Recently my friend and her husband planned a trip to Disney World for themselves and their two children, ages 4 and 5. She devised a clever way to tell them about the trip, gathering all of their Disney character toys together and carefully placing them on the floor. She then turned on the video camera and called the kids over to have them guess where they would be going. After a couple of incorrect guesses, she told them. There was a moment of silence, then the 5 year old said "I thought the surprise would be even better."
When she told me about this, I completely empathized with her. I told her that I gave up "surprising" my kids a while ago, after too many disappointments. But the disappointment that was the catalyst for my surprise-embargo was not theirs, it was mine. Too many times I told my girls that I had a surprise for them when I got home, only to have the same sort of disappointment come my way that my friend experienced. Unfortunately, no matter how fabulous, elaborate and major your surprise may be (it was DISNEY WORLD for Chrissake!), the kids will always think it should have been something more fabulous, more elaborate and more major.
You would think I would have learned this lesson from my own experience. Many, many years ago, I came home from school to my mother telling me that she had a surprise for me upstairs on my bed. I bounded up the stairs, no doubt wondering if there was a new Adam Ant LP record or pink bandana awaiting me. I threw open the door and there, on my bed, in a box, was a training bra. As disappointed as I was, I'm sure it was even worse for my mom.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Maybe.
First, here is my disclaimer. This post is not for anyone under 12 years of age. If you are under 12 and reading this, then I am held harmless from any damages caused by his blog. Besides, shouldn't your parents be monitoring what you see on the internet anyway? See, it's always the parents' fault.
So, how old were you when you stopped believing in Santa? My daughter is 8 and she is asking questions. First, she announced to my husband and I that she was not going to write a letter to Santa, create a list or produce any other form of written documentation. She said that she would make a "Christmas wish" that only Santa would receive. My husband and I looked at each other in panic. OK, this was a test. What do we do? Do we bluff or fold? Every moment of parenting (and watching Celebrity Poker Showdown) came down to this. We played it cool. We explained that making a Christmas wish was fine, but then coaxed the information out of her. Maybe we outsmarted her, or maybe she realized that if she didn't actually tell us, there was no way she was getting the blue digital camera she wants (if that is the case, she failed to realize that she gets a few more years of Santa gifts anyway, thanks to her 4-year old sister, who hopefully has some time before reality sets in.)
Then there were other questions. "If nobody has ever really seen Santa, how do people know what he looks like" and the ever-popular and equally annoying "so and so from school says that there is no Santa Claus." In those times, I stick with the canned response, "if you believe in him, then he is real."
We are not the type of parents who create elaborate plans to make it look like Santa is there; no climbing on the roof top making reindeer hoof sounds for us. We leave out cookies and carrots and thankfully remember to take them away (save for a few cookie crumbs) when the girls go to sleep. We do wrap Santa's gifts in different wrapping paper, but my daughter was quick to point out the other night that last year Santa's gift tags were the same ones that daddy used. We are also a bit lazy with our adherence to the correct pronouns. Looking at stocking stuffers is usually peppered with "I-er, he knew you would like that." It's a lot of effort to keep this up when you are both just too tired from staying up the night before wrapping gifts.
I am not proud to admit it. OK, here is goes. I want the credit for the good gifts. There, I said it. No, Santa did not make this in his workshop. Mommy went to Target two months ago to make sure you had this, even though that meant that it left you time to change your mind, which you did, so back to Target, this time two weeks before Christmas, to wait on long lines to make sure that you got the gifts of both Christmas list past and present. Yeah, I know, I have approval issues.
Last night, I was cuddling with my 4-year old. She was so excited because she received reindeer food and could not wait to leave it out. I asked her what would be left behind, expecting her to say "presents!", but instead smiled and said "crumbs". And I remembered why we lie to our children.
So, how old were you when you stopped believing in Santa? My daughter is 8 and she is asking questions. First, she announced to my husband and I that she was not going to write a letter to Santa, create a list or produce any other form of written documentation. She said that she would make a "Christmas wish" that only Santa would receive. My husband and I looked at each other in panic. OK, this was a test. What do we do? Do we bluff or fold? Every moment of parenting (and watching Celebrity Poker Showdown) came down to this. We played it cool. We explained that making a Christmas wish was fine, but then coaxed the information out of her. Maybe we outsmarted her, or maybe she realized that if she didn't actually tell us, there was no way she was getting the blue digital camera she wants (if that is the case, she failed to realize that she gets a few more years of Santa gifts anyway, thanks to her 4-year old sister, who hopefully has some time before reality sets in.)
Then there were other questions. "If nobody has ever really seen Santa, how do people know what he looks like" and the ever-popular and equally annoying "so and so from school says that there is no Santa Claus." In those times, I stick with the canned response, "if you believe in him, then he is real."
We are not the type of parents who create elaborate plans to make it look like Santa is there; no climbing on the roof top making reindeer hoof sounds for us. We leave out cookies and carrots and thankfully remember to take them away (save for a few cookie crumbs) when the girls go to sleep. We do wrap Santa's gifts in different wrapping paper, but my daughter was quick to point out the other night that last year Santa's gift tags were the same ones that daddy used. We are also a bit lazy with our adherence to the correct pronouns. Looking at stocking stuffers is usually peppered with "I-er, he knew you would like that." It's a lot of effort to keep this up when you are both just too tired from staying up the night before wrapping gifts.
