Pinterest Peer Pressure

Motherhood is like being a hamster on a wheel; you're running as fast as you can but you're getting NOWHERE.  Hubby and I were talking last night about how frustrated and restless I feel, partly because there's no end-product to show for the work I do during the day.  The "product" will be adult children who are contributing members of society.  Or at least not in jail.  Is it revealing that I feel that I don't need to have my children attend Harvard, but I teach them at an early age that they are NEVER to ride in the back of a police car?  Perhaps my expectations are too low . . .

I've been increasingly frustrated lately with the Facebook/Pinterest phenomenon.  It's a given that Mark Zuckerberg invented stole the idea for Facebook in order to make me feel inferior to 391 of my closest friends.  Pinterest is like Facebook on crack.  Apparently every other mother in the universe has time to make "busy books" for their toddlers using leftover scraps of fabric, no doubt from the adorable ruffled pajama bottoms they made yesterday.  Then she makes a delicious, nutritious meal from THE best (!!!) Mac & Cheese recipe ever.  And finally she makes teacher appreciation gifts using nothing but vinyl, burlap, and an old egg carton.

I am a complete failure.  THIS is what I could add to Pinterest:

Board:  FOR THE HOME

Decorate your countertop with homework papers, mail, and board books that are being aired out after your toddler climbs on the kitchen table and spills Mommy's Precious coffee on them.

Board:  PARENTING IDEAS

Go ahead.  Play ball in the house.  See what happens.  Can't reach the top of the fridge?  Well then I guess you don't play ball in the house anymore, now do you?

Board:  STORAGE

Add a three-hook shelf (one for each child) by the door, where your children will hang their coats and backpacks and neatly line up their shoes.  Just like at my house.

Board:  FOR THE HOME

Decorate your Laundry Room.  With laundry.  Piles and piles of laundry.

Board:  STORAGE

Need a convenient location to store those pesky door stops?  How about the bathroom sink?  Notice 5 toothbrushes for 2 boys, an accident waiting to happen the cap off the mouthwash, and toilet paper still on the roll because they don't use toilet paper.

Board:  PARENTING IDEAS

Help me out mommies.  I know YOU, of all people, know what this is.  Is this or is this not the universal signal for take your sh*t upstairs?  It's simple.  You need not make a special trip; just grab your stuff on your way up.  I took this photo on day 3, folks.

I realize I have done you a disservice, mommies, because now you feel the added pressure to run your household as efficiently as I do, and for this I apologize.

*Click those ads and tell your friends to "like" my Facebook page!

Average is Still Okay

Though I am not a fan of the rhetorical question, especially since Carrie overused it on Sex and the City, I have one of my own.  Except I really want to know the answer.

How do you build your child’s faltering self-esteem without coddling him?

Medium is having a tough time these days.  First grade has been a difficult year for him, what with the SATs and the college admissions process and all.  What?  Oh, that’s later? 

The principal called me once at the beginning of the year for a minor infraction at school.  Apparently Medium told a classmate “I’m gonna kill you,” the way 1^st graders do.  But this is 2012 so the administration must take everything seriously, and I don’t blame them.  They handled it professionally, but I am happy that we were able to resolve the situation through meaningful conversation. 

The second time he called went like this:

Principal:  “Mrs. BoyMommy?  It’s Mr. Assistant Principal at school.  How are you today?”

Me:  “Uh oh.  What happened now?”

Principal:  chuckles.  “Not every phone call from me is going to be bad news!”

Me:  “Okay.  Then why are you calling me?”

Principal:  “Well . . . “

And so it goes.  Medium is a bright, curious, creative child, and Hubby and I have tried very hard to encourage him in areas where he can excel.  The problem is, if he thinks he won’t excel, he won’t even try.  For instance, he was invited to a sports-themed birthday party last week, but he was apprehensive about going because “they’re all gonna be playing games and they keep score.”  I reminded him that his classmate invited Medium to his party because he likes him for him, not because he’s good or bad at sports.  He just wanted Medium to help him celebrate his big day.  When I went to pick up, however, the mom expressed concern that he didn’t have a good time because he didn’t want to play any of the games.  What a fun kid to invite to your party! 

