Since this is now our fourth round of this game, I am declaring myself seasoned. I have finally learned how to accurately interpret the profiles of "professional" nannies. Just as I've learned that when I read a student of mine is a "social individual who likes to express himself verbally" I can really expect a disruptive, hyperactive, pain-in-the-ass to show up at my classroom door; I've also learned what to expect when I read the following terms in these profiles:
College Student: I will show up mostly on time and take care of your kids, but I will also call in sick after a long night of partying without thinking twice. On weekends, please pay me in cash and be home in time for me to make it to last call.
25 Years Old: I'll show up every day and take good care of your kids, but I would really prefer one of my own. Please do not act surprised if I tell you I'm either engaged or pregnant. Additionally, either of those things will take ALL of my attention, and I'll totally lose interest in my job.
Certified Teacher: I really love kids and will probably engage them in some pretty great activities, but the second a better job comes along, I will drop your family with the quickness and never look back. Year-long commitment? What's that?
has grown children Since my own kids have grown up, I will now tell you how to be a parent, and will act as though your children are my own. I will probably be overly annoying with the gifts and will tell too many stories about how many children I've "raised" over the years.
So who then, IS qualified to take care of my darling angels? Well, I thought the 40-something mother/nurse/dietitian from England would have been ideal. Loving? Check. Competent? Check. Ran when I uttered the word "taxes"? Check. Same story goes for the charismatic 30-year-old med school drop-out from Canada. I now have an addendum to my ad.
In fact, it now reads something like this:
We are looking for a full-time nanny for two only slightly chaotic boys. The older one is very social, and especially enjoys expressing his desires while others are holding a conversation that doesn't include him. He is opinionated and behaves best when never asked to perform simple everyday tasks, or leave something he enjoys. Potty training is not usually an issue, but the closet floor should be checked upon his waking. The younger one is a budding actor who is anxious to be as steady on his feet as his brother. He has his very own well-stocked first-aid cabinet, should an accident occur. He has the amazing ability to take his scream to a decibel we are sure you've never heard before, and we are certain he will be excited to show off this talent. Drinking on the job is understandable, yet not encouraged (unless they can't see you. If in fact they do, just tell them you're taking a sip of "Dada's pop"). These boys are the light of our world, so you must be willing to love them at least half as much as we do. add: Candidates must have greencard.
Interpret this ad as you will. Now... who wants a job???
Friday, August 6, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Mall adventures
My husband works a ton. Both at his career job and around the house. So when he asked me if I could do him a favor and go pick up his contacts for him really quickly before he had to leave for his business trip, I figured it was the least I could do. "Yes, I'm sure. Yes, I know where it is. The boys will be fine. It'll only take a second." Ah, famous last words.
I was POSITIVE that the eye place was a stand alone store right past the mall. So imagine my level of delight when I called Husband as I was traveling in the wrong direction in search of said store, only to learn that it was in fact IN the mall. Awesome. My plan to leave the boys in the car and run in to a store where it would be certain I would know no one were shot.
I drove around the insanely crowded mall parking lot for a solid 20 minutes (ok, you got me: maybe it was closer to 10, since my A.D.D. would never let that happen) before I settled on a spot one row away from the dead last. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and was pleased to find out that it was nearing 5:00. It was one of the hottest days on record and my kids were about to start their meltdowns if dinner was not at the end of this rainbow. Not only that, but I didn't have their stroller with me, so they were about to have to walk. In the heat. Across the crowded parking lot. In the mall. This "quick" errand was already killing me.
With one slung on my hip and the other two steps behind me with his little hand outstretched to keep a grasp on my fingers, we began our half-mile journey to the front door. Did I mention that the "baby" weighs 26 pounds? And it was literally one hundred flippin' degrees out? I began glistening immediately. (Supermoms don't sweat, btw... they glisten.)
Once we reached the entrance, I decided it was time for everyone to walk. As we strolled (very slowly at this point) past a full length mirror, I almost passed out as I caught a glimpse of myself. Whoa. Three Spiderman stickers stuck randomly in the center of my chest, a yogurt (or maybe it was banana, who can tell?) stain on my shoulder, some ridiculous looking old work-around-the-pants, and a frizzin' out pony tail. Had Oprah been on site, I hands-down would have made it on to her "make over a mom" show, and the very thought of that makes me want to shudder. And cry. Where the freak was this store, and why wasn't it closer to wherever I was????
Walking in to any store with two small boys in tow is always a crap shoot. Sometimes I get the "oh wow your boys are so cute" and other times I get the look that says, "get your stinkin' kids and their dirty hands the hell out of my store". I had a feeling that walking in to a place that had no toys, walls of expensive glasses, and nothing but over-polished glass counter tops was about to warrant the latter. Oh well. Sorry- nothing I can do.
Luckily, the visit was relatively quick and painless. One of them sat down on the floor, and the other jumped up on one of their chairs and began spinning himself around in circles. Hey- they weren't screaming, crying, whining, or pulling the frames off the walls. Things could have been much worse. And much to my surprise, they didn't even complain on our trek back in to the heat to find our car. We made it home in time for dinner and I deemed our trip a success.
Much more successful,that is, than the last time we ventured out to the mall. It was Christmas time. (Yes, the last time I took them to the mall alone was six months ago. That's how not fun shopping with them is). I was in line in a makeup/all things beauty/nothing for small children store with the gigantic double stroller, waiting patiently in a very long line. Of course as luck would have it, the little one started crying (loudly, as is his style) as a girl from college came up to say hi. Totally put-together as always, she smiled as she showed me her two kids who were just waiting with her in line as if they liked it. We stood in that line together, making conversation as I continuously pulled small makeup items out of my son's hand that he kept grabbing out of the bins. (note: her sons were not. Why is that???) By the time it was my turn to check out, the line had grown to approximately ten people deep. I tried to maneuver the stroller around a standing kiosk of nail polishes, and wouldn't you know it: I was stuck. A second line of people touching shoulders with me, and the front wheel completely jammed against the wall of the kiosk, I could neither fit around it or in front. With completely and utterly no where to go, I looked around. Would I REALLY have to back up all the way out of this huge line? Oh. My. God. By this time, my friend had gone up to the other cashier and normally purchased her items. Just typing this now, six months later, is making me wonder all over again why in the world that store would make their aisles so friggin' narrow. Duh, so NOT PC. I mean, seriously. Luckily, a very nice fellow mom (or irritated co-shopper, you choose) volunteered to help. She lifted the front end of my screaming baby holder and helped get me out of my tight spot. Thank you, fellow mom. Thank you.
