humor — Page 8

The Christmas Blow Off List

December 18, 2012 by amushro 2 Comments

Who do I speak to about adding an extra week to the month of December? Seriously, let’s just take the oddball months with 31 days and tell them they are good to go with just 30 days each year. We could even borrow a few from February. It’s already shorter and probably wouldn’t mind sparing a few more days if it meant we could all slllloooowwww things down during the holiday season.

I’m sorta like Buddy the Elf because Christmas is my favorite holiday and I love, love, love everything that goes along with this magical time of year. I really don’t mind when stores play Christmas music before Thanksgiving, and I do a little Christmas jig when I see lights and ornaments on sale the same time as Halloween candy. It’s just that I need to start marathon training for the actual month of December. I’ve been shopping since October, the tree has been up since November, and the multiple holiday parties have been going on all December. I will even let you in on a secret, I start planning my Christmas card in August. I mean, it doesn’t go out until the week before Christmas because that would take planning in June, but I start the hunt when we are still putting our toes in the summer sand.

Even though Hanukkah is a celebration that lasts “eight crazy nights,” it seems like our Christmas is lasting just as long.

By the time we celebrate with my husband’s family, then start the trek three hours to celebrate with my family, fit in a few visits with other family and friends, it’s time to watch Ryan Secreast countdown to New Years. Oh wait, did I forget about Santa? Well lucky for us, Monkey and Mimi are so young they have no idea when Santa is supposed to slide down the chimney. So this year, the big guy is coming on Saturday so we can pace them with endless toys, wrapping paper, and stocking stuffers. Eight crazy nights, yeah we got this!

In order for this all to work, some things have to go. Here is my Christmas blow off list. Feel free to add your own:

Homemade cookies. Sorry Martha Stewart, if we were supposed to slave away in the kitchen for hours, God wouldn’t have made Pillsbury slice and bake. Add a few M&Ms and pretzels and boom—reindeer cookies!
The creepy Elf on the Shelf. So you’re telling me I have to commit to placing this little dude throughout my house for a month? You do realize my kids will still act up and I will be stuck trying to find new and funny places to put this guy? Try this site out instead http://www.portablenorthpole.com/home. You make a free, personalized video where Santa calls your kid by name, age, and where they live. You can even pick if your little elf was naughty or nice this year. Monkey was scared straight after the first view of his video. His face was a mixture of terrified and amazed—a parent’s dream.
The painful Santa picture. I am NOT forcing my kids to sit on Santa’s lap just so I can have an overpriced picture to document this occasion.We went, we waited in line, and waited, and waited. Monkey waved to Santa and after a while he said he didn’t want to talk to Santa and wanted to ride the train instead. Sounds good to me because I am sure both kids would have lost it the minute it was their turn. Later, creepy mall Santa. Maybe we will try again next year…maybe not.
Pinterest holiday crafts. I may pin and pin until my fingers go numb, but I am not feeling bad about abandoning the clay handprint Santa and the toilet paper roll reindeer. I pay good money for Monkey to go to preschool. His teachers can get all crafty there. I will however continue to pin cocktails and enjoy them this holiday season.

So Fa-la-la-la-la there it is; I highly recommend you create a list as well. You can do it (you just read that in Rob Schneider’s voice from Waterboy, right?) Now I really have to go. I have a half a dozen Christmas movies I still haven’t watched!

The War on Naps

December 13, 2012 by amushro 2 Comments

If you ask any good mother which of her children is her favorite, she will vehemently say, “they are all my favorite.” Ask me who is my favorite kid, and I will tell you it is the one that naps with the least resistance that day. If we are talking this week, my favorite would be neither of them.

When my brother and I were acting a fool as kids, my grandmother would threaten to “sell us to the gypsies” if we didn’t shape up. Well where is the traveling band of gypsies now because I have two little blonde babies to send their way.

Somehow I have angered the Baby Sleep Gods and they are punishing me. Was I bragging in my circle of friends about my dream sleepers a little too loudly? Were the bags under my eyes starting to fade just a little too much to their liking? Was it the fact that I watched a Giuliana and Bill marathon on the Style Network this weekend and started getting weepy over their new baby? I started whining to Hubby that I needed another baby, mine were too old and planning on leaving me soon. Was this the wakeup call or a kick to the uterus that I needed to remind me that I really need a few more years of sleep before another go round?