He possesses natural athletic ability.  He’s fast and agile and strong.  Obviously he gets all these qualities from me.  And maybe a little bit from my athletic husband.  My point is that it’s not like he’s making a fool of himself on the ball field.  He can hold his own, but if there’s any risk of failure, he won’t even start.

Hubby and I realize it is our job to help him find his niche, and we’ve never, in ALL our years of parenting school-aged children, pressured the boys to be straight-A students.  We want them to enjoy going to school, to be curious about their environment, and to build lasting relationships with their peers.  So it’s not as if he’s getting a lot of pressure at home to be perfect.  It breaks my heart when he comes home and tells me “I’m the worst student” because he’s struggling with math, or spelling, or reading, or writing.  I’ve tried explaining that we can’t all be good at everything; I can’t balance a checkbook and Daddy isn’t crafty, but it seems that he feels he’s good at nothing. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not a fan of the let’s-give-everyone-a-trophy philosophy either.  (And not just because I can’t stand having dust-catchers around OR because THIS 4-foot monstrosity is still taking up space in my home.) 

"YOU get a trophy!  And YOU get a trophy!  And . . . "

In life, there are winners and there are losers.  Sometimes life’s not fair.  How else can one explain why good people get sick while Charles Manson rots away in prison?  It’s NOT fair; it’s just the way life works.  I know this is a life lesson that Medium must learn and that it’s our responsibility to guide him through it, but I’d like him to learn it with minimal therapy. 

How do we help him feel good about himself and all he brings to our family without being unrealistic about his abilities?  How do we explain to a seven-year-old that his worth and his value do not come from a scoreboard or a report card or a blue ribbon?  I’ve been there - I have been the child who never gets picked for the team, or who never scores a goal, or who loses the election.  I know what it’s like to never feel like you’re the best at . . . well, anything.  And that’s okay.  We can’t all be rock stars.  I just wish he’d relax and go with the flow, man.  I want him to enjoy playing the game for the sake of having fun . . .  instead of feeling like he’s the worst just because he’s not the best.

Gettin' Ready for Bikini Season.

. . . just kidding.  The last time I wore a bikini was 1976.

After several (yes, that's plural) attempts at keeping up with my personal grooming and then documenting my horror story here and here and here,  let it be known that I had a bikini wax that was not the suburban mommy equivalent of waterboarding.  Seriously, if you haven't read about my hair removal misadventures, you really should.  I'm gonna win a Pulitzer.

I mean, it wasn’t like being licked by kittens, but neither was it torturous.

I decided, after my last two waxes with Lee the Nail Technician in the Seventh Level of Hell, that I would make an appointment at an accredited spa.  As much as I love getting advice on how to “make you husband so happy” from the same woman who paints my toenails, I figured it was time to see a professional.  The last two times I had a bikini wax, my eyes watered more than they did during that scene in Terms of Endearment when Debra Winger says goodbye to her children.

My self-esteem took a hit as soon as I walked into the spa, however.  I filled out the client questionnaire, because apparently it is important for the woman who is going to pluck hair from my body to know exactly how often I partake in recreational drugs and what brand of daily vitamin I take.  The aesthetician introduced herself to me and said, “so we’re doing an eyebrow wax, an upper lip wax, and a bikini wax?’

“Um, no, but why do you ask?”  My hand instinctively covered my upper lip, which apparently rivals Tom Selleck’s mustache, circa Magnum, P.I.

"I'm gonna keep the 'stache."

She got me situated in the room, which was decorated a little more soothingly than the Seventh Level of Hell room at Lee the Nail Technician’s House of Death.  AND she gave me those little paper undies.  Bonus!  She excused herself so that I could undress in private and figure out how to make the elastic on the paper undies fit around my waist without snapping from overextension.  I find it ironic that she waited outside in order to protect my modesty as I undressed, knowing that she'd be gettin' handsy with my nether-regions in a few minutes.

When she came back in she apologized for the mistake and said that there was another client with my same name who was having three waxes.  Well bless her hairy little heart; the poor thing.

We started making small talk, which helped take my mind off the fact that this woman is literally ripping hair from my very sensitive and generally very modest lady parts. 

And then I starts with the jokes.

“So, when you went to beauty school, is THIS what you aspired to?” 

She laughed and replied, “No, but it certainly helps me take out my aggression.”

