Condensed Version of my Many Misadventures

I had every intention of writing about my antics every day while Hubby was out of the country, but after days 1 and 2, I was too exhausted to find time to write.  I’m used to Hubby being MIA during the week, either with meetings, late nights at the office, or sports practice, so the weekdays weren't too bad.  The weekends kicked my @ss.  I have even MORE respect for single parents and military wives than I already did. 

So here is my Condensed Version of my many misadventures:

1.  Took Medium to the dentist to get a spacer, or as we call it in our family, “mouth bling.”  For what we’ve paid this dentist, Mommy could have had some hand bling or ear bling, but instead Medium has a mouthful of mouth bling.  Sigh.  Merry Christmas, Medium, you got dental work!

2.  Argued with Large, who is eight years old, about why it is inappropriate for him to watch Eastbound and Down, the HBO comedy series that features an “athlete” named Kenny Powers.  Yes, I know it is about baseball, but I’d prefer Large try to emulate someone whose chief mode of transportation is not a jet ski and who doesn’t toke up in the parking lot of his middle school substitute teaching job.  Call me a prude . . .

3.  Had the following uncomfortable and politically incorrect conversation with my children at the new Chick-fil-A.

Large:  You know what I like about this Chick-fil-A?

Mommy:  What’s that, son? 

Large:  All the people speak English.

Medium:  Yeah, at McDonald’s they all speak Spanish and you can’t unnerstand ‘em.

Mommy:  Well, lots of people speak different languages, and lots of people speak Spanish.

Medium:  They never get it right at McDonald’s.

Large:  Yeah, like last time?  We went to McDonald’s?  They gave me TWO packages of apple fries?  And no french fries!

Medium:  Yeah.  Daddy goes ‘is it TOO much to ask . . . '

Mommy:  Everyone makes mistakes.  Hey!  Is that a talking cow?

I’m hoping that the nice Hispanic gentleman and his two children who were sitting directly behind us did not hear this conversation.

4.  Loaded up all three kids in the Swagga Wagon and drove them through a torrential downpour to Target, which is the logical place to visit the eye doctor.  (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: when you think good eye health, you think Target.  If they had a gynecologist and a dentist I’d never have to go anywhere else.)  We arrived only to find out that we no longer have vision coverage.  When I spoke to the Aetna representative on the phone and explained that I’m pretty sure we do, indeed, have vision coverage, he informed me that his computer system was down and he could not access my records.    This was a slight improvement over last week when I called and got a voice message that their phone system was down.  A tad bit annoyed . . . ahem. . . . I informed the operator that I was standing IN the doctor’s office WITH my 3 offspring for an appointment that was made months ago.  The operator apologized, and I use the term loosely, by saying "I'm sorry ma'am but I don't have a magic wand that can make the computers work."  Clearly not a parent himself, he suggested that we “give it a half hour” and try again.  

Sure.  

We’ll sit here with our hands folded in our laps and wait patiently for 30 minutes, at which point we will try again and may or may not be met with success.  Forget it.  Medium doesn’t need to see the blackboard.  He probably doesn’t pay attention anyway.

5.  You know how the media is all abuzz about Alex Baldwin being kicked off a plane for acting like my toddler refusing to power off and for slamming a bathroom door?  I was reading an article and the reader responses on MSN when this response caught my eye:

“I think all cell phones should be banned from aircraft as well as camera's, radio's, people with pacemakers, fat people (they're heavy), babies (adult one's too), underwear, bra's, people wearing lose fitting cloths, old people, deaf people (they can't hear the flight attendants yell at them), blind people (can't see which flight attendant is yelling at them), handicap people (they get in the way of us normal people), airline employee's (I don't like the fact they fly for free)....have I left anything out?”

I had to respond.  I just HAD to.  So I logged on and gave myself a user name and everything just so I could post this:

“um, you left out "people who know how to spell" and "apostrophe's."

Seriously, I could NOT help myself.  The Grammar Police ride again . . .