I am not proud to admit it. OK, here is goes. I want the credit for the good gifts. There, I said it. No, Santa did not make this in his workshop. Mommy went to Target two months ago to make sure you had this, even though that meant that it left you time to change your mind, which you did, so back to Target, this time two weeks before Christmas, to wait on long lines to make sure that you got the gifts of both Christmas list past and present. Yeah, I know, I have approval issues.
Last night, I was cuddling with my 4-year old. She was so excited because she received reindeer food and could not wait to leave it out. I asked her what would be left behind, expecting her to say "presents!", but instead smiled and said "crumbs". And I remembered why we lie to our children.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
And I Thought Vixen Was Just a Reindeer (Alternate Title: Ho, Ho, Ho)
Each year my family and I watch the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree on television. I will admit that I don't always make it into Manhattan to see the tree in person, so watching the lighting and knowing that I at least have been there at some point makes me feel all New York cool.
I look forward to seeing Tony Bennett and his toupee, which my mom calls the "best toupee in the world". He is a regular at this event and, at 85, sings the pants off of those young whippersnappers.
So, after watching Tony, the delightful Michael Buble and the Rockettes (I always say the same thing every year; "they must be cold!"), Justin Beiber appeared and introduced the world premier of his video for "All I Want for Christmas is You", with Mariah Carey. Now, first of all, Mariah has gotten way too much mileage out of that song already and should be banned from ever making another version, but it's actually a catchy song so whatever. The video starts with her posing in a Santa suit, but a version of a Santa suit that you would not find in any Burl Ives narrated claymation Christmas story. Nope, this one is cut low in the front, high on the bottom, and is missing a very large patch in the middle. OK, Mariah, we get it, you had twins and are in great shape. Message received. Now put on some clothes.
Then in comes Justin and his posse, staring longingly at Mariah. She comes alive and the fun begins. Mariah apparantly likes to touch her hair, and her cleavage, and her legs. She seductively looks into the camera while singing . At the end they are both in a sleigh, she has her bare legs stretched out and squeezes her breasts together to show even more cleavage. OK, this is the part when I point out that she is 41, he is 17. Um..... Am I crazy or is this a tad inappropriate?? And just plain icky? Cause it's a music video it's OK? OK, all you moms out there of 17 year old boys. Say the hot 41 year old woman down the street wants to make that kind of video with your son. What is your reaction? I am guessing it's somewhere in between "no way in hell" and "over my dead body". (Notice I am not asking the dads, who might have any number of reactions that are vastly different than mom's.) This is the stuff that Lifetime movies are made of and in those someone ends up in jail.
The sad part is that the song is pretty good, and the video would have been cute if the Cougar would have been tamed. But instead they went the cheap route. Which means that I don't want my daughters watching this video. It deserves repeating; icky. Mariah, you are a mom now, class it up a bit. Justin, well, you have bigger issues to deal with, just don't ask Mariah to accompany you to the bathroom. I've seen you on the news enough lately.
I look forward to seeing Tony Bennett and his toupee, which my mom calls the "best toupee in the world". He is a regular at this event and, at 85, sings the pants off of those young whippersnappers.
So, after watching Tony, the delightful Michael Buble and the Rockettes (I always say the same thing every year; "they must be cold!"), Justin Beiber appeared and introduced the world premier of his video for "All I Want for Christmas is You", with Mariah Carey. Now, first of all, Mariah has gotten way too much mileage out of that song already and should be banned from ever making another version, but it's actually a catchy song so whatever. The video starts with her posing in a Santa suit, but a version of a Santa suit that you would not find in any Burl Ives narrated claymation Christmas story. Nope, this one is cut low in the front, high on the bottom, and is missing a very large patch in the middle. OK, Mariah, we get it, you had twins and are in great shape. Message received. Now put on some clothes.
Then in comes Justin and his posse, staring longingly at Mariah. She comes alive and the fun begins. Mariah apparantly likes to touch her hair, and her cleavage, and her legs. She seductively looks into the camera while singing . At the end they are both in a sleigh, she has her bare legs stretched out and squeezes her breasts together to show even more cleavage. OK, this is the part when I point out that she is 41, he is 17. Um..... Am I crazy or is this a tad inappropriate?? And just plain icky? Cause it's a music video it's OK? OK, all you moms out there of 17 year old boys. Say the hot 41 year old woman down the street wants to make that kind of video with your son. What is your reaction? I am guessing it's somewhere in between "no way in hell" and "over my dead body". (Notice I am not asking the dads, who might have any number of reactions that are vastly different than mom's.) This is the stuff that Lifetime movies are made of and in those someone ends up in jail.
The sad part is that the song is pretty good, and the video would have been cute if the Cougar would have been tamed. But instead they went the cheap route. Which means that I don't want my daughters watching this video. It deserves repeating; icky. Mariah, you are a mom now, class it up a bit. Justin, well, you have bigger issues to deal with, just don't ask Mariah to accompany you to the bathroom. I've seen you on the news enough lately.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Trick or Treat!?
