On the heels of my Vacation Fails post and during the last “official” days of summer, this is the perfect guest post for this week! It is by my wonderful friend Lucy Ball, who is just as funny as her namesake. I’m sure you will agree and by the end of this post will also be saying “I Love Lucy!” And now I present Lucy…she’s got some ‘splainin’ to do!
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Hello, friends and fans of Momopolize! My name is Lucy and I blog randomly over at My Life As Lucille. I can also be found on Facebook and Twitter. I write about whatever pops into my head plus all of the ridiculously crazy family drama that keeps me seeing my therapist on a weekly basis. Nice to meet you!
It is my great pleasure to be a guest writer here today. I LOVE Momopolize! I hope you enjoy the following description of our family vacations. It’s sort of appropriate, especially now that I’ve done it up right once again by rolling our van and camper this summer and completely totaling them both. Yah. It’s how I “roll.” Ahahaha! Hope you enjoy!
I get around. Metaphorically speaking, of course. And I’m convinced that my family is cursed when it comes to vacations. My family was plagued by bad luck and misfortune.
For example, my sister and I were heading to South America when we accidentally locked our keys and passports in the car at the airport. Someone in the parking lot managed to fish the keys out of the door, which was slightly ajar. When we arrived in South America, we had a mix up with our bus reservations. We ended up on a completely random bus driving through the Andes in the middle of the night. With zero cell phone coverage. With no way for our family back in the U.S. to locate us. And only a slight handle on Espanol. We managed to survive in spite of ourselves.
There was the rental car in Panama City when I was in high school. Our car would randomly stall in the middle of the street for no reason. In order to restart it, my dad would have to pop the trunk and push a button inside next to the spare tire. This happened SEVERAL times on that trip.
And then there was the Royal Crown Family Restaurant in AZ. After hours of negotiating our rental car reservations and driving through the foothills at midnight, we finally found a restaurant to grab a bite. We hadn’t eaten since lunch and were all starving and cranky. Unfortunately, our waitress was more interested in sitting in a booth with a trucker and slurping on beer from the 12 pack of Schlitz he had on his table. We watched with ferocious anticipation as our plates sat under the warming lamp for no less than 45 minutes.
We ended up eating Red Hot Burritos from a Stop ‘N’ Go gas station down the road at 1:30 AM.
The next day, we visited Montezuma’s castle while in Flagstaff. After paying $75 to get in, the first sign inside said:
THIS IS NOT MONTEZUMA’S CASTLE. HE WAS NEVER ACTUALLY HERE.
Seriously???
We have locked our keys in rental cars. More than once. We’ve boarded an airplane looking for our seats in Row E. There wasn’t a Row E since we were on the entirely wrong plane.
There was the DEEP SEA fishing trip when we all ended up sea sick, hanging over the side of the boat as it rocked and tipped spraying sea salt on our sun-parched faces. For 8 freaking hours.
While in Italy, I managed to get myself locked in a stairway in the hotel with no way out but the emergency/alarm exit.
Still, I wouldn’t trade any of them for the amazing experiences I’ve had. Probably.
After all, the BEST part of any vacation (mishaps and all) is when I pull up in the driveway, breathe a sigh of relief that we’re all in one piece, truly glad to be home.
Hope your summer vacation was far less exciting than mine was!
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P.S. Lucy and I should NEVER, ever, ever go on vacation together. Although it would make for one heck of a blog post. 😉
Just like the reality singing show, droves of bloggers will audition and judges will narrow the contestants down to the top 12. The finalists will submit a weekly post based on a specific writing prompt. Each week someone will “go home” until a sole “Blogger Idol” remains. The winner gets a grand prize package, but more importantly…bragging rights!
What can you do to help?Go to Blogger Idol’s Facebook Page and Twitter and let them know you want to see Momopolize in the top 12!
There is an impressive panel of judges (I’m totally NOT above kissing up!). Please go visit them and let them know what you love about this blog!
Twelve years ago, a friend called me to tell me to turn on the TV.
I did. About 30 seconds later, the first tower collapsed.
I just stood there staring at the screen, almost like I was watching a show.
Just stood there.
For a long time, I was troubled about my initial reaction. Or lack thereof .
Why was I motionless?? And emotionless?? Why was I not instantly crying and screaming at the TV??
Because I was in shock, that’s why.
I always thought of going into “shock” as a response to a physical injury, but didn’t really think about it as a response to seeing something traumatic.
“Acute stress reaction symptoms…typically include an initial state of ‘daze’ followed by over-anxiety.”
“Daze” pretty much sums up what I was in that morning. As the day went on, the reality sunk in. And so did the anxiety.
We live near an airport and I’m so accustomed to the planes that I normally don’t even notice. In the weeks following 9/11 however, every single plane that flew over stopped me in my tracks. I would have sworn each one was mere inches over my house. Heart pounding, I would stand there frozen, convinced it was going to crash into our house. Every time. It was a horrid feeling. To this day I don’t know if there was a temporary change in flight pattern (since we are near DC) or if it was just my fear taking over.
