My Messy Paradise

Easier. Since when does it mean worse?

LZ — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 20:16:23 +0000

I recently read a guest post (by Nina Badzin) on Scary Mommy, and the comments really got under my skin. I generally have a pretty high tolerance for parenting differences, and the debates they inspire, but I reached my boiling point. The post in question was a light-hearted talk about listening to our mothers about parenting (the ease of formula, why you don’t need to make your own baby food, and that we should simply relax) and things would be easier. She basically suggests that no mom should feel bad because she chooses formula, jarred baby food, and having a life. I couldn’t agree more. Simple enough? Sure. Meant to spark a nasty debate? No.

Here’s the comment that really made me feel stabby:

I’m sorry, but what the fuck?

We all know the nutritional benefits of nursing. You can’t dispute that. With me, I had plans to nurse Abs as long as I could. I planned ahead. I read the books. I took the classes. She came along, and all seemed fine. Then, she didn’t gain weight, she didn’t poop, she barely peed. I was ‘nursing’ around the clock and getting no sleep. I was a zombie during the day for my new baby and my toddler. I tried and tried, and kept trying until our lactation consultant told me to supplement. Fine. Luckily, I never felt the guilt that can be so destructive for new moms, so formula was fine for me. However, it is baffling to me that some people could not see that our situation wasn’t working and needed to be fixed. I went from a barely functioning state, to being able to keep my eyes open and act like a human. My family was infinitely happier. Because of formula. I’m sure I could have worked harder at nursing. I could have given up the few hours of sleep that I got each night and pumped. I could have continued to wake up in tears after 30 minutes of sleep. All night, every night. I would have been more miserable, and less able to take care of my kids and myself. Do some people really see this as the better of the 2 options?

Formula, yes, is nutritionally inferior. We know that. But we are not talking the difference between a candy bar and a salad. This debate needs to go away. I wish nursing worked out better for me. I really do. I do believe that it would have been wonderful to carry no bottles, no mixing, no nothing. Just my baby and my boob. However, when I see a mom nursing, I don’t think, “Wow, she she’s a better mom than those who feed their babies liquid poison.” I think nothing. She’s feeding her baby, and it’s none of my business to have an opinion on how she does it.

Homemade versus store-bought baby food is just a personal preference. I’m not much of a cook, and I don’t enjoy it. For me, purchasing a jar of ‘Tender Sweet Carrots’ (Ingredients: Carrots and Water) was easy. If I liked to cook and cooked more often, I would have tried to make my own. I didn’t. And it’s ok. The commenter calls it “Taking the lazy way out.” I call it, ‘We live in 2010. There have been some advances that make life easier, that don’t compromise our children’s health. You are not a superhero because you choose not to take advantage.” Make your own food. Buy your baby’s food. Again. Who cares?

But…where she really gets me is with the,

“If you want to relax, don’t have kids. Get a goldfish. Motherhood is not for the weak and lazy.”

Ouch. Wow. WTF? Don’t we know this? Don’t we all know that motherhood is a full-time gig and the worries never stop? Does that somehow mean that we are now servants to our kids’ every whim and desire? That they now have the say, and we have none? Does it mean that we cease to exist as people, and are only known as ‘M’s mother’? (well…I guess that’s true, but still…) Does it mean that *gasp* we should not have hobbies or interests outside of NickJr., Play-do, and coloring books?

No. It doesn’t mean any of those things. My days of relaxing are over? I stay home with my girls. I’m with them all day, every day. Do you mean to tell me, crazy lady, that when I can, I should not take a break? Should I re-scrub the toilet after it’s clean, just because I need to be doing something? Should I unfold and re-fold the clothes in my laundry basket a couple of times, just to show some extra love? This woman would have a field day in my house. I actually let my kids play together without me. I do other things that have nothing to do with them. I’m not down in the kitchen making homemade meals from scratch every day. We order out. I (and my kids) will occasionally eat something from the freezer. Lock me up.

People do things differently. I see it everyday. Why isn’t it ok? There is point where ‘Ok’ is fine. Good, better, best doesn’t include shitty. When given many options, there’s a likely chance that more than one is acceptable. There’s even the chance that some moms and families find different options to be the best. The next time you see a mom beating her kid, worry about the child. Don’t worry about the kid who is drinking from a bottle and eating a jar of peas.