6.  Paid a nanny/babysitter the equivalent of a car payment so I could accompany my dad to the hospital for minor surgery.  (I’ll let you in on a little secret though . . . sitting in the waiting room afforded me enough time to address my Christmas cards, read a few chapters of my book, and catch up on my celebrity gossip.)  I was full of jokes that day too.  Lucky Dad. 

• When the nurse came to attach his IV and apologized that it would hurt when it came time to remove it because it would pull his arm hair, I casually looked up from my magazine and suggested they tape it to his head . . . there’s no hair to worry about there.
• When they asked if my dad had an advanced directive or a living will, I pulled a well-worn copy out of my back pocket.  Carry that bad boy with me.  Just in case.
• When the receptioninst asked for his emergency information, I made him change his next of kin from my brother, who lives within 10 miles of my dad, to me, because clearly I am the responsible one. 
• The doctor made him wear those special white compression socks that help with circulation.  I dubbed them Medical Spanx.

Apparently I am full o’ the jokes when I’m uncomfortable.  When they let me see him after surgery, the nurse patted my hand and said, “he did fine.  I know you were worried.  You looked very nervous when we took him back . . . I was more worried about you than I was about him!”

Pillar of strength, just like always.


*  PS - Click those ads!  Tiny Tim needs new crutches.

My Life as a Single Mom - Day 2

Day 2 is not going any better than Day 1 did. 

Large had a basketball game this morning, which meant that we ALL had to escort him to school.  In an attempt to give myself a little treat, we stopped at Starbucks on the way and I purchased a Venti cup of caffeinated goodness.  We arrived at school and I was all proud of myself for arriving on time with a few minutes to spare.  I had packed a little bag of Monster Trucks for Medium and a bin of toys for Small, and we set up camp in a corner of the gym.

On time?  Check!  Prepared?  Check!

And then Small spilled my super-duper cup o’ joe all over the floor.  I bolted for the bathroom to get paper towels only to have a representative from the Parks Authority chase after me. 

“Excuse me!” he called.  “Someone spilled a drink all over the place in here.”

Well, thanks for the heads up, Johnny Newsflash.

I explained that I was getting paper towels, and he graciously offered to go find a mop.  Yes, there was THAT much coffee.

I don’t know if I was more annoyed that I was down on my hands and knees with those industrial strength brown school paper towels that have the absorbency of sandpaper, or that I had only had ONE sip of my coffee.  I have mentioned once or twice how much I likes my coffee, right?

Large does not have a future in the NBA.  He had fun, but the entire experience was the basketball equivalent of the Bad News Bears.  Medium complained the entire time that he was bored, he had nothing to do, he was hungry, how much longer, etc.  Small wiggled, writhed, screamed, fell backwards onto the seat behind him, ran from me, threw a car onto the court, and ate raisins off the floor.  Medium took full advantage of this situation and began teasing Small by holding his car just out of his reach, showing him the ball and then taking it away from him, and “wrestling” him and then claiming he couldn’t hear my desperate request for him to pleasefortheloveofpete knock it off!

Because I clearly appeared to have the situation firmly under control, another mommy offered her husband’s services and had him take Large to their next destination while I headed home with the younger two.

I have a hard time asking for help.  I remember Hubby calling my mom soon after Large was born and asking her to come help me with our newborn for a few days as he was going back to work.  I was exhausted and emotional, (which I now refer to as Tuesday,) but felt like I should be able to do this motherhood thing on my own.  Since then I have learned, especially recently, that I need to ask for help and I need to accept it when it is offered.  I am always willing to get the neighbor kids off the bus when mom or dad is running a little late or to watch an extra kid so he doesn’t have to sit through his sister’s soccer practice.  I need to get rid of the Mommy Guilt I feel when I need to lean on other people.  I’ve never wanted to burden another parent with any extra responsibilities because we ALL have a lot on our plates. 

