun... (not spend all their time doing their hair-duh)

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 04:22:00 +0000

Confession: I envy those cute matchy-matchy moms- ever so slightly!

Here in New Jersey, tomorrow is the first day of school. I know that this instills much anxiety in a lot of people. I know that some kids, tween girls especially, will stress for hours or even days over what to wear the first day back. At my house, not so much.

You know those moms who spend an hour ensuring that their kids clothes are all matchy-matchy, every hair is in place, bows and barrette and baubles adorning each one? Yes? Well, I'm definitely not one of those moms.

My girls especially, tend to look like a cross between Cyndi Lauper circa 1982 and, well, me when I've just rolled out bed in the morning.

My son is going through his new found independent stage. He wants to pick out his own clothes. Yesterday he wore a green and yellow t-shirt, couple with navy blue soccer shorts with stains on it. he topped it off with light blue and red sandals. He looked fabulous. I got lots of funny looks from parents in the grocery store, the doctor's office, and pretty much every where we went. He was oblivious of course- as it should be.

My middle daughter just turned 7. She wears a bathing suit almost every day. When she's not, she can be found sporting the same exact outfit every single day until I have to forcibly pry it from her body in order to wash it.

My almost 10 year old is finally getting the hang of the whole coordinating pieces, matching colors, etc. But, she is 10, and has never been one of those fashion diva types. She'd rather be doing just about anything then spending time on her appearance.

I suppose I should be thankful for all of this. It saves tons of time in getting ready, and vast amounts of money on having to pick out the perfect outfit, or the latest trend.

Where do they get it you ask? Well, I've never really been one to spend much time on my hair or my nails or my clothes. I'm a wash and wear kind of girl. So, this all stands to reason. In fact, I've said on numerous occasions that some of my "outfits" have earned me a permanent spot on people of walmart dot com- even when I'm not actually at Walmart. Yeah, it gets that bad.

So this year I resolve to get up every morning, well before the kids, and shower and dress (in something other than shorts, a t-shirt, and flip flops), to at least attempt to do my hair, and do something with my face. If my calculations are correct I am almost certain I can make it through ~~the entire school year~~ ~~the first report period~~ the first day.

So, do you stress if your kids don't look picture perfect? Or do you let 'em roll in the dirt in their "Sunday clothes"?

Holiday Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 14:11:00 +0000

Confession: This is not my work. It's a guest post provided by Maureen Page to an overworked, summer-stressed mom, such as myself. Enjoy!

It’s bad enough that you had to push eight pounds of straight pain out of your hoo-ha, while everyone within a 10-mile radius of your ‘birthing suite’, aka Vaginal Torture Emporium, listened to you promise (exact words: “SWEAR TO GOD”) to filet your husband’s dingle with the rusty Martha Stewart kitchen shears you got for Christmas ten years ago. That was the day that the orderly on Floor 9 finished pushing his cart one-handed, clutching his junk for dear life with the other.

No, this was not the worst moment in your tenure as Mother Exalted. That honor is reserved for a far more banal horror. Something we in the biz like to call Holiday Hell. That long, endless stretch of FOREVER that sneaks up on you when you’re just hitting your stride -- cracking open its infinite yaw, sucking all hope down its raw and gurgling esophagus of Aggravation, Hassle, and Despair.

This dreaded time is known to most as Summer Vacation -- two innocent, carefree words, that make children and their teachers giggle in their sleep. Yee-gads, the very thought makes the frazzled hairs on my head stand up worse than the time my sister tried to give me a ‘henna’ with Lush and Lovely’s ‘Just for Broads’.

But don’t worry feckless sister-moms! I have been to the bowels of the beast, wiped its gangrenous goo from my chin, and risen like dough, one fisted hand thrust skyward in triumph. Let me share with you now, some tips for making it to Other Side with aplomb and sanity intact:

Plan Day Trips:

You have 8-10 weeks of time to fill, so why not do something fun and educational at least one day a week. Have the kids go online and research things to do in your area. Most towns now have their own website listing local attractions and ‘Happenings’. Some have Cultural Centers with summer schedules. And the local Chamber of Commerce has plenty of information for them to explore.

Endow the days with names like Mummy Day (Museums), Festival Friday (Fairs and Festivals), Critter Day (Zoos, and Aquariums), Water Day (water parks, community pools, beaches), and Scenic Saturday (parks and reservations). Let the kids plan the schedule in advance for each week to come. Allowing them to set the agenda gives them the credit and a sense of ownership. And it also gives you someone else to blame if the day’s a dud.

Go to the Movies:

Kids’ movies are hot now. It seems like every time you turn around, they’re advertising a new animation with wise cracking characters voiced by celebrities. Many theaters offer special pricing during ‘off-times’. Go online, and google: special + movie prices + moms + kids + your town. Chances are your local theater offers this kind of deal.