No more mall adventures for us.
I was POSITIVE that the eye place was a stand alone store right past the mall. So imagine my level of delight when I called Husband as I was traveling in the wrong direction in search of said store, only to learn that it was in fact IN the mall. Awesome. My plan to leave the boys in the car and run in to a store where it would be certain I would know no one were shot.
I drove around the insanely crowded mall parking lot for a solid 20 minutes (ok, you got me: maybe it was closer to 10, since my A.D.D. would never let that happen) before I settled on a spot one row away from the dead last. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and was pleased to find out that it was nearing 5:00. It was one of the hottest days on record and my kids were about to start their meltdowns if dinner was not at the end of this rainbow. Not only that, but I didn't have their stroller with me, so they were about to have to walk. In the heat. Across the crowded parking lot. In the mall. This "quick" errand was already killing me.
With one slung on my hip and the other two steps behind me with his little hand outstretched to keep a grasp on my fingers, we began our half-mile journey to the front door. Did I mention that the "baby" weighs 26 pounds? And it was literally one hundred flippin' degrees out? I began glistening immediately. (Supermoms don't sweat, btw... they glisten.)
Once we reached the entrance, I decided it was time for everyone to walk. As we strolled (very slowly at this point) past a full length mirror, I almost passed out as I caught a glimpse of myself. Whoa. Three Spiderman stickers stuck randomly in the center of my chest, a yogurt (or maybe it was banana, who can tell?) stain on my shoulder, some ridiculous looking old work-around-the-pants, and a frizzin' out pony tail. Had Oprah been on site, I hands-down would have made it on to her "make over a mom" show, and the very thought of that makes me want to shudder. And cry. Where the freak was this store, and why wasn't it closer to wherever I was????
Walking in to any store with two small boys in tow is always a crap shoot. Sometimes I get the "oh wow your boys are so cute" and other times I get the look that says, "get your stinkin' kids and their dirty hands the hell out of my store". I had a feeling that walking in to a place that had no toys, walls of expensive glasses, and nothing but over-polished glass counter tops was about to warrant the latter. Oh well. Sorry- nothing I can do.
Luckily, the visit was relatively quick and painless. One of them sat down on the floor, and the other jumped up on one of their chairs and began spinning himself around in circles. Hey- they weren't screaming, crying, whining, or pulling the frames off the walls. Things could have been much worse. And much to my surprise, they didn't even complain on our trek back in to the heat to find our car. We made it home in time for dinner and I deemed our trip a success.
Much more successful,that is, than the last time we ventured out to the mall. It was Christmas time. (Yes, the last time I took them to the mall alone was six months ago. That's how not fun shopping with them is). I was in line in a makeup/all things beauty/nothing for small children store with the gigantic double stroller, waiting patiently in a very long line. Of course as luck would have it, the little one started crying (loudly, as is his style) as a girl from college came up to say hi. Totally put-together as always, she smiled as she showed me her two kids who were just waiting with her in line as if they liked it. We stood in that line together, making conversation as I continuously pulled small makeup items out of my son's hand that he kept grabbing out of the bins. (note: her sons were not. Why is that???) By the time it was my turn to check out, the line had grown to approximately ten people deep. I tried to maneuver the stroller around a standing kiosk of nail polishes, and wouldn't you know it: I was stuck. A second line of people touching shoulders with me, and the front wheel completely jammed against the wall of the kiosk, I could neither fit around it or in front. With completely and utterly no where to go, I looked around. Would I REALLY have to back up all the way out of this huge line? Oh. My. God. By this time, my friend had gone up to the other cashier and normally purchased her items. Just typing this now, six months later, is making me wonder all over again why in the world that store would make their aisles so friggin' narrow. Duh, so NOT PC. I mean, seriously. Luckily, a very nice fellow mom (or irritated co-shopper, you choose) volunteered to help. She lifted the front end of my screaming baby holder and helped get me out of my tight spot. Thank you, fellow mom. Thank you.
No more mall adventures for us.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Museum Mishap
We are so lucky to live in the city that houses the children's museum that is ranked number one in the entire country. We of course have become members, and it is a place that the boys and I frequent. Regardless, I apparently now have a three-year-old who has made his own agenda and is no longer afraid of the threat of kidnappers.
As soon as we pulled in to the parking lot we noticed our friends getting out of their car, which sent The Boy into hysterics since he was still strapped in to a moving vehicle and his friend was getting ready to walk in without him. After that slight crisis was solved by their actual waiting for us so we could walk in together, the chaos began.
CJ and his friend have known each other since they were babies. His mother used to be CJ's full time babysitter, and not only does she find time to shower and put together an outfit every day, but she always seems to have complete control of her two children. (I, on the other hand, was not only rocking some sweaty gym clothes in addition to the ponytail-slash-headband look in my hair that's too short for either, but I also had to ask her for an extra diaper before I even had the chance to say hello). CJ and friend have opposite personalities, and really don't even see each other all that often. It's actually kind of weird that they get along as well as they do.
Now, we have been to this place so many times that we have our routine pretty well rehearsed. The only thing that has been throwing it off over the past couple visits is the new-found fascination with Superheroes and the fact that the life-sized collection is all the way in the back. (Skip every single thing that Ty likes just to go see a gigantic Iron man first? Ah, decisions, decisions...)