I am a huge fan of Halloween. In fact, a friend recently referred to me as the Halloqueen. It's my favorite holiday. No offense, Jesus, but in recent years Halloween has usurped Christmas as my number 1 holiday. I've always liked Halloween, but I think as Christmases became more hectic, the consistency of Halloween made it, for me, the most joyous of holidays.
Let me explain why and maybe, you too, will come to embrace the true beauty that is Halloween.
1) It's a holiday but it does not require visiting relatives. Now, please don't get me wrong (especially you family members who might be reading this), I love my relatives but juggling two sets of families around holidays is, at times, no easy task. Add to that when those family members have family members of their own to work around as well.
2) No presents to buy. I used to love buying Christmas presents. I would make lists and then joyfully hit the stores. Then I would spend hours wrapping and creating fancy bows. But as the years go on and my time is limited, I have come to appreciate the "grab bag" policy that my family had adopted.
3) Candy. You don't actually need an explanation for that, do you??
4) Costumes. While I realize that some people HATE dressing up in costumes, I absolutely love it. When else can you dress up as Madonna and not look like an idiot (or look like an idiot but not care?) My past costumes have included Peter Criss from KISS, Eddie Munster, and Velma (of the Scooby Doo Gang). And those are only the ones from my adult years in my 30's! I actually have more fun dressing up now than when I was a kid. When I was young I usually had one of those Woolworth costumes, with the plastic smock and mask. I had friends whose moms made them elaborate costumes, princess, etc, all handmade. I was secretly jealous. My costumes also, at times, were unrecognizable. For example, one year I was Princess Leia. Are you picturing the long white dress and bun-hairdo? Well, I decided to be different and to dress as Princess Leia circa Return of the Jedi. And I don't mean the gold bikini. Can't picture it? Don't worry, you are not alone. Nobody knew who I was. And if you are wondering if I had a light saber then shame on you, cause Leia did not use one. She did have a blaster, but I digress.
5) Kids in costumes. There is nothing cuter to me than the sight of little kids in Halloween costumes (caveat: this does not apply to little kids dressed as Freddy, the Scream guy, Pinhead, etc.; those freak me out.) Anyway, the sight of a little girl in a princess costume just melts me, as does a little Superman. The way they run down the block to the next house, wondering what kind of treat they will get...come on, don't you wish you had that kind of excitement in your life now?? Actually, chocolate does create that kind of excitement for me. See #3 above.
6) The school parades. This ties into #5, but it's #5 to the 100th power! A parade filled with kids in costume! Look! A vending machine!! Look! A Twister game!! I get positively giddy!
The day always ends with me and my girls sitting on the floor going through their loot; separating what they don't want and putting those pieces into our own bowl of candy for trick or treaters (hey, one kid's junk is another kid's Sugar Daddy.) The girls don't like coconut so I gleefully take the Mounds and Almond Joys. My oldest separates the Tootsie Rolls to give to daddy. We marvel at the full-sized candy bar that one of our neighbors gives to every child, every year. We collect the pennies and put them in piggy banks. My girls already start to think about what they want to be next year. We laugh and have a great time. And there aren't yards of wrapping paper to clean up afterwards.
Let me explain why and maybe, you too, will come to embrace the true beauty that is Halloween.
1) It's a holiday but it does not require visiting relatives. Now, please don't get me wrong (especially you family members who might be reading this), I love my relatives but juggling two sets of families around holidays is, at times, no easy task. Add to that when those family members have family members of their own to work around as well.
2) No presents to buy. I used to love buying Christmas presents. I would make lists and then joyfully hit the stores. Then I would spend hours wrapping and creating fancy bows. But as the years go on and my time is limited, I have come to appreciate the "grab bag" policy that my family had adopted.
3) Candy. You don't actually need an explanation for that, do you??
4) Costumes. While I realize that some people HATE dressing up in costumes, I absolutely love it. When else can you dress up as Madonna and not look like an idiot (or look like an idiot but not care?) My past costumes have included Peter Criss from KISS, Eddie Munster, and Velma (of the Scooby Doo Gang). And those are only the ones from my adult years in my 30's! I actually have more fun dressing up now than when I was a kid. When I was young I usually had one of those Woolworth costumes, with the plastic smock and mask. I had friends whose moms made them elaborate costumes, princess, etc, all handmade. I was secretly jealous. My costumes also, at times, were unrecognizable. For example, one year I was Princess Leia. Are you picturing the long white dress and bun-hairdo? Well, I decided to be different and to dress as Princess Leia circa Return of the Jedi. And I don't mean the gold bikini. Can't picture it? Don't worry, you are not alone. Nobody knew who I was. And if you are wondering if I had a light saber then shame on you, cause Leia did not use one. She did have a blaster, but I digress.
5) Kids in costumes. There is nothing cuter to me than the sight of little kids in Halloween costumes (caveat: this does not apply to little kids dressed as Freddy, the Scream guy, Pinhead, etc.; those freak me out.) Anyway, the sight of a little girl in a princess costume just melts me, as does a little Superman. The way they run down the block to the next house, wondering what kind of treat they will get...come on, don't you wish you had that kind of excitement in your life now?? Actually, chocolate does create that kind of excitement for me. See #3 above.