The Overnight:

It never hurts to take a break from routine. In fact, it often makes home look like an oasis in the desert. There are different ways to achieve an overnight -- some requiring your presence, and some providing you (in theory at least) with sweet, solitary relief.

The Family Camp Out

Give the kids their choice of locale, whether it be mountains, beach, or ‘other’. Beg, borrow, or buy your gear (tent, sleeping bags, cookout items). Don’t forget to pack some games, a pack of cards, and good light sources. Don’t worry that you’ll forget something like biodegradable toilet paper. You will. But that will just make that homecoming more precious (unless you wipe with the wrong leaf), so it’s all good.

The Back Yard Camp Out

The beauty of this kind of camping is that you get to stay inside, with the refrigerator, the bathroom, and the air conditioning. Make sure the kids have everything they need though, or your peace will be short-lived. OK, who are we kidding here. You’ll be up all night long between checking on them, and their visits in and out. In fact, dollars to donuts, when dawn breaks, they’ll be laid out on the living room floor in an impossible configuration of couch cushions and unidentifiable objects.

The Send-Away

Biting your tongue at Thanksgiving and Christmas can really pay off. Cash in on your good relationship with the grandparents by arranging for the kids to visit Nana and Pop-Pops. Hopefully, you’ll have the kind of parents that can’t wait to get them alone and spoil them rotten in some kind of weird passive-aggressive payback scenario. Don’t worry – you get to do this to your kids too when the time comes... Sending the kids to grandma and grandpa’s is worth the agony of retraining them not to expect chocolate milk and raisin buns at midnight. So don’t argue. Just do it.

And of course, the send-away works with friends as well. The only down-side is that you will be expected to reciprocate. But hey – combine Reciprocation with The Back Yard Camp Out, and kill two birds.

Hopefully by now, you’re starting to see that Summer Vacation is survivable with a little planning and forethought. And if you aren’t buying any of this just remember -- September is right around the corner. And the vodka’s in the very back of the bottom desk drawer.

About the Author

This article was written by Maureen Page, VP of Discount Security Cameras, your source for quality security cameras and security camera systems

Maureen wrote this as a guest post for Mommy Confessions. Mommy Confessions is in no way affiliated with Discount Security Cameras.

The Information Super Highway

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 14:07:00 +0000

Confession: Car rides with the kids don’t suck as bad as they used to.

I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed that our 8ish hour car ride isn’t yielding me more blog-worthy moments. Used to be I could count on a ride like this to yield several melt downs, at least one full-blown tantrum, and countless WTF moments for your entertainment. Not so much this time.

Granted, we decided to divide the trip in half. Leaving instead at night and stopping halfway to our destination for sleep. I’m not sure that really even matters though.

Each of the kids is a full year older than they were on our last lengthy car ride undertaking. Perhaps this has brought a new level of maturity? Perhaps they have grown up enough to sit quietly in their seats and refrain from slapping the crap out of each other any time one of them breathes in the other’s general direction? Naaaah that’s not it. It’s the golden age of electronics, my friends.

I know some of you have been on board with this method of a mobile babysitter for years now. But, I am fairly new to the game. Here’s how it works. In addition to the suitcases, toiletries, etc. that we packed for our trip, we have.. dun dun dun.... the electronics bag! The bag, once condemned by this mother for use as a vacation staple, is now touted and revered as the vacation ride sanity saver. It’s amazing how this parenting thing can really cut our core values right down to shit, isn't it?

This bag, which I once would have said had no place on a trip that was supposed to be chock full of togetherness and outdoorsy goodness, is truly a get-there-without-killing-each-other life saver.

Contents:

2 iPod Touches

2 regular iPods (the kind that just play music- remember those?)

1 DS

1 Leapster 2

2 portable DVD players

A host of movies and electronic games

and of course... my laptop.

Now some might say, as I once did, that a long ride such as this is a great time for family bonding. Playing punch-buggy, the license plate game, and singing car-trippy songs, should be enough to sustain everyone and keep you rolling from state to state to state... and yes, another state! To these people I say, you try driving in a car with my kids for a few hours and see how that whole sing-songy nonsense works out for ya. You’ll be tossing them the Angry Birds before you can say New Jersey Turnpike. Trust me.

So, for those of you hoping to get a some funny car trip confessions, I apologize. All of the kids are busily rotting their brains and giving themselves carpal tunnel at the same time. But, we’ve got miles to go before we sleep, so I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

I’d call home to check on the house/dog sitter, but she’s probably busy playing wii and texting.

summertime and the livin' is.... easy?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 18:32:00 +0000

Confession: Having the kids at home for the summer is awesome... the first two days.