Now excuse me while I relax with a book. My kids aren’t even in the same room as me. The horror!

The post where I swear a lot.

LZ — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 02:20:29 +0000

The scene: The bathtub.

M and A were taking a bath tonight. Fairly uneventful. I sat next to the tub with my Kindle in my hand, ready to read for a bit, until Abs decided to start filling her cup and pouring it out of the tub.

My first reaction: “Abs, stop pouring water out of the tub.” Duh.

My second reaction: “Seriously? Abs, stop pouring water on the floor!”

Then, embarrassingly (though under my breath – but clearly not enough): “You little shit” as I grabbed the cup from her hand and dried the floor with my bath towel. No harm done. Until M started singing…”You little shit, you little shit! Abs is a little shit!”

She has trouble with her ‘sh’ sound, so it came out like, ‘sit.’

“Abs is a sit! Abby’s a sit!”

Then Abs piped in, “I a little shit. I a little shit!”

Joe and I were crying. I was doubled over to the point where I couldn’t speak. Tears streaming down my face. Joe was roaring from the other room. Same thing. He’d stop laughing, I’d start again. I wanted to explain that I let a bad word slip out, and she should stop repeating it, but every time I calmed down enough, she’d start again. Saying shit to the tune of the alphabet song. Telling Abs that she’s a little shit, as if it’s a compliment. Then asking, “Am I a little shit?”

Then, “Mom, what’s a shit?”

Compose yourself, woman.

I explained that it wasn’t a nice word, and it slipped out by accident, and she should not say it.

“Ok, I won’t say it, but if I can’t say it, you can’t say it either. That’s only fair.”

That’s fine. Unless, of course, I’m desperately in need of a good laugh.

77Kids Do Good Day

LZ — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 01:23:36 +0000

A little late, but better than never!

Last week, I had the opportunity to spend the morning in Boston with the girls and a group of amazing local bloggers. We were part of 77Kids Do Good Day. Our job? To do something nice for others, without expectation of anything in return. Participating with me were Christine, Jennifer, Audrey, Christy, Niri, Jodi and Angela. 11 cities around the US had similar events.

In recent months, I’ve been wanting to instill more of a sense of helping and charity into the girls. As the Berenstain Bears would say, they have definitely come down with the ‘Greedy Gimmies.’ I assumed that telling them, especially M, that we bought 800 SillyBandz, and planned to give them out – to kids other than her – would be a big problem. Turns out, it wasn’t. She thought it was great. We all met at the New England Aquarium. We packed up the loot and started chasing kids down and handing them out. She was so proud of herself when a big group came by and she depleted her stash!

We left feeling great. Kids were so excited to get a little gift, and the parents thought it was wonderful. It was a great way to spend a morning, and I only hope I get the chance to do it again! For more info, and more Do Good Day posts from all participating cities, check out TheMotherhood. Click here to see photos of our day.

Hands off, ladies. He’s mine. All mine.

LZ — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:12:42 +0000

Today, more so than usual, I just got fed up. It could have been the crack of dawn wake up, the fighting that started moments later, or perhaps Abs, digging in my plant, throwing dirt on my floor and rug and screaming when I told her to stop. I can’t quite pin point it.

On our way out, I called Joe, on the verge of ugly crying, and told him I wanted to get a babysitter. Just a few hours a week, so I could get out in hopes of regaining some of my lost sanity.

He gets it. He knows that it’s easy to get on my last nerve. His answer, “We need a night away.” Yes, Joe. A night away. Tell me, dear husband, when work frustrates you, and we get a night away, does that solve the issue? Do you feel better indefinitely? No. You feel better and recharged for, maybe, a day? I love the sentiment, but it’s not exactly the long-term solution I was going for. Nor was I looking for an alternative. My idea is good. A sitter. A morning or 2 each week. Sounds nice?

Yes, I probably sounded grumpy. I probably sounded like I didn’t want a night away. Not the case. Yes, I jumped down your throat and sounded like a maniac telling you that you don’t support me, and you have no idea how evil these cute little girls can be some days. I know you do. You need a break from them as much as I do. So, why, oh why, did I receive the following card in my inbox?

Or, how about this one?