6) The school parades. This ties into #5, but it's #5 to the 100th power! A parade filled with kids in costume! Look! A vending machine!! Look! A Twister game!! I get positively giddy!
The day always ends with me and my girls sitting on the floor going through their loot; separating what they don't want and putting those pieces into our own bowl of candy for trick or treaters (hey, one kid's junk is another kid's Sugar Daddy.) The girls don't like coconut so I gleefully take the Mounds and Almond Joys. My oldest separates the Tootsie Rolls to give to daddy. We marvel at the full-sized candy bar that one of our neighbors gives to every child, every year. We collect the pennies and put them in piggy banks. My girls already start to think about what they want to be next year. We laugh and have a great time. And there aren't yards of wrapping paper to clean up afterwards.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
To Err is Human, to Beat Thyself Up Over It , Maternal
(For those expecting School Daze- Part 2, that was nixed. It's my blog and the only part of my life over which I have full control. So there.)
At approximately 8:45 tonight, the eve of my baby's first day of pre-K, I realized that she did not have a respectable backpack to bring to school. I had the one from nursery school, which, when I put it away in June, thought was in good enough shape to withstand pre-K. However, when taking it out this evening, I realized that seeing it every day last school year made me blind to how dirty and dingy it had become.
It was then, at that moment, that the guilt started. While making all of those trips for school supplies, why hadn't I just bought her a new one? Was it because she is the second child? Would I ever have let my darling first-born go to school with nothing short of a bright and shiny new backpack? There was no conclusion other than I am a horrible mother.
After the kids were nestled all snug in their beds, I headed out to Target. I started getting pretty nervous as I walked in. What could possibly be left? On my way to the back of the store, I perused each aisle to see if there was something that would suffice. The closest I came was a Hello Kitty sleeping bag that came in a backpack. OK, put that down as a "maybe."
Got to the back-to-school section, or what was left of it. No backpacks. Went to the luggage section. A few backpacks but my choices were iCarly (I don't even let my 7 year old watch that, let alone letting my 3 year old carry it on her back!), Thomas the Train and a roller Hello Kitty bag. Who designed this? Does a three year old really need a roller? A plain old backpack is not good enough? I passed on the roller once I picked it up and realized how much it weighed. I also passed on the sleeping bag thing as it was too thin and would not fit the folder she is bound to get which will be filled with all of her works of art. Can't have those getting squished!
Next stop was Wal-Mart. Have you even been to Wal-Mart at 9:30 on a Sunday night? I felt like I was in a parking lot after a Motley Crue concert. Litter everywhere, stepping over empty cigarette packs, bottles, assorted what-not. Choices there were Batman or pink camouflage, neither appropriate in my opinion.
I left in defeat. I had failed my little darling. I wondered how quickly I could order one online. The thing is, she never even talked about a backpack. The guilt all came from me, completely self-imposed.
I passed Walgreen's on my way home and decided to stop in. Turned the corner of aisle 5 and saw a flash of pink, gold trim and shiny material. The angels started singing. A Disney princess backpack with her favorite princess represented. But just then, the angles came to a screeching halt, like the needle pulling across an old LP. The backpack was large. Really pretty large. Would it be too big? Why would there even be a backpack with Disney princesses that large? Feeling desperate, I bought it. I brought it home and the first thing my husband said was "that looks big." Great, now I am going to cause my little sweetie back pain. She will be the Hunchback of Pre-K.
Tomorrow I will go online with my precious and let her choose one. Until then, last year's backpack is currently soaking in hot water and dish liquid in my kitchen sink.
At approximately 8:45 tonight, the eve of my baby's first day of pre-K, I realized that she did not have a respectable backpack to bring to school. I had the one from nursery school, which, when I put it away in June, thought was in good enough shape to withstand pre-K. However, when taking it out this evening, I realized that seeing it every day last school year made me blind to how dirty and dingy it had become.
It was then, at that moment, that the guilt started. While making all of those trips for school supplies, why hadn't I just bought her a new one? Was it because she is the second child? Would I ever have let my darling first-born go to school with nothing short of a bright and shiny new backpack? There was no conclusion other than I am a horrible mother.
After the kids were nestled all snug in their beds, I headed out to Target. I started getting pretty nervous as I walked in. What could possibly be left? On my way to the back of the store, I perused each aisle to see if there was something that would suffice. The closest I came was a Hello Kitty sleeping bag that came in a backpack. OK, put that down as a "maybe."
Got to the back-to-school section, or what was left of it. No backpacks. Went to the luggage section. A few backpacks but my choices were iCarly (I don't even let my 7 year old watch that, let alone letting my 3 year old carry it on her back!), Thomas the Train and a roller Hello Kitty bag. Who designed this? Does a three year old really need a roller? A plain old backpack is not good enough? I passed on the roller once I picked it up and realized how much it weighed. I also passed on the sleeping bag thing as it was too thin and would not fit the folder she is bound to get which will be filled with all of her works of art. Can't have those getting squished!