Well-played, Bikini Waxer.  Joke time’s over.

Practical Advice for Bun Ovens

My sister-in-law is pregnant with the spawn of my brother a precious gift of God.  They are due in early summer and will be first-time parents.  Remember those days?  You were filled with anticipation and had NO friggin' idea exactly how much you used to love sleeping?   

At one of my baby showers, my girlfriend Mama Mia gave me some "advice."  (She bought me a real gift too, lest I never speak to her again.)  I have since added/adjusted/amended the list and given it as part of a baby shower gift.  Just another way for me to grace the universe with my unsolicited opinion . . . 

No, really, Mommy . . . you should try to get some rest.

PRACTICAL ADVICE

(which you may, of course, choose to ignore)

compiled by BoyMommy

CEO: BoyMommy Family Household

I.               My favorite brands:

* I am not receiving any compensation from the following brands, but if they would like to throw some money my way, I will gladly accept it.  

a.      Diapers & wipes – Pampers

b.     Car seats – Graco Snug Ride (infant) and then Britax Roundabout and Britax Marathon, in age-appropriate order

c.      Socks – Children’s Place

d.     Footie Pajamas – Children’s Place

e.      Sippy Cups – Platex  (Gerber sippies have stoppers that fall loose every time Baby drops the cup.  Platex stoppers stay in better.)

f.      Gas Drops – Store brand  (Mylicon is expensive, and let’s face it . . . they’re GAS drops; how different can they all be?)

g.      Pain Reliever – Motrin lasts longer than Tylenol

h.     Bible – What to Expect the First Year

i.       Bottles – Dr. Brown’s are the “new thing” but I’m not sure it makes much difference.  HOWERVER, if Baby is colicky you're willing to try anything to please for-the-love-o'-pete-make-it-stop.

j.      Diaper Crème – Desitin

* my computer thinks I'm all fancy and French and keeps adding that little thingy to the top of the e.  Still doesn't change the fact that it goes on Baby's poop chute.

k.      Sleep Bras (if you nurse) – Motherhood

l.       Nursing camisoles - Target

m.    Maternity clothes – Motherhood, Gap Maternity (online), Kohls, Target

II.            Things I wish I’d known:

a.      Nipple confusion is bullsh*t.  I wouldn’t let the nurses give Large a pacifier because I was worried about nipple confusion.  (Because I was an expert . . . I mean I HAD been a mother for a few hours now . . . )  Trust me – babies know where their next meal’s comin’ from.

b.     Unless you know you’re going to be transferring Baby from one car to the other a lot, don’t bother with an extra base.  We’ve used a car seat in Daddy’s car maybe 5 times total. 

c.      Register for BIG items, even if you’re not going to use them right away.  It’s easy to store things like the high chair/swing/exersaucer in their original boxes until you need them, and then you won’t have to run out and buy them yourselves later.  These make great gifts for people (like co-workers) who want to pool their money for one big gift.  Don’t register for clothes – you’ll get a ton of those anyway, especially if you already know what you’re having.

d.     Shave your legs, get your toes done, get your eyebrows waxed, and get your hair cut about a week before Baby’s arrival.  It may not happen again for a loooooong time.  And buy some good ponytail holders.  Personal hygiene is the first to go.

e.      Invest in a good quality glider.  Baby doesn’t care if his/her dresser matches the crib, etc, but YOU will appreciate having a comfy place to sit in in the wee hours of the morning.  You don’t want a hard rocking chair that makes your butt stiff.

f.      Register online at Pampers.com, Gerber.com, Enfamil.com, Similac.com, etc, even if you plan to nurse.  They’ll send you free coupons, and even if you don’t use the formula coupons, you can trade them with a girlfriend for something you will use, like diapers.

g.      Ask your pediatrician for samples of formula and pain reliever.

