amushro

The War on Naps

December 13, 2012 by amushro

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

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

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

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.

Breaking in Christmas

November 30, 2012 by amushro

I find analogies to be helpful. How about you?

Try this one on for size.

Darla is to fish:

As my kids are to Christmas decorations:

The Christmas season has barely started and this pile is looking like the place Christmas decorations go to die. Except this stash of decor has seen their unfortunate end by the hands of my children.

Honestly, it’s bad enough that I suspect my Hubby has left several bins in attic and is pretending “No, Honey, that’s it. We don’t have any more Christmas decorations up here.” He’s a sneaky one. I think he skims off the top every year so that I don’t suspect how much Christmas cheer he is leaving in our dark, cold attic. If I wasn’t afraid that seventeen bins full of kids clothes and toys would fall on me and I would be trapped in the attic forever, I would totally go upstairs and sort through the bins myself. That’s a lie—that attic is a deathtrap. I’ll just buy more décor at the after season sales.

Back to Santa’s destructive elves, yes we put the fancy decorations up high and the bottom half of the tree is empty (saddest tree ever), but somehow they have gotten their hands on a few too many ornaments and a singing bear. Now they are goners. Maybe it was the fact that we left the Christmas bins lying around for four days. Questionable Choices in Parenting? OK, you got me, but in my defense I was really tired after laying the foundation for the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.

Listen, I get it, kids break stuff, a lot, but dang when does the destruction end? How long before I can bring my prized Pottery Barn Reindeer Dishes out of storage without fear of my Rudolf cookie serving plate being smashed to smithereens? Oh yeah, that was a BK (before kids) purchase. When can my tree live up to its full potential and actually hold ornaments all the way to the bottom branches?

Really, I could get really frustrated and lose it because my kids keep breaking my Christmas crap, or I could use this as a life lesson. Yes, I choose the lesson because I choose to just go shopping to replace everything with kid friendly and even more fabulous Christmas style. Yes, friends, I choose the life lesson.

Cripes, I have actually lost Mimi while I was writing. Oh wait here she is:

A for Effort?

November 27, 2012 by amushro

Last week Monkey’s preschool held a Thanksgiving program. Because I am “That Mom” I was there with camera, video camera, Hubby, Mimi, and Grandma in tow.

Let me start by saying he was a phenomenal Native American (umm we don’t say Indian anymore, get with it). Every kid wore their handmade Native American and Pilgrim costumes while they sang their festive songs; however, Monkey’s butcher paper get-up was sliding down his body mid tune and his teacher was wearing his construction paper headdress. None the less, he was the proudest monkey and I was grinning like a fool that was in awe of her boy.

When we were leaving the school, I noticed this lovely display.

Even though the teacher went to the trouble of putting the kids’ names on their paintings, I could have spotted my kid’s a mile away.

Yup, there it is.

To be fair this could have went another way: drowned in so much paint that the paper would have disintegrated. I would have known that was his handy work too

Even as his mother, I had to wonder “Really, Miss Preschool teacher? There weren’t any other kids’ pictures you could have put up?”

I had to wonder what had Monkey so distracted. Were you looking to explain yourself through a different medium? Were you bothered by the tools they gave you? Was it too close to snack time?

Ridiculous, yes.

Is this going to be displayed on my fridge, you betcha.

Aspiring painter, meh.

Adorable butcher paper Indian Native American, hell yeah!

Irreconcilable Holiday Differences

November 25, 2012 by amushro

Let’s start with a visual.

This is my husband’s idea of Christmas decorating:

And here is mine:

Before we had kids, he would totally indulge in my Christmas decorating extravagance. He thought it was cute and charming, and was willing to dangle from the roof to hang twinkle lights for me. The man even let me put up a hot pink and lime green tree in his house. Now that is love.

Since Monkey and Mimi have come along, and our house slowly morphed into Toys R’ Us, the hubby’s patience has worn thin with my love of all things Christmas and my excessive need to show holiday joy through lights, glitter, and tinsel. *cough, cough* Ebenezer Scrooge, anyone?

Since marriage is all about compromise (sham), we have a new tradition, the “Christmas Bargaining”. Here is why this went down, last year I made the whole family drive out to a tree farm where we dragged a newborn Mimi and an exhausted Monkey through fields of trees. I read somewhere that huge Husky dogs would happily carry your tree to your car. Amazing, right? Imagine the holiday cheer! We needed to do this! The only thing is that you cut down your own tree….I sorta left that part out when telling Hubby we NEEDED to do this.

As always, he was the doting husband, and we arrived at the tree farm where we quickly learned that the Husky dogs were taking a break and we (and by we, I mean Hubby) would have to cut down the tree, drag it back several hundred yards to our car, and attach it to our roof—-All. By. Himself. Hilarity did not ensue, he was not thrilled with this idea, and some may say, he even turned a shade that resembled the Grinch. But I had two babies, a video camera, and my best Christmas face on. Who could ever say no to that sweet image? Not that adorable boy I married so long ago J

Long story even longer, shit hit the Christmas fan and I was banned from ever suggesting such a ridiculous idea when all I was willing to do was sit in the car and feed Goldfish to the kids.