Next stop was Wal-Mart. Have you even been to Wal-Mart at 9:30 on a Sunday night? I felt like I was in a parking lot after a Motley Crue concert. Litter everywhere, stepping over empty cigarette packs, bottles, assorted what-not. Choices there were Batman or pink camouflage, neither appropriate in my opinion.
I left in defeat. I had failed my little darling. I wondered how quickly I could order one online. The thing is, she never even talked about a backpack. The guilt all came from me, completely self-imposed.
I passed Walgreen's on my way home and decided to stop in. Turned the corner of aisle 5 and saw a flash of pink, gold trim and shiny material. The angels started singing. A Disney princess backpack with her favorite princess represented. But just then, the angles came to a screeching halt, like the needle pulling across an old LP. The backpack was large. Really pretty large. Would it be too big? Why would there even be a backpack with Disney princesses that large? Feeling desperate, I bought it. I brought it home and the first thing my husband said was "that looks big." Great, now I am going to cause my little sweetie back pain. She will be the Hunchback of Pre-K.
Tomorrow I will go online with my precious and let her choose one. Until then, last year's backpack is currently soaking in hot water and dish liquid in my kitchen sink.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
School Daze-Part 1
I have very mixed feeling about the start of the school year.
Part of me wants to glide on a shopping cart down the aisle of my local Staples like the guy in the commercial while "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" plays. Don't get me wrong, the girls and I have had some fun times together this summer. However, any parent knows how difficult it is to keep kids amused these days, even with so much available to them. We can have a day filled with the most spectacular activities, but when we get home one or both of the kids will undoubtedly ask "what are we doing now?" or proclaim that they are bored.
This is especially tough for a mom like me. I am not the sort of uber mom who can come up with a craft activity for her kids that will keep them engaged using only duct tape, pipe cleaners and paper clips. I also don't like to play pretend. Yes, there it is, I said it. The words that strike fear in me are when my 3-year old says to me "Mommy, will you play dolls with me?" After about 2 minutes I start thinking of any excuse. "Honey, Mommy has to start dinner.", "Honey, Mommy has to put the clothes in the dryer". "Honey, Mommy has to write the next Star Wars chapter."
I am not sure what it is about "playing dolls" that is so boring to me. I do love watching my daughter do it, coming up with scenarios and characters, I guess when you become an adult it's just harder to do that yourself. You'd think years of watching TV would help me concoct elaborate story lines for the dolls, but I guess it's not appropriate to have Ken knock up Barbie after dating her on and off for years and then marry her in Vegas while drunk, divorce her and eventually stop her from going to Paris to take a job in the fashion industry (yes, that is the story line of Ross and Rachel from "Friends.")
In all fairness to me, I will say that I do love coloring. I would color with my daughters all day if I could. And I am a total sucker for Candyland. I beg my daughter to play it with me. I just love the unpredictability of it. One minute you are heading towards the finish line, ready to meet King Kandy, the next you pull the Gingerbread Man card and are sent way back. Such is life.
And there is the financial impact of having the kids home. Everything costs money! Did you know that?? Animal Farm? Money. Museum? Money. Library? Well, no money, unless you are like me and return your movies late. In that case, Money! And then there is the mall. If I need something and take the kids with me, of course I end up buying things for them, then there are snacks, the rides, and the consolation prize for me for taking two cranky kids with me to the mall (this prize is usually in the form of a new purse.)
So, you would think given all of the above I would be looking forward to the first day of school like a kid looking forward to Christmas? Well, I don't work like that. There are always things to stress me out about any situation. Lucky you, you get to hear about those things in the next installment.
Part of me wants to glide on a shopping cart down the aisle of my local Staples like the guy in the commercial while "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" plays. Don't get me wrong, the girls and I have had some fun times together this summer. However, any parent knows how difficult it is to keep kids amused these days, even with so much available to them. We can have a day filled with the most spectacular activities, but when we get home one or both of the kids will undoubtedly ask "what are we doing now?" or proclaim that they are bored.
This is especially tough for a mom like me. I am not the sort of uber mom who can come up with a craft activity for her kids that will keep them engaged using only duct tape, pipe cleaners and paper clips. I also don't like to play pretend. Yes, there it is, I said it. The words that strike fear in me are when my 3-year old says to me "Mommy, will you play dolls with me?" After about 2 minutes I start thinking of any excuse. "Honey, Mommy has to start dinner.", "Honey, Mommy has to put the clothes in the dryer". "Honey, Mommy has to write the next Star Wars chapter."
I am not sure what it is about "playing dolls" that is so boring to me. I do love watching my daughter do it, coming up with scenarios and characters, I guess when you become an adult it's just harder to do that yourself. You'd think years of watching TV would help me concoct elaborate story lines for the dolls, but I guess it's not appropriate to have Ken knock up Barbie after dating her on and off for years and then marry her in Vegas while drunk, divorce her and eventually stop her from going to Paris to take a job in the fashion industry (yes, that is the story line of Ross and Rachel from "Friends.")
In all fairness to me, I will say that I do love coloring. I would color with my daughters all day if I could. And I am a total sucker for Candyland. I beg my daughter to play it with me. I just love the unpredictability of it. One minute you are heading towards the finish line, ready to meet King Kandy, the next you pull the Gingerbread Man card and are sent way back. Such is life.