The showdowns this week have been epic and one sided, and each time I am the big loser. I have rocked the kids, sang sweet songs to them, tickled and rubbed their sweet faces and chubby arms. Then after an hour of this nonsense, my blood starts to boil, and, let me tell you, nothing says slumber like your crazed mother screaming “GO TO SLEEP BEFORE MOMMY LOSES IT.” Sorry, Mommy, it sounds like you already lost it.

Monkey is almost three and a half, and most of his friends have already dropped their naps. My mommy friends have told me that I should just be happy that I had three and a half good years of napping out of him, but I don’t want to, dammit! I need that kid to nap and his sister, who, by the way, has been a champion sleeper until this week. She has decided to get in on the action and scream like a mad woman in her crib instead of sleeping. All I can do is dive head first into a jar of peanut butter to calm my nerves and keep me from boozing mid-day. I won’t even begin to ponder the age old question of why do kids fight naps when as a grown ups, we would love for someone to tell us to nap.

I have lost all control this week without the kids napping, and I fear for my own sanity if I don’t get the sweet relief of naptime tomorrow. I even have a song that I sing once both kids are asleep. It goes like this :

Naptime is my favorite time. Yes, naptime is my favorite time.

OK, so it isn’t original, but it is the truth. I could be wrong, but I think I heard Monkey and Mimi singing in unison from their rooms:

“You got bags under your eyes and I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a nap ain’t one.”

Again, I’m really exhausted and I could be hearing things.

The only concession to these non nappers is that tomorrow is another day. I promise to be a better mother. A more kind and patient mother. Oh forget that, the only concession to the non nappers is the fact they go to bed at 6:30.

These Shoes Aren’t Made For Walking

December 10, 2012 by amushro 1 Comment

It’s that time of year: the office holiday party! Since my office is the toy room, I rely on Hubby to take me as his date to this annual celebration. We get a babysitter (actually my mom because she is free), I get a fancy dress, and we get our holiday cheer on with his colleagues.

While there were no real holiday party antics, like people making photocopies of their butt, I did learn a few things:

Apparently bowties are in style. Who knew?
I fear I will never be able to bear children again after wearing Spanx and control top pantyhose all night. Ouch!
I have lost the ability to walk in high heeled shoes.

Everyone has a God given talent, and mine was my ability to saunter down the street in amazingly high stilettos. I could make Ru Paul cry because of my grace while working those shoes. Sashay Shante! I was the girl that could run across town in killer heels and not stumble once.

Flats for this gal? Are you kidding me? For years I was a firm believer in the higher the shoes, the closer you are to God. I think I learned that in CCD.

In college I broke my foot on the first night of spring break in Mexico. Did that stop me? No way! I strapped that broken foot into the highest spike sandal I owned and rocked it through every club and cantina in Cancun. What does that mean? Well that means I was a friggin idiot. It also means that Monkey and Mimi will NEVER be allowed to go to Cancun on spring break unless they want their Mamma breaking up the par-tay. Finally it means that somehow having children has ruined my shoe strutting ability.

What happened? Is my equilibrium off? Did having children suddenly turn my feet into bricks? Shouldn’t wearing high heels be like riding a bike? When I strap a pair on, shouldn’t it all come back to me? Are there training wheels for high heels? Is that what wedges are for?

At a mere 5’5”, I sometimes feel like I am going to hit my head on the coffee table when I have to take off my shoes. The extra height wasn’t just a fashion statement but a necessity. How did this all go so wrong?

This weekend I was shaky on my heels from the first few steps. Then I had to ride the metro, hop on a few escalators, and finally walk a few blocks to the swanky hotel that was hosting the party. I stumbled most of way and had my heel stuck in on one too many cracks in the sidewalk. Then I added cocktails to the mix and I was a hot mess, but I had a super cute date that was willing to pick my sorry arse up every time I fell.

Luckily I don’t plan on wearing ridiculously high shoes until, ummmmm, his next holiday party. So I have time to practice. Until then it’s Converse and flip-flops for me. Don’t worry, Ru, I make these look good too.

