March 14th, 2010
eL.
Sometimes I hate being a woman. This week has been one of those times. I’m sure that my boyfriend and my children are very glad that I am, in fact, a bonafide female, but personally I am giving Mother Nature the BIRD. If I didn’t know better – and THANK GOD I know better – I would think I was pregnant because of the way my hormones have been churning like the sea during a hurricane. Unfortunately, for the past four days I have been morphed into something that is roughly four degrees past “crazy mom” and venturing right toward “maniacal whack job.” Thankfully, only my children and sister (who are blood bound to love me regardless) and two close friends (who are, for all intents and purposes, blood bound as well) have had to be exposed to whatever has contaminated me. None of the aforementioned individuals have exhibited any symptoms of infection, so disturbingly I guess… it’s just me.
Oh well.
With all of the duties, responsibilities and pressures on mothers, why, oh why, must we be subject to this curse of being emotional women? I’m not talking about PMS either. PMS is simply adding insult to injury. And on the subject of PMS… if you are not a woman, here’s a word to the wise: keep your mouth shut. Men without a medical degree are not allowed to diagnose, offer to treat, or even insinuate PMS when a wife/girlfriend’s opinion, mood, or state of mind differs from that of your own. Don’t cast stones at her girl-parts or you might end up being justifiably prohibited from using them.
Whoa… back to the subject…
Women are complex creatures.
We are strong and weak. We are compassionate and firm. We are sensitive and unyielding. We are loving and defensive.
Sometimes it can be a little overwhelming.
To all of you who have impacted my life this rough week. Thank you for listening. Thank you for not thinking I’m crazy. Thank you for worrying when I didn’t answer your call. Thank you for being honest. Thank you for not leaving peanut butter fingerprints on the suede couch. Thank you for giving me space. Thank you, God, for Colin Farrell. Thank you for suggesting books that make me giggle. Thank you for always being an inspiration. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for eating your broccoli without making me yell. Thank you for being the man that I love and for never accusing my girl-parts of any wrongdoing.
March 9th, 2010
eL.
This is my boy. He loves pirates. Before my daughter became a grown-up Kindergartner it wasn’t uncommon to find me at the supermarket with Jack Sparrow in one hand and Sleeping Beauty in the other. Already, she wouldn’t be caught dead in such “baby dress up stuff” – at least not in public where anyone can see her that is. My son on the other hand rarely goes out of the house without the pirate hat and sword in tow.
This week he drew me a treasure map at the gym daycare. On the drive home, he became the captain of our Nissan SUV and commanded the lowly coxswain (Mom) to steer as the treasure map dictated. Once we were on the interstate and I slowed down to take our exit, the captain began shouting. “Argh! The treasure map does not lead to our house! The treasure is at the beach!”
I like this captain.
Lately, I feel like my personal pirate ship is just drifting in open water. Sure, there is a destination out there; I’m just on hold getting to it. Being on hold isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It is actually helping me to navigate my course with clarity. Too often, in the past, I have been guilty of letting my feelings call the shots only to arrive somewhere I didn’t want to be.
Not this time. I know where I want to be. Everyday I’m more and more certain of it.
Sailing toward the destination not only requires determination and hard work, but it requires sacrifice. I want to do a lot of things in this life like get a glowing degree in literature, coach an Olympic swim team, and write a bestselling novel or ten. While hopefully I will be able to accomplish some of those dreams, they aren’t what is going to matter to me when I stand on the shore of what is this life looking into the unknown of the next. What I want to see looking back is a kind of success that isn’t measured in medals or by the New York Times.
During this quiet season of my life, I’m learning to cut myself some slack. I may not be holed up in a classroom working on that degree, but I did teach my son how to throw a baseball today. I still haven’t started competing with the Master’s team, but I did help my daughter pass her swim test this weekend. I haven’t completed writing a novel in almost nine months, but I did teach my kindergartner how to read.
As far as I’m concerned, I’m still on course to my destination. Apparently next, we’re headed to the beach to look for buried treasure.
March 3rd, 2010
eL.