It could have me telling him he was as unsupportive as a worn-out jock strap, or the infantile way I hung up the phone to prove my point. All the more reason to get me a babysitter.

Kids who still won’t sleep.

LZ — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 13:33:45 +0000

Last night, Abs had another ‘episode.’

It was bedtime. Neither of the girls wanted to go to bed, though it was later than usual. The same routine…we put them in bed. Abs gets up and runs around. M laughs. Abs continues to run and yell. Then the inevitable cry of, “Mom, Abby’s on my bed!” Abs laughs. Repeat. Over and over and over.

We try to be consistent. One of us walks upstairs, picks her up, puts her back in bed. We leave the room. She gets up and yells, cries, climbs into M’s bed.

Joe (who never loses his cool) has had enough. He picked her up and placed her in the changing table until she calmed down.

“Daddy, let me down! No touch me!”

“Do you want to get down?”

“Yes. Put me DOWN!

“If I put you down, are you going to go to bed?”

“No!”

“Ok, you’ll stay here.”

And he waited. I took M into the playroom to snuggle while Abs screamed like a banshee, (“I want to snuggle with Mommy!” – because mommy is the weak link) for what felt like hours (it was for at least a full hour…she was hoarse from the yelling.) Joe came into get M and tried to make light of it.

“M, your sister sure is crazy, isn’t she? Should we trade her for a puppy?”

“No, Daddy. I like Abs.”

“How about for 2 puppies?”

“No, Daddy. Well…how about 10 puppies?”

We brought M back to bed, and they were settling in. Before we left, M asked,

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Peanut.”

“What about the 10 puppies?”

Let the Sun Shine

LZ — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 14:22:36 +0000

At a recent dermatologist visit, I answered a questionnaire. Since it was a skin cancer check, one of the first questions was, “Have you ever had a bad sunburn?” Has anyone NOT had a bad sunburn? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been beet red, in pain and cursing that big ball of fire in the sky. And then heading out again to bask in it the next day.

I grew up as a sun worshipper. As a kid in a suburban neighborhood full of other children, I was outside from morning ’til night. I honestly don’t remember ever having my mom apply sunblock. Yes, we lived in New England, not Miami, but surely, even then, there was sunblock. Wasn’t Brooke Shields the original Coppertone baby? She’s older than me. I remember Summers at the beach where a pink sunburn was called ‘heathy color.’ We burned and looked forward to it turning to a tan. We went to tanning salons to get a base so we could stay in the sun all day on vacation.

As I got older, I got more creative. On a vacation to Hawaii, I learned the horribly disgusting trick to a deep, dark tan: mixing olive oil and flat Coca Cola. How gross is that? Guess what? I may have been greasy, stinky and sticky, but I was tan. How about Plaxtex Baby Magic lotion? You guessed it…tan! If you look at the person I got that hot tip from, you’d think I was a nut for even considering it.

It seems our choices these days are 1. Wrinkles/cancer 2. Pale, Cullen-esque skin that glows 3. Snooki orange (which may or may not be streaky like Tony the Tiger.) With those amazing choices, it’s no wonder I usually stay inside. There, I can be pale, but not worrying about blinding my fellow beach goers.

My girls have never even had tan lines. I hope they will never have a sunburn. With my fair skin, they don’t really stand a chance of that. Joe is as fair-skinned as I am, yet refuses to accept it. Let’s hope that his belief that he has a Mediterranean complexion somehow translate genetically into the inability to burn. I plan to be the mom at the beach or pool that harasses her 18 year old into the chalk whiteness of SPF 1,000,000. After that, let’s hope they have good sense. Before that, grounding is not out of the question until they accept that they will stay porcelain white.

Relaxation 101

LZ — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 13:51:22 +0000

I am a champion relaxer.

Do you watch Modern Family? Joe and I are like Mitchell and Cameron in Hawaii. Mitchell is the Energizer Bunny of relaxation. He can’t do it. “Let’s go to the Lavender Ranch.” “No, thank you. I’ll be by the pool with a drink with the kids who are not at all interested in Lavender.” Finally, at the end of the episode, Cameron asks Mitchell to sit down in a chair, while a waitress brings him a yummy drink and someone rubs his feet. He relaxes.