Privacy Please!

December 5, 2012 by amushro 1 Comment

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So what is this one saying to you?

These kiddos sure are cute!

Look at them munching on those apples!

Just precious!

Why doesn’t that kid have pants on?

What you don’t realize is that this picture wasn’t just any adorable moment captured in time. No, this particular photo was taken in my bathroom when I was trying to pee. A little privacy for mom? No way. These two creeps followed me into the potty, snacks in hand, and sat down ready for bonding time. Grossed out? You must not be a parent because if you were, you would say, “Yup, happens here every day.”

Do I often take photos from the loo? Uhhh, no, but I think it helped illustrate my point.

When we first potty trained Monkey he would scream “Get OUUUUUTTTTT, Mooommmmyyy.” We have since adjusted his rants to “privacy, please,” but the effect is still the same. He asks and we beat it out of the john so the little dude can take care of business without an audience. So why can’t Mommy get the same respect?

In all seriousness, when can I escape to the ladies room without a parade of kids? I have actually had arguments with my husband where I tell him, “At least you can go to the bathroom any time of day and not have kids and a dog follow you in.” Of course this is ridiculous, and of course he has no come back… because it is true.

Now when I signed up to be a stay-at-home mom, no just a mom in general, I had no idea that I would have such little privacy. During one bathroom break, Mimi actually rested her chin on my knee, gazed up to me with a sweet angelic face and said “Hi, Mamma.” Adorable, right? No! Disgusting and wrong! Enough already! Move it along, kids.

As Monkey and Mimi grow and become more independent, I get that they will want to spend less and less time with me. However, I can assure you taking back the bathroom and a little “me” time while in there will not be an event I shed a tear over. I may cry when they don’t want to walk next to me at the mall. I will surely cry when they don’t want to hold my hand in public. I WILL NOT cry when they stop following me into the bathroom. Because we all deserve a little peace in our pee.

Babba Booey!

December 3, 2012 by amushro 2 Comments

When my dear friend told me she was expecting her first baby I was filled with joy and slightly amused when she said, “I just don’t want to be one of those moms that entire life changes when they have a baby.”

I sorta wanted to say “Awww, that’s cute, but it ain’t happening, sista.” Instead, I was a good friend and decided to let her stay in the dark for a few months. She will see soon enough, soon enough

You know those commercials that say “everything changes when you have a baby.” That isn’t just marketing geniuses tugging at your heartstrings sending you out to buy some random baby product. Nope, that is the stone cold truth. Even if someone told me before Monkey and Mimi came along how different life would be, I would have punched them in the neck and told them they were crazy.

So I got to thinking about the things that really changed. Of course the obvi: no sleeping in, stretch marks, my inability to run up the stairs without peeing myself, but then I thought of what I was really missing: Howard Stern.

My love for Howard Stern started when I was sixteen and my guy friend that took me to school would take the long way through town just so we could catch a few extra minutes of Stern in the mornings. In college, I awoke every day to the sounds of his voice on my alarm clock, and when he made the move to satellite radio, I signed up immediately.

The rauch, antics, and laughs were a huge part of my life for so long, but pretty soon little ears that took in EVERYTHING were perched in a car seat in my vehicle. Rather than singing Zippity do da, I was LOLing at Robin’s news or Howard’s rants. It became evident to me (OK it became evident when hubby put his foot down—hater) that this was not appropriate easy listening with kids in the car. Our new swagger wagon came with XM, and adding Howard‘s channel was an extra cost. It was a perfect time to break things off with Howard.

It’s me, Howard. It’s not you. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I will always look fondly on our time together. Beetlejuice, Jeff the Drunk, and Eric the Midget are all important to me. It’s just that I am worried my kids will start saying things like “Who’s High Pitch?” and ask their grandma about porn and breast implants. So sadly, it is time for me to move on. Can we still be friends?

It hasn’t been a clean break from Howard and the gang. I still listen to clips online from time to time and my gal pal keeps me in the loop on all things Stern news worthy, but it just isn’t the same, sigh. However, if I ever pass a news truck and the reporter is standing in front of a camera, I’m still tempted to shout “Babba Booey Babba Booey!” And in the end, I think that is what Howard would want too.