My daughter is the only kid in her class that brings her lunch to school. Apparently, I’m the only parent in the class who remembers how frightening the elementary school cafeteria is. I distinctly remember mushy bubbles in the hamburger patties, chicken nuggets that could be bounced off of the table, and pizza that was, ironically enough, the same perfect rectangle as that particular section of the lunch tray. Who knows… maybe the trays were created specifically for the pizza and not the other way around. They were the same colors as pizza… regurgitated pizza that is.
Halfway through the school year I am running out of creative lunch ideas. (That makes me sound like a mom who clips coupons and researches learning games online. Oh wait… geez, I’m well on my way to have a soccer bumper sticker and matching minivan.) My kids are creatures of habit and they could eat the exact same meals every. single. day. Ham and cheese, peanut butter, and cold pizza are the staples in my daughter’s lunchbox but I desperately want her to branch out. However…I NEED HELP!
What do YOU pack your kids for lunch??? Or do your kids prefer Mystery Meat Mondays and Flaky Potato Fridays? My kid actually bugs me all the time to let her buy lunch, but I have too many coupons for buy one get one Caprisuns and granola bars…
March 2nd, 2010
eL.
Since I gave up the working world, I have struggled to keep myself busy. A few months ago, I accepted an invitation from my daughter’s teacher to come into the classroom a couple of days a week and practice reading with the kids. While I love the time that I spend there, I have found that four hours a week is my maximum quota before I start feeling the need to find a corner and rock myself. The teacher recently asked me if I had ever considered becoming a teacher. To this I replied with a hearty laugh and an overly animated, “Hell no!”
I will admit that the experience has helped me to be a better mom. After all, isn’t teaching one of our top responsibilities as a parent? Teaching young children isn’t easy. You have to figure out a way to be informative and more entertaining that Spongebob or iCarly. In the same way that I hide allergy medicine in chocolate pudding, I find that my children learn best when I trick them into it.
My daughter loves to play cards. This is something fun we do together that is also a great learning game. When we play we have a chalkboard to tally our scores. As scorekeeper, she practices counting by fives and tens and is already doing 2nd and 3rd math adding and subtracting in the fifties and hundreds. Not to mention the valuable lessons in bluffing, odds, and the power of Aces. I’m going to make her a fake ID and start being her partner at the blackjack table soon. In all seriousness… if you want to spend some fun, quality time with your kids and incorporate some stealth math lessons teach them how to play Hearts or Rummy. Check out these links for info on how to play: Hearts or Rummy.
While preparing reading activities for my daughter’s kindergarten class I found this website that I must pimp out. I don’t know this teacher personally, but her website is great. I’ve started printing a new game every week. All of the kids in class love them and they love coming to my reading group – FINALLY, I’m popular in school! Kelly’s Kindergarten
At home, my son is learning how to wipe his own butt. I haven’t yet figured out a fun/sanitary game to help him grasp it. If anyone has any advice other than stock up on toilet paper, plungers and Spray and Wash, I’m all ears!
March 1st, 2010
eL.
This week, I’ve spent enough time in my cobweb infested attic that it should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. My sister’s birthday was yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY SISTER) and for her big day, I created a scrapbook. While I buck the idea that I am any form of a Martha-Stewartish-scrapbooking-mom, I must confess how much fun I had unearthing buried photographic memories in the graveyard which is my attic. It didn’t take long for the sentiment to pass and by day two I was completely convinced that all my sister ever wanted for her birthday was a Target gift card, but the present did turn out to be a success (I would say).
Through the photos I was able to document my journey as a Crazy Mom. It began here, on the day I was wheelbarrowed into the hospital to deliver my daughter. I told you I ate a lot of ice cream.
And then my screeching, tiny, blob of yucky happiness was welcomed into the world…
Just as though I didn’t learn my lesson of how much childbirth SUCKED the first time, I started hitting the ice cream churn again…
And welcomed another blob of yucky happiness…
Those blobs have since gotten bigger and more complicated. Rather than screeching, they are opinionated and whiney. While I don’t plan on falling off the Ben & Jerry’s wagon again anytime soon… that damn scrapbook certainly made me think about grabbing a spoon.