Well today, it really didn't matter what we usually do, because CJ was on a quest to impress. Not only is he usually deathly afraid of any child over the age of 5 in a public place (I'm guessing it has something to do with a fear of being trampled), but he NEVER leaves my side at the museum. If today's visit was any indication of this brand new "I'm three now" personality, I promise to no longer make inappropriate comments about parents who walk their children using leashes disguised as animal-shaped backpacks. In fact, I may purchase a few. And use them.
Every single time I thought we were settled in to play, I would get Ty out of his stroller, start a conversation with my friend, and then look around only to find that CJ had decided to show his friend something new (even though it's quite possible his friend goes there more than even we do), and chances were great that what he was showing him was something he had literally NEVER done or cared about before. Like climbing UP the railing in the Berenstein Bears room, for example. That was a new one. (But he has sticky hands like Spiderman, so he can climb stuff. Duh.)
Perhaps the highlight of my day was when we were in a room where CJ really never spends too much time. We played in the fake sand box, and made the huge fairy tale giant talk and wave his arms. As I thought we were heading out, he told his friend to follow him. The friend kept playing where he was, and CJ started climbing the stairs of a huge pirate ship. By the time I asked the friend to climb up with me to go get him (approximately 7 seconds later), I got to the top only to find him NOWHERE. Not in the secret room, or on the rickety bridge. Not around the corner, or headed back down the stairs. O.M.G. I thought my kid got kidnapped. (Well, I didn't REALLY think that, but he totally could have). Just as I was about to start freaking out about my lost child who never leaves his mama's side, I saw one of the 8 million workers reach her arm out in a sweeping motion and a little blur of tan go squealing past her fingertips. And it wasn't a squeal as in, "I'm desperate to find my mother." No, it was a squeal of pure delight that not only had he broken free from my lock, but was too fast for her, too. She looked around with frantic eyes, and I called out, "I'm his mother". Her response: "Well, you have to stay with him". Oh really? Stay with your small child in a crowded public place? I never would have thought. Thanks for the parenting tip.
After that fiasco we decided to go eat. My friend had of course, packed healthy lunches for herself and her well behaved children. My kids on the other hand were forced to wait as I picked the item off the kids' menu that seemed to have the least amount of sodium. (Well, and a side of fries. Whatev. I really do feed my kids nutritious foods. Honestly, I do.) We almost made it through the whole meal problem-free until Ty, unbeknown to me, stuck the entire cap from his apple juice in to his mouth. Choking, but unable to cough and then crying and yelling with it still in his mouth, I reached in and yanked it out. A mother stopped her stroller and said to me with her nicely put together face, "oh my, is he ok?" Yes, almost unconscious, but ok. Thanks for your fake concern, and making me feel even less competent.
So with one kid who could have gotten himself abducted, and the other who could have choked to death, we headed to the car. After all that excitement, it was nap time. The happiest hour of my day.
As soon as we pulled in to the parking lot we noticed our friends getting out of their car, which sent The Boy into hysterics since he was still strapped in to a moving vehicle and his friend was getting ready to walk in without him. After that slight crisis was solved by their actual waiting for us so we could walk in together, the chaos began.
CJ and his friend have known each other since they were babies. His mother used to be CJ's full time babysitter, and not only does she find time to shower and put together an outfit every day, but she always seems to have complete control of her two children. (I, on the other hand, was not only rocking some sweaty gym clothes in addition to the ponytail-slash-headband look in my hair that's too short for either, but I also had to ask her for an extra diaper before I even had the chance to say hello). CJ and friend have opposite personalities, and really don't even see each other all that often. It's actually kind of weird that they get along as well as they do.
Now, we have been to this place so many times that we have our routine pretty well rehearsed. The only thing that has been throwing it off over the past couple visits is the new-found fascination with Superheroes and the fact that the life-sized collection is all the way in the back. (Skip every single thing that Ty likes just to go see a gigantic Iron man first? Ah, decisions, decisions...)
Well today, it really didn't matter what we usually do, because CJ was on a quest to impress. Not only is he usually deathly afraid of any child over the age of 5 in a public place (I'm guessing it has something to do with a fear of being trampled), but he NEVER leaves my side at the museum. If today's visit was any indication of this brand new "I'm three now" personality, I promise to no longer make inappropriate comments about parents who walk their children using leashes disguised as animal-shaped backpacks. In fact, I may purchase a few. And use them.
Every single time I thought we were settled in to play, I would get Ty out of his stroller, start a conversation with my friend, and then look around only to find that CJ had decided to show his friend something new (even though it's quite possible his friend goes there more than even we do), and chances were great that what he was showing him was something he had literally NEVER done or cared about before. Like climbing UP the railing in the Berenstein Bears room, for example. That was a new one. (But he has sticky hands like Spiderman, so he can climb stuff. Duh.)
Perhaps the highlight of my day was when we were in a room where CJ really never spends too much time. We played in the fake sand box, and made the huge fairy tale giant talk and wave his arms. As I thought we were heading out, he told his friend to follow him. The friend kept playing where he was, and CJ started climbing the stairs of a huge pirate ship. By the time I asked the friend to climb up with me to go get him (approximately 7 seconds later), I got to the top only to find him NOWHERE. Not in the secret room, or on the rickety bridge. Not around the corner, or headed back down the stairs. O.M.G. I thought my kid got kidnapped. (Well, I didn't REALLY think that, but he totally could have). Just as I was about to start freaking out about my lost child who never leaves his mama's side, I saw one of the 8 million workers reach her arm out in a sweeping motion and a little blur of tan go squealing past her fingertips. And it wasn't a squeal as in, "I'm desperate to find my mother." No, it was a squeal of pure delight that not only had he broken free from my lock, but was too fast for her, too. She looked around with frantic eyes, and I called out, "I'm his mother". Her response: "Well, you have to stay with him". Oh really? Stay with your small child in a crowded public place? I never would have thought. Thanks for the parenting tip.