And there is the financial impact of having the kids home. Everything costs money! Did you know that?? Animal Farm? Money. Museum? Money. Library? Well, no money, unless you are like me and return your movies late. In that case, Money! And then there is the mall. If I need something and take the kids with me, of course I end up buying things for them, then there are snacks, the rides, and the consolation prize for me for taking two cranky kids with me to the mall (this prize is usually in the form of a new purse.)
So, you would think given all of the above I would be looking forward to the first day of school like a kid looking forward to Christmas? Well, I don't work like that. There are always things to stress me out about any situation. Lucky you, you get to hear about those things in the next installment.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Rock 'N Role Models
The other night we took my 7 year old to the American Idol concert. I have to admit that I was looking forward to it as much as she was, maybe even more. American Idol is one of the few shows that all four of us watch together. And aside from the occasional too-revealing outfit or bleep-fueled rant by Steven Tyler, we can count it as “family television.”
I have been thinking about music a lot lately, more than usual, and its effect on us as we grow up. I recently saw Pat Benetar in concert, as I do every summer. I have already stated in this blog that I am a huge fan. She was my American Idol growing up. I also recently saw Journey, breaking my vow to not see the band post-Steve Perry, and I have in my possession tickets to upcoming shows by Blondie and the B-52s. (Note: Just read this morning that Debbie Harry is 66!!) None of these bands has had a hit song since I stopped wearing leg warmers. Yet, I, and many others my age, flock to see them (OK, how many of you out there immediately thought of Flock of Seagulls when you read that? Anyone but me??)
Music is not just about lyrics put to a melody. It’s about time and place. It’s the associations you make to songs. It’s about when concerts and going out dancing were the absolute best things you could spend your money on. Is Rick Springfield really the musical genius I thought he was? If his songs were on the radio now would I like them? Or is it all about timing? (and good looks…just sayin…)
There is good music on the radio these days. I listen to pop and rock music stations and hear all the latest songs (over and over…) But those artists are not the ones whose concerts I pay to see, theirs are not the CDs I buy. I can appreciate this music but it does not affect me like the music that is forever tied to my youth.
Going back to the American Idol show, I found it interesting that the contestants sang songs by Journey, Rod Stewart, Guns and Roses, Whitesnake, Elton John and Luther Vandross. The younger generation is now forming their memories of “our” songs thanks to shows like that and Glee. I am imagining 20 years from now; I’m in my battery-powered, ultra efficient car with my 27 year-old and “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake comes on the radio. Will we both start to sing along, both having our own memories of the song? Let’s hope so, for no other reason than it will result in a lot less fighting about what to listen to.
Monday, August 1, 2011
I'm With the Band
This past Saturday my band and I had a gig. (I always feel funny using the word "gig" and I am not sure why. Anyone with a hypothesis on this please feel free to share.) Anyway, this particular gig day started out much like any other. Woke up nice and late to be well rested, took a leisurely walk around the neighborhood while listening to my band's play list on an ipod, had a protein-filled breakfast, did some yoga to loosen up my muscles, laid out four or five outfits and tried them all on to see which one looked the best, took a nap, took a very long and steamy shower to loosen the vocal cords, and then took my time getting ready. Left nice and early.
OK, now for reality.
Woke up to the usual fussing about breakfast, clothes, and life in general, went to White Post Farm and spent a small fortune so my youngest could take her long awaited photos with Wubzy and Max (if you have to ask, nevermind), went grocery shopping, fed the kids, cleaned up, and about an hour before I had to leave figured it was probably time to hit the shower, after which I hoped that the shirt I bought would work with whatever jeans fit the best. Left about 15 minutes later than I had planned (not half bad) and on the way did last minute cramming for the songs that I forget the words to. (For those of you wondering, the shirt worked with the jeans, gotta love black.)
Let's flash back for a moment to the summer of 2009. A high school friend and I had gotten back in touch through, what else, Facebook, and discussed starting a cover band. I have always been a wanna-be rock star. I grew up idolizing Pat Benatar (still do, that is a subject for a whole other blog). Growing up I was always in the chorus, the church folk group, and the high school musicals (which were nothing like the Disney versions.) However, I was always in the background, never the one to have a solo. I never even had one speaking word in those musicals. So, the idea of being the lead singer in a band, though exciting, was also a bit terrifying. Could I do it? Would they all laugh at me like Carrie at the prom? My friend and I didn't know much at first, including who would be in our band. We thought we might have to put an ad in a paper (scarey!!) However, the gods of rock were looking out for us. Three other friends from high school joined us, and the band was born.
Last summer we had our first gig, and we are still going strong. I am extremely thankful that I have gotten the chance to live out my rock 'n roll fantasies in my 40's, while at the same time showing my girls that it is never too late to do what you love and follow a dream. I love the fact that my 7 year old played harmonica with us at an outdoor show, and my 3 year old might be the only 3 year old who knows most of the words to Blondie's "One Way or Another." When we get in the car they will often ask for "mommy's music", and they get excited if we are out in public and they hear one of the songs the band covers. While this will certainly change once they hit those tween years, for now, their mom is cool, and I will bask in that glory for as long as it lasts!