It’s not so easy in my house. Even the promise of a fruity drink and a foot rub won’t instill the beauty of doing doing nothing in Joe. How often are we actually able to just sit and do nothing? I truly can not comprehend the inability to enjoy peace and quiet.

Unless the girls are climbing the walls, I very rarely feel like I need to be constantly busy or on the go.

We recently joined a local pool club. One of the greatest inventions of late is the kiddie wading pool. I sit on a lounge chair, the girls play in the pool. That’s it for activity. Do I feel the need to get in and splash with them? No. If they ask, I will. If I get hot, I will. Otherwise, I sit and relax in the sun. I haven’t quite mastered the art of reading a book or magazine while they play, but I’ll get there. I’m working on it.

Sunday, the 4th of July, we went to the pool as a family. Picture it – 3 pools (one is no deeper than a bathtub), ample lounge chairs, perfect sunshine. After 30 or so minutes, I could see Joe looking around.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“This.”

5 minutes later, “Do you want to do something?”

“Yes, this.”

10 minutes later, “The girls are probably getting antsy, you want to think about getting out of here?”

“What makes you think they are getting antsy? Their ear to ear smiles? Their constant laughter? Their refusal to get out of the pool because they say they are having too much fun?”

“I have stuff to do ay home.”

“Don’t even fucking say vacuuming.”

Silence.

“You can go and pick us up later.”

“No, but I just can’t sit here.”

“Well, we can. Come back and get us when you’re done being crazy.”

sigh…eye roll…finger tapping

We left the pool.

In his defense, we went back the next day, and he brought a book. He actually read some of it. I think he may have even enjoyed it. Most importantly, it was at least 40 minutes before he started getting the shakes and asking to go home.

Eclipse. It was pretty good!

LZ — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 12:30:37 +0000

True Blood had thrown a wet blanket over my Twilight craze. The show is better than the movies, the Sookie Stackhouse books are better than the Twilight series. I thought I was over Twilight – I wasn’t sure that I’d even see it in the theater, possibly just waiting for the DVD and make Joe sit through it with me. Then the trailers came out, I got excited, but my expectations were pretty low. A friend (Thank you, S!) invited me to see it last night, and I have to say I was pleasantly surprised!

Catchy opening scene? Check. If hadn’t stopped time (and breathing) whenever a trailer came on the TV, I might have missed it…it started pretty suddenly. Ok, Eclipse…you have my attention. What’s next? Edward putting the squeeze on Bella to marry him…come on, buddy. You can do better. But, I get it, her blood ‘sings’ to you. Fine. Keep pushing. The scene in his room when he brought in a bed and she tried to get it on like a teenaged boy? Well done. I’ll admit, yet later deny, that I smiled ear to ear when she accepted his proposal.

This time around, the makeup was so much better. New Moon was almost unwatchable to me, the way Edward looked like he borrowed makeup tips from Memoirs of a Geisha. I liked the way they involved some of the other characters that we haven’t heard much from (Rose and Jasper, in particular.) This was a better story. The screenwriter did a decent job of translating from book to screen, while keeping pretty true to the book.

What didn’t I like? Victoria. What was wrong with the old Victoria? She barely had any lines in this film, and she looked like a drag queen. Also, the sparkles. Or lack thereof. I have accepted the fact that Edward sparkles in the sun, thus, you’d think he would avoid the sun. Not in these super-believable movies!! Edward seemed to spend a *lot* of time in the sun. He went to Florida! Why didn’t Bella’s mom question why he was inside all-the-friggin-time?

The fight scene, though, watchable and exciting, was straight out of the Matrix. Since when did vampires fight like this? Why would Jasper have known these moves (you know, back in the 1800′s??), when he just happened to be an expert in eliminating newborn vampire armies? Is this a rampant problem? Did he invent this style of combat? Do we have Jasper Hale to thank for some of our favorite action flicks?

All in all, I really liked it. The movie was well done. Bella/Kristen Stewart kept the lip biting and general mopiness to a minimum. Edward/Robert Pattinson did just as I expected him to do (he could have stood still on the screen for 2 hours, and he would have fulfilled my expectations.) I’d see it again…if fact, I kind of want to!

The Beach is not my friend.

LZ — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 11:59:28 +0000

Sunday started as any other weekend day. Joe and I couldn’t agree on what to do. He wanted to do something wild and crazy, like go to the beach, or go have some fun outside, while I wanted to stay inside, stay cool and nap.