It was such a relief when the other family asked if they could take Large after practice so I wouldn’t have to drag Medium and Small to yet another activity which would be rife with the temptation of bad behavior.  I HATE it when my children act poorly, especially in public when there are witnesses, so being able to avoid the possibility of a meltdown, either from my kids or myself, was a real lifesaver. 

Later in the day, while Small napped, we headed outside to play catch.  Sure enough, our neighbor’s parents pulled into their usual parking space out front, and I made the requisite jokes about parking there at their own risk, are you sure you wanna park there, etc.  Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.  The neighbor’s daughter was playing too, so when I ran inside to make sure the baby wasn’t crying, I gave her my glove. 

One minute.  That’s as long as I was gone before Large ran in and said that she had been hurt.  He had thrown the ball to/at her, it hit her square in the nose, and she was in pain.

Seriously?  We haven’t done enough damage to this family within the past few days? 

I checked to make sure she was okay, then announced that we’d be heading around back to play in hopes that we wouldn’t cause as much damage to body or property.  Tomorrow I will suggest that they call their insurance agent and simply explain that the BoyMommy family lives across the street, at which point their agent will nod knowingly and amend any catastrophic policy they may already have.

Day 2 = Fail.

My Adventures as a Single Mom, Day One

Hubby is in India for a 10-day business trip, so I am single-mom’in it.  We survived Day 1, but it was not uneventful. 

What will I be doing while my spouse is gone?  Funny you should ask.  The answer, my friend, is laundry.  Lots and lots of laundry.   

We woke up one day last week to discover that, at some point, our washer must have leaked/overflowed/vomited water all over our mudroom floor.  We figured I had overloaded it in an overzealous attempt to getdonefaster!  But when we returned from Thanksgiving and started a load of laundry, we again found ourselves swimming in what was formerly known as our laundry room.  We scheduled a service appointment for two days later, which should have been Wednesday.  Sure enough, the guy-who-sits-at-the-phone-with-the-sassy-headset called and had to reschedule . . . for December 8.  I panicked! gently explained that we are a family of 5, three of whom are young boys, and I cannot wait that long to do laundry.  He acquiesced and agreed to send someone on December 2, which is today. 

My washer is now fixed, which is a blessing in disguise.  I did two loads of laundry at my neighbor’s house on Wednesday.  (But don’t tell her because she doesn’t know.)  (Okay, that’s a joke.  She knows.  She knows NOW at least . . . )  But now I have A LOT of laundry to do, including a giant load of beach towels that need to be washed because we used them to sop up the standing water in our mudroom.  The irony is not lost on me. 

In other news, Medium lost a tooth today.  I have a hard enough time remembering to move our Elf, Neeney.  (That’s right – his name is Neeney Sweeney.)  Countless times I’ve had to make up a reason why Neeney is in the same place he was yesterday, even though he is supposed to report back to Santa each night and reappear in a different spot.  Perhaps he was just too tired from all the fun and decided to stay last night.  Or maybe he just really likes that spot, so he visited Santa and then returned to the same place.  Or maybe you were bad, bad little boys.  The point?  I sometimes forget to move Neeney and now I have the extra responsibility of remembering to be the Tooth Fairy too?

Thhhhhhh . . . 

I have also concluded that I should have gone to Target today.  Today was the first day this week I have NOT been to Target.  I went Monday because . . . well, just because.  Tuesday I went to look for a toy I had seen on Monday, price-checked at other retailers, and decided I needed to purchase at Target.  Wednesday I went to purchase all the little travel-size accoutrements Hubby needed for his trip but neglected to tell me about when I was there on Tuesday.  Thursday we went as a family to kill time until bedtime to purchase gifts for our Trim-a-Tree at church and for a neighborhood charity.  IF I had gone this afternoon, I may have avoided the embarrassing incident in which one of my children had to apologize for breaking a tail light. 