After that fiasco we decided to go eat. My friend had of course, packed healthy lunches for herself and her well behaved children. My kids on the other hand were forced to wait as I picked the item off the kids' menu that seemed to have the least amount of sodium. (Well, and a side of fries. Whatev. I really do feed my kids nutritious foods. Honestly, I do.) We almost made it through the whole meal problem-free until Ty, unbeknown to me, stuck the entire cap from his apple juice in to his mouth. Choking, but unable to cough and then crying and yelling with it still in his mouth, I reached in and yanked it out. A mother stopped her stroller and said to me with her nicely put together face, "oh my, is he ok?" Yes, almost unconscious, but ok. Thanks for your fake concern, and making me feel even less competent.
So with one kid who could have gotten himself abducted, and the other who could have choked to death, we headed to the car. After all that excitement, it was nap time. The happiest hour of my day.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Concrete Noodles
When I got my assignment for this year's annual company 4th of July family picnic, I thought, I can do this! Pasta salad? Not a problem! I even started nice and early so that I wouldn't be rushing around at the last minute, cramming the pasta in the freezer so that it would cool down enough for the rest of the ingredients. Nope, not this year. I was prepared.
Well, to make a long story short (and to skip a bunch of insignificant details), the noodles got seriously overcooked. As in, complete mushiness all stuck together in the pot. Totally inedible. So, I did what any sensible person would do (or, in retrospect, maybe not). I shoved them down the disposal and started over. So all I have to say is this: To everyone at the company party- I sincerely hope you enjoyed the heck out of your pasta salad because it was BY FAR the most expensive side dish I have ever contributed to a picnic. Your bill is in the mail.
When we got home from the party later that evening, I noticed that the sink was clogged, and annoyed, started plunging away. (Again skipping a bunch of insignificant details), when the always-supportive, understanding, level-headed husband and I (ok,ok, way more him than me at this point) were still plunging a day and a half later, it was officially time to call the plumber. Now- here's a detail that's not so insignificant. It was a holiday weekend. We had decided a long time ago that this would be the best time to finish re-doing the kitchen. So that was happening. As was the fact that the pool got some sort of leak underground and was only about to cost us a million dollars to get fixed. So as I'm sure you can imagine, not only was this noodle debacle happening period, but it probably couldn't have been happening at a more inconvenient time.
Plumbers, apparently, begin charging the second they answer your phone call. They do not stop charging until the second they have your cold hard cash in their grease-stained hands. Our particular plumber (who was excellent, by the way) stayed for an impressive 4 hours!! Yeah! Less time to finish the kitchen! Less money to use on any sort of vacation we were trying to coordinate! Awesome!! And don't think that I wasn't being reminded of this situation every five minutes as I heard things like, "yup, he's STILL here" or "I like to think you're smarter than this, Jenifer". My favorite was, "well, there goes another million dollars". My comeback of "yup, literally down the drain" (pun fully intended), didn't go over too well.
So, he finished the job and said that I made his record books, right between the wife who jammed an entire ham down her garbage disposal, and the one who put a five-pound bag of rice down her's. (An entire ham? C'mon... who would DO such a thing?!?) I'm pretty sure he even made a joke about sending the concrete noodle concoction down to the Gulf to solve the oil leak crisis. Now that's amazing.
Now here we are three days later, and a truckload poorer. But we've got finely tuned pipes and a pool in the backyard that is magical. And a kitchen that's completely unusable with the potential to be glorious. The lesson learned from all of this: encourage the boys to go in to plumbing. There's a lot of money in plumbing.
Well, to make a long story short (and to skip a bunch of insignificant details), the noodles got seriously overcooked. As in, complete mushiness all stuck together in the pot. Totally inedible. So, I did what any sensible person would do (or, in retrospect, maybe not). I shoved them down the disposal and started over. So all I have to say is this: To everyone at the company party- I sincerely hope you enjoyed the heck out of your pasta salad because it was BY FAR the most expensive side dish I have ever contributed to a picnic. Your bill is in the mail.
When we got home from the party later that evening, I noticed that the sink was clogged, and annoyed, started plunging away. (Again skipping a bunch of insignificant details), when the always-supportive, understanding, level-headed husband and I (ok,ok, way more him than me at this point) were still plunging a day and a half later, it was officially time to call the plumber. Now- here's a detail that's not so insignificant. It was a holiday weekend. We had decided a long time ago that this would be the best time to finish re-doing the kitchen. So that was happening. As was the fact that the pool got some sort of leak underground and was only about to cost us a million dollars to get fixed. So as I'm sure you can imagine, not only was this noodle debacle happening period, but it probably couldn't have been happening at a more inconvenient time.
Plumbers, apparently, begin charging the second they answer your phone call. They do not stop charging until the second they have your cold hard cash in their grease-stained hands. Our particular plumber (who was excellent, by the way) stayed for an impressive 4 hours!! Yeah! Less time to finish the kitchen! Less money to use on any sort of vacation we were trying to coordinate! Awesome!! And don't think that I wasn't being reminded of this situation every five minutes as I heard things like, "yup, he's STILL here" or "I like to think you're smarter than this, Jenifer". My favorite was, "well, there goes another million dollars". My comeback of "yup, literally down the drain" (pun fully intended), didn't go over too well.
So, he finished the job and said that I made his record books, right between the wife who jammed an entire ham down her garbage disposal, and the one who put a five-pound bag of rice down her's. (An entire ham? C'mon... who would DO such a thing?!?) I'm pretty sure he even made a joke about sending the concrete noodle concoction down to the Gulf to solve the oil leak crisis. Now that's amazing.