So this year I agreed to getting the tree from the place that all you do is point and pay and they do the rest. And my hubby agreed to this:

Peace has been restored in the universe and the Christmas season. Now if only I could get him to agree to an inflatable Santa and Rudolph…

Where did you sleep last night?

November 24, 2012 by amushro

So this happened last night…

Yes that would be my three-year-old passed out on his ottoman in the bedroom he trashed in the dark. So where were you, Mamma, while your sweet boy was running around his bedroom, tearing the place apart? Oh, just reading a romance novel, and by romance novel I mean the really dirty kind. Where was your husband, you might add? Watching football. Questionable Choices in Parenting–man this blog can write itself in this house!

After hours in the car to and from our multiple Thanksgiving destinations, we all needed a break from one another. Mimi decided to sleep (she was my favorite last night), but Monkey was all jazzed up from missed naps, interrupted sleep, and too many hours on the Ipad. He was strangely quiet while he stealthily disassembled his room and finally lost his battle with the Sandman. So is this a new phase we have entered? I showed him the picture this morning and asked him happened. He said “I fell out of my bed.” Seems logical…

Will my nightly check-ins of the boy become sort of a Where’s Waldo? If so, this could be a new section of the blog (until it isn’t funny and sorta annoying). So tell me, where is the strangest place you have found your kids sleeping?

Being Truthful About My Thanks

November 23, 2012 by amushro

You’ve seen it. Maybe you even did it. The 30 days of thanks on Facebook, Twitter, and whatever social media that is out there and I don’t know about.

I am thankful for my wonderful husband

Sooooo thankful for my beautiful children

How could I not be thankful for my parents, dog, in-laws, cousins, job, house, Nutella (OK I added that last one 🙂 )

I really love the idea behind these posts, but come on! We know you are thankful for all of these things because you would be a big scumbag if you weren’t thankful. Yes, it is nice to have a reminder of our blessings, but what I really want to see are those ridiccious, selfish, and guilty pleasures you are giving thanks for this holiday season.

So in my full on snarky mode from reading the 757,3637,852 posts about being thankful for your well behaved children (liars), I challenged my Facebook friends to stop being polite and start getting real– Sorry I just had a flashback to college where I would be stuck inside all day watching a Real World marathon—Anywho, I challenged them to tell us all what they are REALLY thankful for and let me tell you, my FB friends did not disappoint. Here is what they shared:

I really love reading the things people are thankful for, but let’s be honest, what we really want to see is the ridiculous and honest list of why you are thankful. I’ll go first: I am thankful Facebook and camera phones did not exist when I was in college. Boom–Who’s next?

I am thankful that they make long shirts to wear with skinny jeans!
I’m thankful that I can buy wine in the grocery store in VA
I am thankful for naps. Jacoby’s, not mine. Okay, mine too.
I’m thankful for yoga pants and even more for wine.
I’m thankful that bathing suit season is seven months away
I would also like to add that I am thankful for Spanx and blonde highlights. Without both, I would be a hot mess.
I am thankful that I am retired and my biggest decision is what to have for dinner. Yes Margaret, there IS a Santa Claus!
I’m thankful for spray tans…fat looks better tan
I am thankful for tanning beds, highlights and my nights out with the girls
I’m thankful for a grown up job with a grown up paycheck.
So thankful for wine and bedtime
I’m thankful that I can crop pictures on my phone so when I look fat in a picture I can just cut it out
I am thankful for text messaging. This way I can judge other mothers at the playground, but not get caught being all judgy.
I’m thankful for Facebook so I don’t have to wait for my high school reunion to see who did what, is what, and ate what. I’m also thankful that leggings are acceptable attire in the winter…every single day.
Christian Grey and Magic Mike
I’m thankful for copious amounts of Dunkin Donuts French Vanilla coffee! I seriously start looking forward to my morning joe before I even go to bed.
I’m thankful for McDonald’s and lollipops!
I am thankful for pants in the wintertime when I sometimes forget to shave my legs.
Also, I am thankful for my cleaning lady. Even when there isn’t much budge in the budget, I will always keep Rosa twice a month because I am a horrible housekeeper and I hate to clean toilets.
I’m thankful that I don’t have to clean my house this holiday week because my 21 year old brother that’s coming to visit doesn’t care what it looks like.
I am also thankful that I am too old to go boozing on Thanksgiving Eve. Turkey with a hangover is lousy and nothing good ever came out of my antics on this night. I’ll be drinking in my jammies at my parent’s.

I’m thankful that I’m still DINK status so I don’t feel guilty about buying an at home spray tanning system instead of saving for an offspring’s college. (I had to Google DINK. Apparently it means Dual Income and No Kids, hilar!)

So there you go, honest and real reasons that you are thankful. This time the truth doesn’t hurt, it just reminds me of the good things in life: wine, naps, and leggings.