Twelve years later, I am back to not noticing the planes.
But as for the other events of that day? I’m still in shock.
Disclaimer: Our vacation for the most part was incredibly relaxing and rejuvenating. In fact it was deemed the “best vacation ever” by all 4 kids within a few hours of arriving. That is great for me, but boring for you. So you just get to hear about the non-Rockwell moments.
#1 – PACKING FAIL
Since I was sick before our vacation, I did very little nothing to prepare for our trip. I told everyone they were responsible for packing for themselves. Jim made sure all the bags were ready to go and loaded all the luggage in the car.
Except his. He had 2 shirts and 2 pairs of shorts for the entire week.
#2 – GONE TO THE DOGS
We folded down the back row of seats in our suburban for the dogs to ride. Except for a cooler, they had the entire back area of the car.
They instantly jumped the cooler to cram themselves on top of the suitcases. And Greg.
“We just wanna’ be wif you guys.”
#3 – SWEET OR SOUR I’ve always been a mosquito magnet and couldn’t step out of the wooded lake house without the little buggers instantly finding me.
Me: “I must be really sweet. The mosquitos just won’t leave me alone!”
Greg: “That’s why I love you Mom…”
Me: <<Smiling – thinking he’s agreeing that I’m SOOO sweet>>
Greg: “…Because you keep them away from ME.”
This is what the nuclear power plant looks like.
#4 – NUCLEAR REACTION
We made the mistake of telling the boys that the water temperature was 91 degrees because the lake was built to cool a nuclear power plant.
They were convinced we were swimming in toxic waste.
All Greg heard was nuclear.
#5 – DEEP DISH FISHING Despite many fishing attempts during the week, nothing was caught. On the last day, Jim stuck a leftover pepperoni on his hook on a whim. He instantly caught a fish.
The fish must have heard that someone ordered a pizza with anchovies.
#6 – JAKE SPARROW
Jake is a hat guy but forgot to bring any on the trip. He searched for a “souvenir hat,” but we couldn’t find any tourist-y shops. He finally found a baseball hat with a pirate skull at a little country store. Since it was the ONLY hat around, I said yes without really looking at it.
Later I noticed there were words under the pirate skull.
“Surrender the booty.”
Aaaaargh, not the best choice for a 14 year old.
#7 – GAME OVER During a game of Battleship, Greg called an incorrect guess by Jim a “close miss.” Of course, Jim’s next guess was a hit. He tried to explain to Greg that by calling it a close miss, that was a clue that the ship was probably next to that spot.
Greg replied,
“Loose lips sink ships must be about this game.”
#8 – RULES SCHMULES
We rented a boat for the week. The agreement stated “no water sports” which we interpreted as “we have to say that because we don’t want you to sue us if you get hurt.” So we attached a tube to the boat anyway. The marina called Jim’s cell while we were in the midst of tubing to tell us they could see us. Oopsie.
Motor boat, kayak. To-may-to, to-mah-to.
Note to self: When breaking boating rules, don’t ride back and forth RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE MARINA that RENTED YOU THE BOAT!
Since the marina threatened to take the boat away for violating the rental terms, we followed the rules…until the last day. You are going to confiscate the boat now? Thanks! Now we don’t have to return it in an hour.
In the mean time we improvised and invented “kayak tubing.”
#9 – PHOBIA PHAIL
I’m terrified of water. Not as much the water necessarily as what I can’t see IN the water.
Why do they have to call them “bodies” of water anyway?? And I know sharks are only in salt water, but I’m sure there is SOMETHING in that lake just as scary. Like a mutant toxic waste fish-snake-lizard.
The boys kept asking me to go tubing (before we got busted) and, not wanting to look like a pathetic chicken in front of them, I hesitantly agreed. The tube had already taken quite a few trips behind the boat.
I jumped in and instantly thought it felt too squishy. Everyone poo-poo’d my concerns as paranoia.
Again, not wanting to be a chicken, I decided to go with the flow. The boat started moving and the front of the tube instantly went under and the entire thing filled with water.
My worst fear! I was sinking!! By the time they pulled me back to the boat, the tube was completely submerged and almost completely out of air. And everyone was laughing hysterically. At my hysterics.
I wasn’t amused. Jim will damn well make sure the thingies where the tube is inflated (what are they called anyway??) are tightly plugged next time.
After my titanic experience, I was definitely scarier than any mutant sea creature.
Speaking of titanic…
#10 – ENGINE FAIL(URE)
One night we boated to a restaurant for dinner. On the way back, the engine overheated. We spent the next two hours waiting for the engine to cool, and then moving full speed for about 30 seconds before it would overheat again. Did I mention that the lake is 17 miles long? And that of the 4 cell phones we had on the boat, 3 had dead batteries?