Now here we are three days later, and a truckload poorer. But we've got finely tuned pipes and a pool in the backyard that is magical. And a kitchen that's completely unusable with the potential to be glorious. The lesson learned from all of this: encourage the boys to go in to plumbing. There's a lot of money in plumbing.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Vacation = Fail
As a mom, which is worse: the moment you look in to the back seat of the car and notice that your child has fallen asleep with only ten minutes left of the ride, and therefore realizing that naptime is officially shot for the day; or opening your eyes first thing in the morning AFTER your kids have already waken up, and therefore realizing that you have officially overslept and your opportunity to take a shower has already come and gone? Welcome to my world. Today is technically day two of our summer vacation together (since we won't count the weekend), and I have already failed.
On day one, I thought it would be fun to meet up with our playgroup friends to pick strawberries. And it was fun! We got to ride in a rickety tractor back to the field as I held on to the baby for dear life and prayed that I only felt like I was about to fall off. (there's no way I actually could have fallen, right?) When we got back to the field, CJ actually helped me pick some while whining the whole time that he wanted to go back to feed the goats. (um, sidenote: I hate goats. And most other animals for that matter. I did not like his suggestion). Ty sat his fat self right in front of the plants and picked and feasted, picked and feasted. We then moved on to the raspberries. CJ and his friend chased each other up and down the mile long rows of bushes in the 8000 degree heat while Ty continued to pick and feast. After about an hour or so, we walked to the car: hot, sweaty, and well-fed. I carefully placed the pallet of delicate berries on the hood of the car as I strapped the boys into their seats. I then strapped myself in and drove away. The pallet of deliciousness and hard work slipped quietly off the hood and tipped onto the gravel parking lot. (And yes, if you are wondering, this hot mess got out of the car and picked them all up.) The afternoon wrapped up nicely with a three hour nap and only a few small stones in the boys' snack cups. Me=Fail, but strawberry picking= success!
Supermom (that is me) decided to make dessert for the family dinner that was being held that night at my parents' house. Thirteen people warranted two Frozen Lemonade pies (courtesy of the food network) and some Funfetti cupcakes (because who doesn't love some Funfetti?) To make a very long story short, the boys threw outstanding tantrums and were actually pretty horribly behaved for most of the otherwise pleasant evening. We ate a fantastically fancy dinner prepared by our family from out of town, and my pies were a complete disaster. They didn't freeze, and were a total mess. Sometime around the eight thousandth comment of "hmmm, Jeni, what happened?" and my kids' screaming for no apparent reason, I started crying. Yes, right there at the dinner table. Real tears. Me=Fail.
Day two began with a trip to the gym followed by another playdate at a different farm (yay! more goats!) The workout was great, the friends were great, and The Boy's knee injury was also great. One second he was going crazy with all of his little friends on a gigantic jumping pillow, and the next second he was laying there crying. Me, thinking he was just being overdramatic as usual, encouraged him to stop crying and try something else. When he tried to run over to his friend and almost collapsed, I knew it was time to leave. So that brings us to now: ten o'clock on the night of day two as a full time Stay-At-Home-Mom (a job that does not come easily to me, in case you haven't noticed. But I'm determined to change that.) I'm still in my gym clothes, but The Boy has stopped limping. Here's hoping that tomorrow brings more sunshine and smiles and less tears and tantrums. Oh yeah, and maybe a shower too. It's happy hour and I gotta go. Cheers!
On day one, I thought it would be fun to meet up with our playgroup friends to pick strawberries. And it was fun! We got to ride in a rickety tractor back to the field as I held on to the baby for dear life and prayed that I only felt like I was about to fall off. (there's no way I actually could have fallen, right?) When we got back to the field, CJ actually helped me pick some while whining the whole time that he wanted to go back to feed the goats. (um, sidenote: I hate goats. And most other animals for that matter. I did not like his suggestion). Ty sat his fat self right in front of the plants and picked and feasted, picked and feasted. We then moved on to the raspberries. CJ and his friend chased each other up and down the mile long rows of bushes in the 8000 degree heat while Ty continued to pick and feast. After about an hour or so, we walked to the car: hot, sweaty, and well-fed. I carefully placed the pallet of delicate berries on the hood of the car as I strapped the boys into their seats. I then strapped myself in and drove away. The pallet of deliciousness and hard work slipped quietly off the hood and tipped onto the gravel parking lot. (And yes, if you are wondering, this hot mess got out of the car and picked them all up.) The afternoon wrapped up nicely with a three hour nap and only a few small stones in the boys' snack cups. Me=Fail, but strawberry picking= success!
Supermom (that is me) decided to make dessert for the family dinner that was being held that night at my parents' house. Thirteen people warranted two Frozen Lemonade pies (courtesy of the food network) and some Funfetti cupcakes (because who doesn't love some Funfetti?) To make a very long story short, the boys threw outstanding tantrums and were actually pretty horribly behaved for most of the otherwise pleasant evening. We ate a fantastically fancy dinner prepared by our family from out of town, and my pies were a complete disaster. They didn't freeze, and were a total mess. Sometime around the eight thousandth comment of "hmmm, Jeni, what happened?" and my kids' screaming for no apparent reason, I started crying. Yes, right there at the dinner table. Real tears. Me=Fail.