He offered, “Why don’t I take the girls and you can have some time to yourself?”

Perfect…and too good to be true, as it was followed by, “Though it would be really nice to go together.”

Guilt trip. I refused to let it work.

“I don’t even own a bathing suit.” Can’t argue with that logic!

“So, go buy one. We’ll wait and go when you get back.” Crap.

(insert long sigh combined with eye roll) “Fine.”

He won. Now, our decision was between beach or pool. Either way, this sucks for me. I wanted the pool. Both girls wanted the pool. Somehow, we decided on the beach.

I haven’t worn a bathing suit in 2 years. I went to the store. After scouring the racks of teenie bopper bikinis that my two-kid belly and too-many-cookies ass could not handle and one-pieces that my mom is too young for, I found one that was *ok.* By ok, I mean it showed no stomach and there was a matching pair of swim shorts.

Off to the dressing room.

After trying on the suit, I cried, curled up in the fetal postion on the floor, and sucked my thumb for a few minutes. I decided that was pretty gross and got up, returning the ridiculously tight bathing suit to the rack and getting the next size up, much to my dismay. I bought the stupid suit and went home. I walked in the door, about to cry after my dressing room disaster. Joe gave me a big hug and said he thinks I look great. What a guy…

After a quick wash of the suit, and application of my new SPF 100 sunblock, I grabbed my beach bag, and we were ready to go. I walked in the kitchen, and Joe almost fell to the floor with laughter.

“Seriously. What the fuck is so funny? I’m already in laugh/cry mode today. Don’t make it worse.”

“HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”***
(*** he would like me to point out that he was laughing at my attitude and disposition. Not at me. I don’t believe him. See his next comment.)

“I’m not going. Fuck off.”

“No…I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You look like Powder wearing his grandmother’s bathing suit.”

“I’m really not going.”

Then M chimed in, “You have to go.” Abs piped in, “Mama!!! You go beach!!”

Fine. Just fine, but I am NOT going to be happy about it.

I put on my dress (at which point, Joe said I looked nice. In my head to toe cover up.) I grumbled to the car.

As we pulled into the beach, the sun went behind the clouds and then rained on us 30 minutes after we arrived. We left and came home.

Where it was sunny and had not rained.

Husbands who clean.

LZ — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 11:53:33 +0000

I’m pretty lucky. Joe vacuums. We have a lots of stairs and lots of carpet, and he takes care of it on Saturday mornings. My job is to hang with the girls and keep them occupied and out of his way. Let it be clear…I’ve offered to do this repeatedly, as long as he hangs with the girls for the time it takes, but he says he likes to do it himself.

Our Saturdays go something like this:

7am – I wake up with the girls. Joe sleeps in.

9am – Joe gets up, gets coffee and breakfast.

10am – “Is it cool if I vacuum now?” “Sure” {admittedly, this is often met with an eye roll as I’m usually about to step in the shower or in the middle of doing something that would make vacuuming inconvenient at that time.} We stay downstairs and move when necessary.

10:30am – I still have not heard the vacuum, but I do hear the click of the xbox controller.

11:00am – Joe gets out the vacuum. He asks me where the stair attachment is, though I have never used this vacuum, nor touched the stair attachment.

11:30am – I hear the vacuum start.

11:45am – The vacuum stops. Joe heads down to the garage. “What are you doing?” “Getting the charcoal out for the grill tonight.” Ok.

11:50am – He’s still downstairs. “Are you ok down there.” “Yes, just going through my Winter clothes.” The Winter clothes that are put away to go to storage? The ones you already went through? Yes. Those.

12:00 – He heads upstairs. Vacuum starts again.

12:05pm – The vacuum stops. I hear his guitar. “Can the girls run around up there so I can shower?” “No, I have to finish up, and I can’t really watch them. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

12:50pm – it’s weirdly silent. “What are you doing?” “Uploading pictures.” Makes perfect sense. Picture uploading and vacuuming go hand in hand.

1:30pm – The vacuum starts up.

1:45pm – Vacuuming finished.

1:46pm – Joe asks, “Are you ready to go do something?” “No, I need to shower and get ready.” “You couldn’t do that while I was vacuuming?”