The boys were playing in the front yard with a friend while I sat on the front step and engaged in a grown-up phone conversation with a girlfriend.  We live on a street that doesn’t get much thru-traffic, so it’s not uncommon for the boys to play catch in the street.  One of my boys (betcha can’t guess which one!) was throwing a Matchbox car up into the air.  This, of course, is not advisable, wise, or what God intended when He invented Matchbox cars.  Lo and behold, he threw the car up into the air, his aim was off, and it hit the tail light of my neighbor’s parents’ car, which was parked in front of their house.  I didn’t know how hard it hit until Medium came running up the yard and cried, “I’m in big trouble!”  He apologized to the owner, admitted he had made a bad decision, and shook hands, and I said we would pay for the damage. 

Surprisingly enough, this is not the first time we’ve found ourselves in a situation such as this. 

Day One: FAIL.

Glitter = Mommy Anthrax

Last night our neighborhood sponsored an activity for children that featured cookie decorating, ornament making, and a tree lighting.  As a tired/haggard/frustrated mother, I appreciate their effort and I loved the fact that the boys were tired when we got home, which meant a quick bath and straight to bed.  (No, not straight to sleep; straight to bed.  There's a difference.  Straight to bed means I watch tv and ignore them while they stand at the top of the stairs asking for water and/or hugs and announce their need to pee.)  However, it was obvious to me that the event planners are not parents themselves. 

The Evidence:

The “festivities” began at 5:00 pm.  We were the 2^nd family to arrive and the boys made a bee-line for the ornament-decorating table.  It was a simple craft, but it involved glitter glue.  Who in their right mind sets out glitter glue for a room full of children, the oldest of whom is 8 years old?  Obviously someone inexperienced in the playdoh/moonsand/fingerpaint genre of childsplay. 

Glitter.  Everywhere.

Next they moved on to cookie decorating.  Along the same lines, this activity involved colored icing and sprinkles.  We’ve added sugar to the mix, and it’s only 5:15.  The lighting of the tree didn’t happen until 6:00, so I spent 45 minutes chasing my toddler around the room, pulling him out of the men’s room, and holding him by one arm while he did the limp body dangle.  He looked like a very cute, highly-sugared and perpetually snotty bobble-head marionette because apparently sugar makes him lose control of his neck muscles.  The older two were wrestling with the neighbor kids, touching each of the Christmas tree ornaments, and bouncing on the sofa as if they were at home. 

Seriously?
You gave my kids glitter and sprinkles?
I'm plotting your death . . . 

There were several of us mommies who had toddlers at this function.  We all looked alike:  wine glass in one hand, toddler’s hand in the other and trying to carry on an adult conversation while giving the this-is-neither-the-time-nor-the-place speech through clenched teeth and a fake smile.  I had exactly one conversation last night with another mother, and we discussed my favorite subject . . . people who know how to parent other people’s children better than the actual parents themselves.  (This group is generally comprised of the elderly, the childless, and those employed in the cash-register field.)

They didn’t light the tree until after an inappropriately high-heeled, short-skirted woman sang Rudolph with the kids.  She sang with a shaky voice and seemed nervous, which kinda makes me laugh because kids are the BEST audience ever!  They could give a sh*t what YOU sound like; they just want to belt out the words as loudly as they can.  Oh, there’s a tune to this song? 

I may have lost my Christmas spirit for a moment and uttered under my breath, “just light the damn tree already!”  Hypothetically.

Merry Christmas and all that.

And the Winner Is . . .

The Winner of my Undying Devotion is . . . 

my Happy Hour Neighbor, with SIX correct answers.  Although I may have to take away her "friend" card for guessing Look Who's Talking.

1.  “Oh, but Baby Fish Mouth is sweeping the nation . . . “

WHEN HARRY MET SALLY - the Pictionary scene where she's trying to draw the clue for "Baby Talk."  Jess insists that "Baby Talk" is not a saying, to which Harry replies, "Oh, but Baby Fish Mouth is sweeping the nation.  I hear them talking . . . "

2.  “You wash yer hands on your own time!”

            *Bonus: “I’m gonna activate your dental plan!”

BETTER OFF DEAD 

3.  “You CAN’T leave!  All the plants are gonna die!”