Day two began with a trip to the gym followed by another playdate at a different farm (yay! more goats!) The workout was great, the friends were great, and The Boy's knee injury was also great. One second he was going crazy with all of his little friends on a gigantic jumping pillow, and the next second he was laying there crying. Me, thinking he was just being overdramatic as usual, encouraged him to stop crying and try something else. When he tried to run over to his friend and almost collapsed, I knew it was time to leave. So that brings us to now: ten o'clock on the night of day two as a full time Stay-At-Home-Mom (a job that does not come easily to me, in case you haven't noticed. But I'm determined to change that.) I'm still in my gym clothes, but The Boy has stopped limping. Here's hoping that tomorrow brings more sunshine and smiles and less tears and tantrums. Oh yeah, and maybe a shower too. It's happy hour and I gotta go. Cheers!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
It's a Wiggly Party
It started with just one DVD. Yes, just one, and The Boy was hooked. (It's THAT addicting.) It then progressed to a different DVD every time we visited the library, dance parties to burned CD's in the living room, singing along in the car, trivia during dinner,purchasing our very own collection, and then we discovered the ultimate: our cable provider allowing us to access them (insert loud chimes while singing "AHHHHHHH" here) ON DEMAND!!! I knew we may have had a problem on our hands when he began pronouncing the word "car" as "cah", and "party" and "potty" became interchangeable. (well, they ARE Australian!). It seemed life couldn't get much better. I'm talking of course, about a crazy addiction to none other but THE WIGGLES.
So when it came time to start planning for the grand event, I could think of no better way to send my baby into year 3 than to throw him a huge Wiggly Party (and yes, this blog will be chock-full of Wiggles references. I apologize in advance if you don't get them. You're really missing out.)
Apparently, my child is one of the only ones left on the planet who is so in love with the four singing gentlemen in brightly colored shirts. The party decor is nowhere to be found. As in discontinued, gone, not in any store. Anywhere. (Well, except for on their official Australian website. I love my son. I really do. But not enough to spend 85 million dollars ordering Australian party decorations.) So instead, I opted to spend a mere 83 million ordering them from Ebay. Hoop-de-Doo, I was about to stamp,stamp,stamp, clap,clap,clap, and wiggle my hips just like that when I found them! The plan was finally coming together.
So I went ahead and reserved a park pavilion. Not one of the giant ones or anything. Just a nice shady spot with tables where people could come find relief from the sun. After all, we had been getting record high temperatures during the entire month of May. So there was not a chance it could (gasp) *rain* on that day, right?!?! The invitations were sent, the food was ordered. There was no turning back now. We were all getting excited to point our fingers and do the twist with the Birthday Boy.
No matter how much I plan, I always end up running around like a crazy person at the very last minute. I get these wonderfully fantastic ideas in my head and then drive myself insane trying to execute. Like the cake, for example. I thought it would have been so cool to cut a cake in the shape of The Wiggles' logo, frost it using exact colors, and then outline it with rainbow cupcakes (frosted of course in the signature colors of red, yellow, blue and purple). Well, for starters, making rainbow cupcakes, while they may be cool, are VERY time consuming. Especially when you have to make and frost 40 of them. And they can't really be made to far ahead of time for fear that they will go stale. Not to mention the frosting, while also cool, is VERY messy. And it must be the perfect consistency or else it will melt. So I had that going for me. I honestly thought that I was ahead of the game this time. The balloons, banner, gift bags, stickers, pinata, and streamers had all come in exactly on time, and were waiting patiently in a bag on the table. The 50 pounds of potato, pasta, and fruit salads (yummy, yummy) had been made earlier and were waiting patiently in the fridge. So all that was left was the cake. The only problem was that I am the opposite of artistic, and it was 10 o'clock at night ("all I have left to do is frost, how long can that take?" I foolishly said to my husband when he asked what was left to be done). Luckily, he only muttered under his breath for a couple of minutes as I trudged in sheepishly to ask him to draw me a Wiggles logo that I could transfer on to the cake. I think the muttering may have had something to do with always waiting till the last minute, or not letting anyone ever help with stuff.... I'm not really sure.
And so began the Great Frosting Project. And the (gasp) *rain*!!! And so it continued. Somewhere lost in a land of crazily bright frosting in approximately 7 different shades, I created cupcakes, cupcakes, and lots more cupcakes. And listened to rain, rain, and LOTS more rain. Sometime around 1 in the morning, I realized that my party (ahem, I mean, my son's party) was supposed to be starting in just a few hours. And then it started raining in the kitchen. How could this be happening?!?! Oh wait- no- those were just tears.
I stumbled in to bed some time later, with an array of frosting splatters still stuck to my hair, wrists, elbows, and probably my face. I fell asleep dreaming of park pavilions floating away like the friendly pirate ship rocking in the sea. Morning came approximately 7 minutes after I shut my eyes, and The Boy almost peed himself when he opened his first present- the Buzz Lightyear that actually shoots the lasers! "Is today my happy birthday?" He asked. "Can we go to my party now?" I looked out the window at the near flood conditions. Seriously, what were we going to do? Our house was neither big enough for 40 people, nor did we really want it to be. We could have it anyway and then change our phone number so that no one would be able to get in touch with us to tell us their kid caught pneumonia, or we could take Mom and Dad up on their offer to save the day (again!) and host it at their house, which was only about a mile away from the original park site.
So I turned myself into Anthony Wiggle , and loaded a party in to the back of my car. Soon the house became Wiggle heaven. People were dressed as their favorite Wiggle, and all the kids had access to as many juice boxes, chips, candy necklaces, and of course cupcakes, that their little bellies desired.
Outside, it rained. It poured. It thundered and lightening-ed. And inside, the kids laughed. They played. They sang and opened gifts. And they could care less about the rain. I watched my son have an amazing time surrounded by wonderful people.
And then, just like that, it was over. We looked at all of his fabulous gifts and rehashed the day's events. Two days later we went to the library. I walked over to the movie section and said, "Would you like to pick a new Wiggles movie?" And just like that, it was over. He looked at me and said, for the very first time, "No thanks. I'll pick a different one." Whoa. Wasn't expecting that one. Nor was I prepared for the feeling it left. My Boy doesn't want the Wiggles? Today, it's the Wiggles. Tomorrow it'll be, "no thanks, I'll sleep by myself" and then, "no thanks, I'll just drive myself". And just like that, it'll be over.
So when it came time to start planning for the grand event, I could think of no better way to send my baby into year 3 than to throw him a huge Wiggly Party (and yes, this blog will be chock-full of Wiggles references. I apologize in advance if you don't get them. You're really missing out.)