III.          If you plan to Nurse:

a.      Don’t go cheap on the nursing bras.  Target has In Due Time brand nursing camisoles that look like little tanktops.  They run a little small, so you might want to try on first.  (I wore a 2x – I know I’m not a LITTLE girl, but come on!)  Motherhood has good bras too, but don’t forget – their return policy is not very forgiving.  I love their sleep bras – not very supportive, but enough to keep you from leaking.

b.     Take Lansinoh gel with you to the hospital and apply it EVERY time you nurse.  Breastfeeding hurts.  The La Leche Nazis will not tell you this because they want you to keep trying.  Consult with the Lactation Consultant at the hospital and get used to the fact that not only has your doctor been elbow-deep into your hoo-ha, now a very grandmotherly lady that you don’t know will be feeling you up. 

c.      The Lactation Consultant should also have these little gel pads that fit right over your nippy to help soothe the soreness.  They’re expensive, but SO worth it.  You can put them in the fridge and cool them before you apply.  I know it sounds weird right now, but please take my word for it.  You can also buy them at the store (Gerber, I think) but they aren’t as good as the ones you can get from the Lactation Consultant.

d.     If you buy a breast pump, get a good one.  I have a Medela and I love it.  I actually used it quite a bit.  I registered for it so I wouldn’t have to shell out all that money myself.  It is LOUD.  A 757 could pass overhead but you wouldn't hear it over the sound of the Human Milker.

e.      No one will tell you this: when you do the s-e-x, you might leak from your boobs.  It is very strange and can really ruin a moment.  (Also, invest in some K-Y because nursing makes you extra dry.) 

f.      Lansinoh also makes disposable nursing pads to keep any leaking from showing through during the day.  I tried to save money by using cloth ones that I could reuse, but they’re a lot thicker and they’re pretty obvious.  I wore nursing pads for about 6 months with all 3 boys.

IV.            Other odds and ends:

a.      Keep all blankets you get as gifts.  I thought I had way too many, but if you have a puker, like my own little Yacky McVomit (AKA Medium) then you’ll need a lot of clean blankets.

b.     Miracle Blanket (online) has great swaddling blankets which I think work WONDERS in the first few weeks.  I got one as a gift for Medium and I wish I’d had one with Large. 

c.      Every parent will tell you something different, but personally, we’re firm believers in the Ferber Method at about 3.5-4 months old.  I think it’s REALLY important for your own sanity that you teach your baby to sleep on his/her own.  I also know it’s REALLY hard to listen to your baby cry for you.  But it’s a few nights of pure hell (maybe a week?) that pays off in the long run.

d.      Gymboree is very expensive and I have been very happy with the cheap classes I have taken through the park authority.

e.      Malls, Libraries, and Bookstores have a lot of free kid programs.  Check them out online.

f.      A pacifier tether will help keep Baby’s binky close at hand.  So when you’re driving down the highway at 60 miles an hour, you can reach behind you and easily find the binky because Baby can only spit it out so far.

g.     I LOVED my Baby Bjorn.  Expensive, but totally worth it.

h.       No one needs a wipes warmer.  (Although a friend told me their wipes would freeze in the winter, and they used one, so perhaps . . . PERHAPS . . . I'm not an expert.)

i.      Join a mom’s group.  You can look online – just google "mom’s club" – and you should be able to track one down in your area.  Motherhood is very isolating, especially at first.  It’s vital that you remember you are not alone.

j.      Be honest with your doctor.  Having baby blues is normal, but there’s NO reason for you to suffer unnecessarily. 

k.       MOST IMPORTANT: Sleep while Baby sleeps!  You will not get a significant chunk of sleep for MONTHS, (maybe years,) so you have to get it while you can.  The dishes and vacuuming will be there later.  Your time is better spent with Baby and you’ll be a better mommy if you are better rested.

The Birds, 2012 Edition

Um, that's disgusting, Al.

I’m living in my own personal Alfred Hitchcock film.  

It’s The Birds, 2012 edition: The Bird Keeps Sh*tting on my Car.

Below is a photo of the Swagga Wagon ONE DAY after I had it washed.

Does the offending bird not realize how much pride I got in my ride?

I hate birds.  Well . . . hate is a strong word.  Which is WHY I used it to describe how I feel about the avian species.  They’re fine to look at when they’re up in the sky, and I periodically enjoy listening to their tweet-tweeting as the harbingers of spring.

But that’s where I draw the line.

I will never have one in my home.  They stink, they squawk, and they sh*t all over the newspaper and then expect you to clean up after them.  No thank you.  (I feel similarly about fish, and you can read about how I explained my feelings to Medium here.)