STRIPES 

4.  “She falls down a well, her eyes go cross. She gets kicked by a mule. They go back. I don't know.”

Can I refill your eggnog for you?
Get you something to eat?
Drive you out to the middle of nowhere
and leave you for dead?

NATIONAL LAMPOON'S CHRISTMAS VACATION.  Man, I loves me some Cousin Eddie.  You gotta love a man who wears a black dickie under a white sweater and drives a "tenament on wheels."

5.  “ . . . it smells like mushrooms, and everyone looks like they want to hurt me.”

ELF

6.  “Bark twice if you’re in Milwaukee!”

ANCHORMAN

7.  “I think you'll be okay here.  They have a thin candy shell.   Huh.  'Surprised you didn't know that.”

TOMMY BOY - c'mon, our dog is named after Chris Farley, God rest his soul.  I HAD to throw some Tommy Boy in the mix!

8.  “Would you please put some pants on? I feel weird having to ask you twice.”

THE HANGOVER.  If I had a nickel for every time I've had to say this . . . 

9.  “If he gets up, we'll all get up, it'll be anarchy.”

BREAKFAST CLUB.  You mess with the bull . . . you get the horns.

10.  “He'll keep calling me, he'll keep calling me until I come over. He'll make me feel guilty. This is uh... This is ridiculous, ok I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go. What - I'LL GO. Sh*t.”

FERRIS BEULLER'S DAY OFF

It's Contest Time!

Welcome to the FIRST EVER BoyMommy contest!  

Below are 10 of my all-time favorite movie quotes, most of which make me laugh hysterically every time I think about them.  In the interest of offering you, too, dear reader, a little holiday jolly, I’m running a contest.  Comment with the correct movie title and you could WIN! 

The prize?  MY unending love and devotion!  That’s right!  It’s a coveted prize, I know.  Chances of winning, probably pretty high.

Don’t cheat.  I know you can go on the world wide internets and research the answers.  Yes, you’re very clever.

"Cinderella story. Outta nowhere.
A former greenskeeper, now,
about to become the Masters champion.
It looks like a mirac...
It's in the hole! It's in the hole! It's in the hole!"

Let’s begin, shall we?

1.  “Oh, but Baby Fish Mouth is sweeping the nation . . . “

2.  “You wash yer hands on your own time!”

            *Bonus: “I’m gonna activate your dental plan!”

3.  “You CAN’T leave!  All the plants are gonna die!”

4.  “She falls down a well, her eyes go cross. She gets kicked by a mule. They go back. I don't know.”

5.  “ . . . it smells like mushrooms, and everyone looks like they want to hurt me.”

6.  “Bark twice if you’re in Milwaukee!”

7.  “I think you'll be okay here.  They have a thin candy shell.   Huh.  'Surprised you didn't know that.”

8.  “Would you please put some pants on? I feel weird having to ask you twice.”

9.  “If he gets up, we'll all get up, it'll be anarchy.”

10.  “He'll keep calling me, he'll keep calling me until I come over. He'll make me feel guilty. This is uh... This is ridiculous, ok I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go. What - I'LL GO. Sh*t.”

Ridin' the Rails with Stinky Stinkerson

Hubby was working in NYC all last week, so the boys and I thought we’d go visit for the weekend, catch up with old friends, and hang out at some of our favorite spots. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Since we’ve spent many long hours sitting in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike and said turnpike does NOT bring out my better qualities, we decided to take the train.  We would leave at 6:05, and since Small’s regular bedtime is 7 pm, I assumed he would fall asleep . . . a precious little angel all snuggled in my arms and rocking to the gentle rhythm of the swaying train.

Um, that’s not how it went down.

Everything started out great.  The boys were excited to be taking the train, I had packed the ginormous suitcase and put it in the Swagga Wagon, and traffic into DC was bearable.  We arrived at the train station right on time, parked, got dinner to-go, and headed for the line to get ready to board.  The line was at least 100 deep, which made me think it wasn’t for our train, as we still had a half hour before departure.  Sure enough, a redcap flagged me down, asked me where I was going, and said “follow me.” 