OK, now for reality.
Woke up to the usual fussing about breakfast, clothes, and life in general, went to White Post Farm and spent a small fortune so my youngest could take her long awaited photos with Wubzy and Max (if you have to ask, nevermind), went grocery shopping, fed the kids, cleaned up, and about an hour before I had to leave figured it was probably time to hit the shower, after which I hoped that the shirt I bought would work with whatever jeans fit the best. Left about 15 minutes later than I had planned (not half bad) and on the way did last minute cramming for the songs that I forget the words to. (For those of you wondering, the shirt worked with the jeans, gotta love black.)
Let's flash back for a moment to the summer of 2009. A high school friend and I had gotten back in touch through, what else, Facebook, and discussed starting a cover band. I have always been a wanna-be rock star. I grew up idolizing Pat Benatar (still do, that is a subject for a whole other blog). Growing up I was always in the chorus, the church folk group, and the high school musicals (which were nothing like the Disney versions.) However, I was always in the background, never the one to have a solo. I never even had one speaking word in those musicals. So, the idea of being the lead singer in a band, though exciting, was also a bit terrifying. Could I do it? Would they all laugh at me like Carrie at the prom? My friend and I didn't know much at first, including who would be in our band. We thought we might have to put an ad in a paper (scarey!!) However, the gods of rock were looking out for us. Three other friends from high school joined us, and the band was born.
Last summer we had our first gig, and we are still going strong. I am extremely thankful that I have gotten the chance to live out my rock 'n roll fantasies in my 40's, while at the same time showing my girls that it is never too late to do what you love and follow a dream. I love the fact that my 7 year old played harmonica with us at an outdoor show, and my 3 year old might be the only 3 year old who knows most of the words to Blondie's "One Way or Another." When we get in the car they will often ask for "mommy's music", and they get excited if we are out in public and they hear one of the songs the band covers. While this will certainly change once they hit those tween years, for now, their mom is cool, and I will bask in that glory for as long as it lasts!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
I said a hip hop a hippity hop...
Tonight I went to a hip-hop class. To truly appreciate the humor in this, you must first know that I am 42 years old. While 42 is not old, at least that is what I like to tell myself, it's not the age where you suddenly realize that what has been missing in your life is hip hop dancing. But at my daughter's last dance class for the year, the teacher handed out a schedule of "Adult" classes. Hip hop fit into my schedule (the most important factor in deciding anything) and also fit into my decision to reacquaint myself with my sports bra and get some exercise. Plus, I would get to meet some of the other mothers.
So, there I went. The first thing that I noticed when I walked in was that the other people waiting were young. I don't mean 30's young, I don't even mean 20's young, I mean teen-age young. Great. I suddenly felt like one of those people that I made fun of at Malibu for being too "ancient" to be there.
We started with stretches. OK, I can handle that. Then push-ups. PUSH-UPS? Then ab crunches. CRUNCHES? I didn't come here to actually exercise, I came here to dance!! (said in my best Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack rebellious voice.) But then we danced. Learned a routine to the song that I think may be called "Low".
I would consider myself a person with rhythm. "Back in the day" I spent every weekend out dancing and was fairly proud of my 80's moves. However, back in this day, I felt like a fish, flopping around while a bunch of other, much more coordinated fish, did all their best fishy moves around me. At one point the teacher, seeing the frustration on my face looked at me and said "it gets easier."
I do plan to go back next week. I did get a good workout. Hell, maybe I can inspire those young girls to keep doing stuff like that when they, too, become ancient.
So, there I went. The first thing that I noticed when I walked in was that the other people waiting were young. I don't mean 30's young, I don't even mean 20's young, I mean teen-age young. Great. I suddenly felt like one of those people that I made fun of at Malibu for being too "ancient" to be there.
We started with stretches. OK, I can handle that. Then push-ups. PUSH-UPS? Then ab crunches. CRUNCHES? I didn't come here to actually exercise, I came here to dance!! (said in my best Kevin Bacon as Ren McCormack rebellious voice.) But then we danced. Learned a routine to the song that I think may be called "Low".
I would consider myself a person with rhythm. "Back in the day" I spent every weekend out dancing and was fairly proud of my 80's moves. However, back in this day, I felt like a fish, flopping around while a bunch of other, much more coordinated fish, did all their best fishy moves around me. At one point the teacher, seeing the frustration on my face looked at me and said "it gets easier."
I do plan to go back next week. I did get a good workout. Hell, maybe I can inspire those young girls to keep doing stuff like that when they, too, become ancient.
Monday, July 4, 2011
God Bless America. And cocktails.
When I first started dating my husband, he told me that there are fireworks every 4th of July at the athletic field down the block from his mom's house. I went that first year, expecting a quaint little fireworks show. Well, this Grucci-style extravaganza is FAR from quaint. It is filled with spectacle and color.
While others in the neighborhood surely pack their bags and head out of town to avoid the crowds, noise and litter, my mother-in-law, who never met a spectacle she didn't like, embraced this event. She started the tradition of having a BBQ and inviting everyone she knew, and encouraging her two children to invite everyone that they knew, as well.