Apparently, my child is one of the only ones left on the planet who is so in love with the four singing gentlemen in brightly colored shirts. The party decor is nowhere to be found. As in discontinued, gone, not in any store. Anywhere. (Well, except for on their official Australian website. I love my son. I really do. But not enough to spend 85 million dollars ordering Australian party decorations.) So instead, I opted to spend a mere 83 million ordering them from Ebay. Hoop-de-Doo, I was about to stamp,stamp,stamp, clap,clap,clap, and wiggle my hips just like that when I found them! The plan was finally coming together.
So I went ahead and reserved a park pavilion. Not one of the giant ones or anything. Just a nice shady spot with tables where people could come find relief from the sun. After all, we had been getting record high temperatures during the entire month of May. So there was not a chance it could (gasp) *rain* on that day, right?!?! The invitations were sent, the food was ordered. There was no turning back now. We were all getting excited to point our fingers and do the twist with the Birthday Boy.
No matter how much I plan, I always end up running around like a crazy person at the very last minute. I get these wonderfully fantastic ideas in my head and then drive myself insane trying to execute. Like the cake, for example. I thought it would have been so cool to cut a cake in the shape of The Wiggles' logo, frost it using exact colors, and then outline it with rainbow cupcakes (frosted of course in the signature colors of red, yellow, blue and purple). Well, for starters, making rainbow cupcakes, while they may be cool, are VERY time consuming. Especially when you have to make and frost 40 of them. And they can't really be made to far ahead of time for fear that they will go stale. Not to mention the frosting, while also cool, is VERY messy. And it must be the perfect consistency or else it will melt. So I had that going for me. I honestly thought that I was ahead of the game this time. The balloons, banner, gift bags, stickers, pinata, and streamers had all come in exactly on time, and were waiting patiently in a bag on the table. The 50 pounds of potato, pasta, and fruit salads (yummy, yummy) had been made earlier and were waiting patiently in the fridge. So all that was left was the cake. The only problem was that I am the opposite of artistic, and it was 10 o'clock at night ("all I have left to do is frost, how long can that take?" I foolishly said to my husband when he asked what was left to be done). Luckily, he only muttered under his breath for a couple of minutes as I trudged in sheepishly to ask him to draw me a Wiggles logo that I could transfer on to the cake. I think the muttering may have had something to do with always waiting till the last minute, or not letting anyone ever help with stuff.... I'm not really sure.
And so began the Great Frosting Project. And the (gasp) *rain*!!! And so it continued. Somewhere lost in a land of crazily bright frosting in approximately 7 different shades, I created cupcakes, cupcakes, and lots more cupcakes. And listened to rain, rain, and LOTS more rain. Sometime around 1 in the morning, I realized that my party (ahem, I mean, my son's party) was supposed to be starting in just a few hours. And then it started raining in the kitchen. How could this be happening?!?! Oh wait- no- those were just tears.
I stumbled in to bed some time later, with an array of frosting splatters still stuck to my hair, wrists, elbows, and probably my face. I fell asleep dreaming of park pavilions floating away like the friendly pirate ship rocking in the sea. Morning came approximately 7 minutes after I shut my eyes, and The Boy almost peed himself when he opened his first present- the Buzz Lightyear that actually shoots the lasers! "Is today my happy birthday?" He asked. "Can we go to my party now?" I looked out the window at the near flood conditions. Seriously, what were we going to do? Our house was neither big enough for 40 people, nor did we really want it to be. We could have it anyway and then change our phone number so that no one would be able to get in touch with us to tell us their kid caught pneumonia, or we could take Mom and Dad up on their offer to save the day (again!) and host it at their house, which was only about a mile away from the original park site.
So I turned myself into Anthony Wiggle , and loaded a party in to the back of my car. Soon the house became Wiggle heaven. People were dressed as their favorite Wiggle, and all the kids had access to as many juice boxes, chips, candy necklaces, and of course cupcakes, that their little bellies desired.
Outside, it rained. It poured. It thundered and lightening-ed. And inside, the kids laughed. They played. They sang and opened gifts. And they could care less about the rain. I watched my son have an amazing time surrounded by wonderful people.
And then, just like that, it was over. We looked at all of his fabulous gifts and rehashed the day's events. Two days later we went to the library. I walked over to the movie section and said, "Would you like to pick a new Wiggles movie?" And just like that, it was over. He looked at me and said, for the very first time, "No thanks. I'll pick a different one." Whoa. Wasn't expecting that one. Nor was I prepared for the feeling it left. My Boy doesn't want the Wiggles? Today, it's the Wiggles. Tomorrow it'll be, "no thanks, I'll sleep by myself" and then, "no thanks, I'll just drive myself". And just like that, it'll be over.
Monday, June 7, 2010
birth story
every year on our birthdays my mom tells us the story of our birth. we all know every single detail of all three of my mother's labors and deliveries, but it doesn't matter. our head cannot hit the pillow on the night of our birthday until mom has told us all about how we entered this world. (and we better listen cuz she brought us in to this world, and she knows how to take us out...)
so in keeping up with tradition, here's a little story for my little man. CJ, on your third birthday, here is the ever-dramatic story of your birth:
the year you were born, we had what must have been one of the hottest springs in the history of Rochester. I was involved with everything at work- tons of committees and trying to help seniors graduate kept me there late every day baking away in my classroom with no windows and air conditioning that only worked when it felt like it. needless to say, i was HOT. like, all the time. and tired. the running around like a crazy person and the heat caught up with me at the beginning of may and my blood pressure got too high. i was retaining all kinds of fluid and my ankles disappeared. so, your hot mess mama got put on bed rest. i was due on june 1 and had every intention to stay at work until memorial day weekend, but that all changed a couple of weeks early. not exactly what i had planned. little did i know that this was just one weird thing to happen in a series of many.