I LOVE it when people are kind and helpful.  It totally restores my faith in humanity.

He parted the crowds like Moses and the Sea and led us to a secret entrance to the tracks.  He found us four seats facing each other and stowed my luggage and bid us adieu.  Best 5 bucks I ever spent.

Then the squirming started.  Ever traveled with a toddler who was so beyond exhausted that his eyes started rolling back into his head?

Two. And-a-half.  Hours.  Of squirming/screaming/wriggling.  It was like trying to hold onto a bag full of cats.  Remember that scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation where Rusty realizes Aunt Bethany has wrapped the cat as a Christmas gift?  Like that.

I have never been so happy to see Hubby as I was when we got to the top of the escalator at Penn Station and he was waiting with open arms.  But that was short lived, because our next stop was the tiniest hotel room known to man. 

All five of us squeezed into a hotel room.  We had our bed, a pull-out couch for Medium and Large, and we stuck Small in the pack-n-play in the bathroom.  There were two main problems with this configuration, however.

1. Once we got everyone settled in bed, there was literally no space to walk because of all the quality hotel furniture, the stroller, and our luggage.
2. Since Small was asleep in the bathroom, if you had to pee you were out of luck.  Which may be why certain members of our entourage had “accidents” the first night. 

That’s a whole lotta family togetherness.

The trip home didn’t start out much better.  We boarded the train after finding a redcap to help us with our luggage.  We looked like sherpas . . . wearing as much clothing as we could and with backpacks strapped on every available shoulder.  As we were getting settled into our seats, Hubby and I both smelled something.

Of course, our first inclination was for each of us to ask, “was that YOU?”

Cute.  But veddy, veddy steenky.

Oh, right.  The baby.  

So don’t judge us, but we were already on the train, and those train bathrooms are comparable in size to an airplane restroom.  We were desperate.  We did what we had to do.  We took Small a few rows back, away from as many people as possible, and quickly changed his stinky.  While Hubby did the actual procedure, I stood at the ready so that I could transport the offending diaper to a trashcan outside the train.

But you know SOMEBODY had to make a comment.

I got the stink-eye from a young woman a few rows up.  I cringed apologetically and said, “sorry.  We’ll be done in a second,” because I realized this was not an ideal situation.

“Ugh.  Seriously?  Can’t you do that somewhere else?” she replied.  Because she’s what?  20?  And she knows what it’s like to travel with a family of young children, one of whom is probably going to start screaming soon and who will be way unhappy if he has to fester in a dirty diaper for the next 3.5 hours?  “You can’t use the restroom or something?  Those restrooms are huge.”

Possible sarcastic responses:

• “Yes, I could, but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of engaging you in polite conversation.”

• “Really?  Huge?  Judging from the look on your terrified boyfriend’s face and my impression that he’s not allowed to have an opinion, I’m guessing your idea of “huge” and mine are two different things.”

• “We could have used any number of restrooms we passed along the way, all of which were line-less and gleeming with cleanliness and sanitation, given we’re in friggin’ Manhattan.  But I decided to wait until 2 minutes before departure time because I like the excitement of having a deadline.”

Stuff.  Lots and lots of stuff.

I get it.  No one wants to smell poop.  But what were we supposed to do, really?  There’s no changing table in a bathroom that consists of a metal toilet and the equivalent of an upside-down water fountain.  We couldn’t disembark with our family of five, a stroller, 2 suitcases, bags, and five winter coats, travel up the escalator, undress the baby, change him, travel down the escalator, find five seats together, stow our luggage/stroller/bags/coats, ETCTERA, just so you don’t have to plug your nose for what amounted to about 30 seconds of unpleasantness.

So pipe down. 

Oh, and a private note to the mean 20-year-old with no sympathy for haggard parents of a stinky toddler: you got off at Newark.  Newark.  You think this is the last experience with STINK you’re gonna have today?  Happy holidays . . .