About a week ago, I was out on the back deck with Small, who was playing in his sand box.  I kept hearing a thumping noise and realized that a bird was flying into the window of my neighbor’s back door.  Repeatedly.  Because the first time didn’t work, so let’s try it again.  And again!  Maybe THIS time!  THIS time?

Whatevs, I thought.  Just another character flaw to add to my list of reasons I hate birds.

But then he moved over to my window.  The next day, as I was sitting in my family room watching a week-old Desperate Housewives reading the Wall Street Journal during nap time, I was startled by a flying object that pounded into my window.  Repeatedly.  Because the first time didn’t work, so let’s try it again. . . . . you get the picture.

Now he has moved on to shinier pastures.  He has discovered my motor vehicle.  He keeps pooping all over my car.  I heard scratching the other day while the boys were playing in the driveway, and found my little friend perched on top of my side mirror – which was apparently the perfect angle for which to empty the contents of his little bird stomach with such force that it became lodged in the crevices of my mirror.  He is also partial to loitering at the base of the windshield so that when I use the wipers, I am presented with a rainbow of bird sh*t. 

                 

To top it off, he seems to be having some gastro-intestinal issues.  Perhaps it's the bird flu.  He delights in evacuating his bowels and then using his scratchy little claws to smear it all over the driver's side.  It's like he knows that's the side on which I enter the vehicle.  I'm telling you . . . for a creature with a brain the size of a grain of rice, he's proficient at playing mind games with me.

I told Hubby I am going to set up camp and shoot it with a water pistol, except all I keep thinking about is that line from To Kill a Mockingbird.  Atticus tells Scout, “Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em.  But remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”  Miss Maudie later explains, “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy . . . but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

Well guess what, Atticus.  This bird doesn’t do one thing but sh*t all over my car and then get all scarce and stealth-like when it’s time to get yer wallet out at the car wash.

So if you need me, I’ll be sitting in a lawn chair next to my Swagga Wagon with a fully loaded water pistol.  

The Spoils of my Vacuuming

A brief inventory of the stuff I just found under the sofa cushions while I was vacuuming:

verydemotivational.com

• Enough goldfish/pretzels/cheerios/dried-up raisins/Golden Grahams/popcorn remnants/Cookie Crisps to feed a third-world country (though not with nutritious foods, mind you.)
• 2 hair ties, which would have been helpful last week when I was . . . um . . . emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
• 1 barrette
• 1 knitting needle, size 8
• 5 marbles . . .  totally safe when you live with a toddler.
• 1 empty box of raisins
• 2 pencils
• 1 crayon, yellow
• 1 miniature bat that belongs to a Build-a-Bear Yankee Bear.  I’m guessing he’s not raking in the RBIs this season since his bat has been located beneath the cushions of my couch.
• 1 Word Wall word
• 2 legos
• 1 sock, formerly black, but now covered in dog fur and dust
• 1 coupon to Babies R Us
• 1 juice box straw
• 1 Thomas the Tank Engine, 60^th Anniversary edition
• 1 serving spoon
• 1 chip clip, green
• 1 pen and 1 pen top, found separately
• 1 Target receipt
• 2 dryer sheets
• 1 yogurt tube, empty (thankfully)
• 1 Special K bar wrapper
• enough sand to make our property beach-front and/or to refill the sand box

The sound of the vacuum cleaner only muffled the sound of Small, who was safely standing 2 rooms away, repeating “is scawy” approximately 100 times (though I ball-park, admittedly,) and the dog, who barked as though I were entertaining a masked gunman for morning tea.

Back From Being MIA

I’m back!

. . . now available at A Pea in the Pod

I’m sure you’ve been sitting by your computer, waiting patiently for me to post a blog entry, and I apologize for being MIA for so long.  (Missing in Action, not the female rapper with the poor taste in maternity clothing.)  It has been a rough couple weeks.   

Thing that prevented me from blogging #1: I had 3 family birthdays for which to prepare.  

• Medium had a Muppet-themed party at a local children’s hot spot, but it proved difficult to find Muppet paraphernalia.  Since Pinterest is my new crack, I had all kinds of ideas swirling around in my brain.  Pinterest, to me, is like that mysterious magnetic force on Lost.  It sucks me in; I must go to it.   I spent hours finding, pasting, and cutting tiny circles of Muppets characters and then gluing them onto the bottoms of Hershey Kisses.  Because 7-year-old boys appreciate stuff like that.