Driving home tonight, after the annual trek to Queens to drive home my mother and godmother, I thought about July 4th. How this annual event has turned into not just an event itself, but a way to remember milestones. I remember my dad coming before his passing 12 years ago. I remember the 4ths when I was pregnant (two of them-oy, the heat!), I remember my older daughter's first, as she watched the fireworks from her stroller as I knelt next to her. (OK, full disclosure, here, I do not remember my second daughter's first 4th. Now, this COULD have been the year that the town decided not to have the fireworks. OK, we will go with that. Either way, my darling angel, your future therapy bills are on me.) I remember last year, when we instituted the annual Cupcake Challenge, which requires participants to shove an entire cupcake into their mouths without dropping any and without chewing (we had a male and female winner this year who will square off in the ultimate cupcake challenge championship next year.)
I remember the friends who have made appearances over the years. I will always remember that this year my dear friends could not attend because they were in a far away land adopting a beautiful little girl. And I will remember the cocktails. You see, each year seems to be marked by a different cocktail. One year my sister-in-law's phenomenal margaritas, one year Absolute Mandarin, etc. This year I went with Black Russians. This may, at first, seem like a pretty unpatriotic choice, but I like to think that it represents the diversity in this great country of ours (nice, huh?).
So, after another year of eating way too much, I head off to bed thankful for this annual event. And wondering what next year's cocktail will be.
While others in the neighborhood surely pack their bags and head out of town to avoid the crowds, noise and litter, my mother-in-law, who never met a spectacle she didn't like, embraced this event. She started the tradition of having a BBQ and inviting everyone she knew, and encouraging her two children to invite everyone that they knew, as well.
Driving home tonight, after the annual trek to Queens to drive home my mother and godmother, I thought about July 4th. How this annual event has turned into not just an event itself, but a way to remember milestones. I remember my dad coming before his passing 12 years ago. I remember the 4ths when I was pregnant (two of them-oy, the heat!), I remember my older daughter's first, as she watched the fireworks from her stroller as I knelt next to her. (OK, full disclosure, here, I do not remember my second daughter's first 4th. Now, this COULD have been the year that the town decided not to have the fireworks. OK, we will go with that. Either way, my darling angel, your future therapy bills are on me.) I remember last year, when we instituted the annual Cupcake Challenge, which requires participants to shove an entire cupcake into their mouths without dropping any and without chewing (we had a male and female winner this year who will square off in the ultimate cupcake challenge championship next year.)
I remember the friends who have made appearances over the years. I will always remember that this year my dear friends could not attend because they were in a far away land adopting a beautiful little girl. And I will remember the cocktails. You see, each year seems to be marked by a different cocktail. One year my sister-in-law's phenomenal margaritas, one year Absolute Mandarin, etc. This year I went with Black Russians. This may, at first, seem like a pretty unpatriotic choice, but I like to think that it represents the diversity in this great country of ours (nice, huh?).
So, after another year of eating way too much, I head off to bed thankful for this annual event. And wondering what next year's cocktail will be.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
And here we go...
If you know me at all, you know that I am not technologically savvy. Yes, I can e-mail, I can upload (or is it download?) pictures, and I can text. But that is about it. Blogging, to me, was something unknown, much like baking the perfect potato or going a day without the TV on. But here I am.
I have to say that it has been my husband who has been encouraging me to do this lately. Is it cause he thinks I have interesting things to say? Is it cause he thinks people can learn from my daily trials and tribulations? Or is it cause of the NY Times article he recently read discussing a woman who turned her blog into a million dollar business? Well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that one. But, for whatever reason, I decided to throw my cyber-hat in the blogging ring (I do look pretty good in hats so what the hell.)
I think part of the reason I never did this is that my target audience is way too busy to read these types of things. I am a mother of two young girls, work part time, and, yeah, there's the band also. (as I type my 3 year old is being yelled at by daddy for hitting the 7 year old-sound familiar, people?) So, the question is, will anyone read this? Even if they don't will it be some sort of cathartic experience for me to get my thoughts out? Make me a more focused, fulfilled, stable person? Give me a sense of purpose? Give me an excuse to lock myself in the computer room every now and then?? Stay tuned...
I have to say that it has been my husband who has been encouraging me to do this lately. Is it cause he thinks I have interesting things to say? Is it cause he thinks people can learn from my daily trials and tribulations? Or is it cause of the NY Times article he recently read discussing a woman who turned her blog into a million dollar business? Well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that one. But, for whatever reason, I decided to throw my cyber-hat in the blogging ring (I do look pretty good in hats so what the hell.)
I think part of the reason I never did this is that my target audience is way too busy to read these types of things. I am a mother of two young girls, work part time, and, yeah, there's the band also. (as I type my 3 year old is being yelled at by daddy for hitting the 7 year old-sound familiar, people?) So, the question is, will anyone read this? Even if they don't will it be some sort of cathartic experience for me to get my thoughts out? Make me a more focused, fulfilled, stable person? Give me a sense of purpose? Give me an excuse to lock myself in the computer room every now and then?? Stay tuned...
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