well, june first came and went and i was still as pregnant as ever. and getting ridiculously anxious to meet you. fast forward a few more days to june fourth. i went to the doctor and they did something too awkward for a mother to explain to her son, so let's just skip it and say that i finally started having contractions. by the middle of the night they were horrible and we couldn't believe it was finally go time. i think your dad made it to the hospital in 5 minutes. after being admitted to triage and hooked up to the monitor, the nurse handed me two tylenol and said, "i know you think you're in pain, but just take these, go home, and get some sleep." WHAAAAT? surely she was wrong. she clearly had no idea what kind of pain was actually occurring every five minutes. well, clearly neither did i. after getting zero sleep that night, we went in to the doctor's office to find out what was going on. ok, go time again they said. hoping for better luck this time, we headed back to the hospital. it was the afternoon of june 5. my contractions had been steady for about 18 hours.
at some point that evening (now about 24 hours in), they decided to break my water. holy new level of pain. afraid of all pain medication up until now, i could no longer take it. i succumbed to the invitation of an epidural and felt instant relief. the only problem was that you still had no intention of coming out. your heart rate was all over the place. i needed two rounds of pitocin, a refill on the epidural, and a cloth on my head because apparently my body thought it was running a marathon. finally, the next morning, it was time. the whole thing is blurry from then on in, but they tell me this is how it went: your head came out, and then all of a sudden they pushed you back in and fled me down the hall. Apparently your heart rate had dropped so fast that they had to get you out immediately. you were born at 8:19 on the morning of June 6, 2007. it took two doctors and a crazy amount of drugs to get you out. you were completely gray and had to get oxygen pumped in to you right away. on the test that they perform right there in the delivery room, you only scored a 3 (out of 10), and you had to be taken immediately to the special care unit. i, in the meantime, was losing a ridiculous amount of blood, and almost needed a transfusion, but this isn't about me...
you were in special care with the tiniest IV i have ever seen in your little baby arm. you had all kinds of wires attached to you and your face was under a thing that looked like a cake topper. when i finally got to see you and hold you way later that night, you looked right at me with your huge brown eyes. we immediately had secrets. i love your eyes.
luckily, we had excellent doctors and nurses, and we got to leave the hospital together a few days later. from that moment on, there was absolutely no indication that you ever struggled at all. You are smart (like, too smart for your own good most of the time), funny (really funny, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom), and beautiful. Even though you frustrate the heck out of me, i love you more than i ever dreamed possible. some day you will grow up and leave me, and i will look back on these crazy days and hold all of these memories close to my heart. happy birthday, connor jay.
so in keeping up with tradition, here's a little story for my little man. CJ, on your third birthday, here is the ever-dramatic story of your birth:
the year you were born, we had what must have been one of the hottest springs in the history of Rochester. I was involved with everything at work- tons of committees and trying to help seniors graduate kept me there late every day baking away in my classroom with no windows and air conditioning that only worked when it felt like it. needless to say, i was HOT. like, all the time. and tired. the running around like a crazy person and the heat caught up with me at the beginning of may and my blood pressure got too high. i was retaining all kinds of fluid and my ankles disappeared. so, your hot mess mama got put on bed rest. i was due on june 1 and had every intention to stay at work until memorial day weekend, but that all changed a couple of weeks early. not exactly what i had planned. little did i know that this was just one weird thing to happen in a series of many.
well, june first came and went and i was still as pregnant as ever. and getting ridiculously anxious to meet you. fast forward a few more days to june fourth. i went to the doctor and they did something too awkward for a mother to explain to her son, so let's just skip it and say that i finally started having contractions. by the middle of the night they were horrible and we couldn't believe it was finally go time. i think your dad made it to the hospital in 5 minutes. after being admitted to triage and hooked up to the monitor, the nurse handed me two tylenol and said, "i know you think you're in pain, but just take these, go home, and get some sleep." WHAAAAT? surely she was wrong. she clearly had no idea what kind of pain was actually occurring every five minutes. well, clearly neither did i. after getting zero sleep that night, we went in to the doctor's office to find out what was going on. ok, go time again they said. hoping for better luck this time, we headed back to the hospital. it was the afternoon of june 5. my contractions had been steady for about 18 hours.
at some point that evening (now about 24 hours in), they decided to break my water. holy new level of pain. afraid of all pain medication up until now, i could no longer take it. i succumbed to the invitation of an epidural and felt instant relief. the only problem was that you still had no intention of coming out. your heart rate was all over the place. i needed two rounds of pitocin, a refill on the epidural, and a cloth on my head because apparently my body thought it was running a marathon. finally, the next morning, it was time. the whole thing is blurry from then on in, but they tell me this is how it went: your head came out, and then all of a sudden they pushed you back in and fled me down the hall. Apparently your heart rate had dropped so fast that they had to get you out immediately. you were born at 8:19 on the morning of June 6, 2007. it took two doctors and a crazy amount of drugs to get you out. you were completely gray and had to get oxygen pumped in to you right away. on the test that they perform right there in the delivery room, you only scored a 3 (out of 10), and you had to be taken immediately to the special care unit. i, in the meantime, was losing a ridiculous amount of blood, and almost needed a transfusion, but this isn't about me...
you were in special care with the tiniest IV i have ever seen in your little baby arm. you had all kinds of wires attached to you and your face was under a thing that looked like a cake topper. when i finally got to see you and hold you way later that night, you looked right at me with your huge brown eyes. we immediately had secrets. i love your eyes.
luckily, we had excellent doctors and nurses, and we got to leave the hospital together a few days later. from that moment on, there was absolutely no indication that you ever struggled at all. You are smart (like, too smart for your own good most of the time), funny (really funny, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom), and beautiful. Even though you frustrate the heck out of me, i love you more than i ever dreamed possible. some day you will grow up and leave me, and i will look back on these crazy days and hold all of these memories close to my heart. happy birthday, connor jay.
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