But look how cute they are!

• Then we had a surprise 70^th birthday party for my dad.  Again with the Hershey Kisses.  Except THIS time I had the sense to call in reinforcements.  After a desperate late-night email plea, four of my girlfriends came over and joined me in the finding/pasting/cutting/gluing madness, AND helped me assemble gift boxes, AND helped me prepare centerpieces.  Because 70-year-old men appreciate stuff like that.
• Then we had Small’s 2^nd birthday.  Poor kid.  I bought 12 cupcakes at Target, ordered pizza, and called it a day. 

Thing that prevented me from blogging #2:  Illness.

Soon after Medium’s birthday party at the local cesspool of germs and infectious diseases children’s jumpy place, the BoyMommy family was struck by the stomach bug.  You know the one.  The one where there’s stuff shooting out of your body from every available orifice.  That one.  

It started with Medium, but it was relatively minor so I honestly thought he was just a little dehydrated.  Nevertheless, I kept him home from school the next day.  But then I got it.  You KNOW your husband loves you when he says through the door, “are you okay, babe?  Are you getting sick?” and is answered with “I.  Need.  A Hair Tie.”  It’s the middle-aged equivalent of holding your hair back for you after a night of binge drinking.  Hubby slept on the couch for two nights because Large was soon struck and he and I were holed up in my bedroom.  Once we recovered, I had the pleasure of washing and sanitizing all the sheets and towels that had seen us through our illness.

Thing that prevented me from blogging #3:  Hubby is on a Guys’ Weekend.  For SEVEN days.  

He certainly deserves a break.  He works hard, he works long hours, he commutes an hour each way, and he does a lot of extracurricular stuff.  He’s an elder at our church, he teachers Sunday school, he is Vice President of the HOA and a member of the Finance Committee, and he coaches two baseball teams.  I admire his commitment to life outside of work.

But . . .

(You knew there’d be a BUT, right?)

Guess who has to hold down the fort while he’s gone, either at work or at play?  Guess who does all the behind-the-scenes stuff that allows Hubby the time and availability to be all volunteery?

When I get angry at him, I tell him it’s The Hubby Show, and the boys and I are merely supporting cast members.  That’s honestly how I feel sometimes, so I’m going to vent a little.

It’s hard not to be a little resentful when Hubby picks up and leaves for seven days for a fun trip – not because I don’t think he deserves it, because he absolutely does, but because I know I could never just go somewhere for seven days.  Even while I was sick and pukey and headachy and had body aches, I still had children to care for and Hubby still had to go to work.  (This is the man who went to work during the afternoon Medium was born.  Medium was born at 9:32 am.  Circumstances were such that Hubby was back in the office around 2.  Poor planning to deliver a child during “Busy Season!”)

First there’s the Mommy-Guilt.  I have no idea why I feel like I have to be the martyr.  Since when do I hold myself to such a high standard?  Seriously, have you seen the way I dress/cook/clean? 

A little back story: I am going away this weekend with a girlfriend.  We originally planned our trip for the 1^st weekend in January, but Hubby suggested we try a different date because we had so much going on that weekend.  So we chose another weekend, and then some family stuff came up and I again had to reschedule.  Now, here it is, the middle of March, and it looks like we’re finally going to be able to have our girls’ weekend, and I feel guilty for going 2 nights instead of just the one. 

Second, I have to do all the scheduling, no matter who leaves.  Since Hubby has been gone, I have done all the picking up/dropping off for Scouts, baseball practice, etc.  No problem – it’s all part of the job.  But in order for me to enjoy a r-e-l-a-x-i-n-g weekend, first I need to arrange for sitters and/or transportation for the kids for Friday and Saturday on Hubby's behalf. 

Third, I will think about my children the entire time I’m gone.  I’m not saying I won’t enjoy myself, but I’ll wonder what they’re doing, what they’re having for dinner, how practice went, is Daddy letting them stay up too late, and are they watching inappropriate tv programming?

Yes, intellectually I think I deserve a little time off too.  So why do I feel so guilty about needing a break every once in a while?