Ahhhh summer. A time for the pool, a time for the beach, a time to go 3 or 4 straight weeks without writing a blog post. Yeah, uh, sorry about that guys. It's not for the lack of material, I swear. What with the kids being home from school for, oh about 720 hours a day, I have lots of misadventures, mishaps, and knock down drag out sibling fights I could write about. Not to mention, I could write about my dog pooping out about 10 pounds of used tampons, which is a blog post in and of itself (sorry for the TMI there). But, there are only so many hours in the day, and sadly, mine are filled with mediating arguments and pleading with a higher power to get me through til bedtime (which by the way is like 3 hours later in summer- who the hell made up that rule?)

I get so excited when the school year is winding down to its last few days. I contemplate all the fun stuff we'll do- the laid back pace, the sleeping in, and the joy of togetherness. And then it actually ends. And after the first few days- after we've been to the park, the zoo, the beach, and the aquarium, reality sets in. These kids are going to be here with me every day for the next TWO AND A HALF MONTHS!

I am secretly envious of moms who post all these happy pictures on Twitter and Facebook of their smiling families riding ferris wheels and eating cotton candy- little angelic smiling children, holding hands running down the beach. That is what I want summer to be. That is what I picture every year on the last day of school. But the reality is that my kids might very well throw each other off of the ferris wheel or try to drown each other in the ocean. The little angels that they are.

Not to mention, having three kids home all summer doesn't change the fact that I still have laundry to do, dinners to cook, and toilets to scrub. Sure, it's a slower pace, and those things don't seem as rushed and urgent as they do during other seasons, but still, there is no summer vacay for us moms.

And that is why I enrolled my kids in summer day camp. It's only half a day, 4 days a week, for 6 weeks, but it gives me some time to get the laundry done, run errands without 4,679 shouts of, "can we get this, can we get that", and basically, to breathe. It's a double edged sword really. I like the fact that they are out of the house a few hours a day without me; getting fresh air and exercise, but having to get them up in the morning, pack lunches, etc. is kind of a buzzkill for my mellow summer self. It's kind of like, well, school.

So what do you with your kids in the summer? Do they go to any kind of camp or program? And how do you keep your kids from getting cabin fever and/or killing each other on days when there really isn't much to do, or you can't stray far from home because it's laundry day- or whatever.

It Can't be THAT bad... Can it?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 03:24:00 +0000

Confession: I've written some real crap.

If you've been with me on Mommy Confessions for any amount of time, you know that, like everywhere else in life, you have to take the bad with the good.

I've written what I consider to be some good posts. I've tried to entertain, to provoke thought, to make you laugh, and a few times, maybe make you cry.

And I've written some crap. I've pulled out old posts and reposted them when I was too lazy or tired to think up new material. I've had guest posters do my job for me when I was slacking. And I've written quick, one paragraph blurbs about a random topic, and passed it off as a decent post.

I would imagine that anyone who reads this blog probably has their favorite posts. I know I have mine. So imagine my surprise when checking my stats this month, I find out that my most popular post of ALL TIME (statistically speaking), is a lame-ass, half-post, that isn't even really a post. It's a little blurb from a couple years ago bout how I couldn't go to the BlogHer conference. That's it.

What the hell are you people looking at? More page views than any other on this blog? Seriously?

This is what the fuss is all about:

Mommy Confessions Blog: My BlogHer '09 Recap Post

So if you're here, and you're reading, and you've been here before, I ask a favor of you. Take a second to let me know in the comments what your favorite post was! I have to believe that this some sort of technical error. Either that, or you guys are incredibly easy to please, and all of my posts will be a whole lot shorter and less interesting from now on!

Just One Joplin Story...

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle~ Mommy Confessions) — Mon, 30 May 2011 01:31:00 +0000

Confession: I cry at car insurance commercials.

I also cry at movies, television shows (even comedies), weddings, funerals, sometimes even sporting events. I cry when I am happy. I cry when I am sad. I cry when I am really, really angry. So, suffice to say that I am a mildly emotional girl. So, you get it? It doesn't take much to make me cry.
I usually do funny on here. But this blog is about more than just funny things. It's about everything that touches me as a parent; about everything that I think is worth sharing. I don't care if you're the toughest, most stoic person alive... if this doesn't make you emotional, your heart is made of stone.

This tornado that hit Joplin Missouri last week, I can't make sense of it. Not that I can make sense of the one that hit Ringgold, Gerogia (where part of my family lives) or Tuscaloosa, Alabama or Smithville, Mississippi... All I can say is that my heart and prayers are with all of them. My fears remain here with the rest of us.