The lower the sun went, the higher the stress level went. I tend to inappropriately joke when I’m stressed. So even though I was envisioning spending the night on a pitch dark lake surrounded by the Loch Ness monster, I made up songs. The skipper and Gilligan would have been proud.
“The Dad was a mighty boating man. The mother brave and sure. Six passengers went to dinner that day. For a three course meal. A three course meal.
The engine started turning off. The tiny ship was stuck…”
We didn’t really venture further than that for those lyrics. Everyone just joined in right away and sang that same line over and over. And over. I never need to hear that song again.
When the engine would get too hot and cut off, the boat couldn’t be steered and would just drift. As we approached a bridge, Jim was trying to time it to make sure the engine didn’t overheat too close to the bridge so we wouldn’t drift into the bridge supports. It was at that moment that I realized just how much Eric is like me. He broke into song to the tune of “I love it” by Icona Pop (again, feel free to click on the link so you can sing along)…
“I got this feeling on a summer day when we’re afloat. I crashed my boat into a bridge. I watched, I let it sink. I threw the engine into a bag and pushed it in the lake. I crashed my boat into the bridge. I don’t care, I love it. I don’t care.”
That’s my boy.
We finally got someone to answer the phone at the marina as the sun was setting behind the trees and the response was “You really need to get the boat off the lake. It’s almost dark.” Gee thanks. I wish we’d thought of that two hours ago. Then we were given the option of calling a $350 tow boat.
Jimmy pulled out the paddles instead.
#11 – SOLAR FLARE
Lupus and the sun don’t mix. We rented a boat with a canopy so I could stay in the shade. Unfortunately, when we were stuck on the lake on the broken down boat, the sun was too low and there was no shade.
Lupus and stress also don’t mix. Apparently when you put the three together, it’s no bueno. As the sun crept below the canopy, whatever area of my skin the beams would reach almost instantly broke out in a burning rash.
It was very bizarre. I could actually watch my skin turn red and splotchy within 10 seconds of the sun hitting it.
But I tried to keep singing anyway. (It ended up lasting for weeks. The burn/rash, not the singing.)
#12 – LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
The lake is in a town called Bumpass. Four boys in a town by that name…the jokes are endless. End. Less.
Vacation win though? When your kids are misbehaving, it is perfectly acceptable to say
“You are being a pain in the Bumpass.”
P.S. Don’t leave yet. At the bottom of the photos is a vacation video you don’t want to miss. It’s pee your pants funny. Trust me, I found that out the hard way. 😉
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Cute photo, huh?
I had 247 rejects such as this before I got them all to smile at once.
I ended up with 12 fails but, yeah, you get the picture (pun intended).
Sorry, I don’t think I can post videos here so you have to go view it on my FB page. It’s really worth the extra click though! Click here —> VIDEO OF THE SPINNING CONTEST.
Nicole Dash is a writer, blogger and child care business owner who lives in Annandale, VA with her husband and four children. Nicole writes about family, life, parenting and caring for children on her heartfelt blog Tiny Steps Mommy. She also enjoys connecting with her growing community of friends on Facebook and Twitter.
femworkingconference.com
In addition to Nicole guest blogging for me today, I’m also very excited to announce that she is co-organizing the Femworking Blogger Conference at the Hyatt Regency Crystal City in Arlington, VA on October 26, 2013!
The conference includes educational seminars, meals, snacks, an incredible swag bag, stunning, professional free headshots, and amazing opportunities to network with bloggers. Jill Smokler from Scary Mommy is the keynote speaker (see the entire list of speakers here). You also receive a signed copy of Jill’s newest book, “Motherhood Comes Naturally (and Other Vicious Lies)” as part of your registration. All of this PLUS tickets are discounted until September 5! What are you waiting for??
And there’s more! ALL of my readers are invited to a Reader Appreciation Cocktail Party at the spectacular Rooftop Chesapeake Lounge at the Hyatt from 7-10pm on October 26. There will be plenty of cocktails (cash bar), hors d’oeuvres and a few surprises. You don’t have to attend the conference to go to the cocktail party. Entry to the party is FREE but you DO have to register here because space is limited. Jill Smokler will also be attending.
And now Nicole’s wonderful post!
_____ I don’t Want to Screw-Up My Daughter’s Self-Image
By Nicole Dash
“Mommy, will I look like you when I grow up?” my five-year-old daughter asks.
I pause internalizing the question. Does she want to look like me? Is she afraid she’ll look like me? Do I want her to look like me? Am I about to scar her for life with my answer? Did the professional photos I just had taken for my blog/writing impact her? Did I send her the wrong message?
“You will look like yourself baby. You may have some of my features, just like I have some features that look like Nana, but everyone is unique. Everyone is special,” I answer with my best I hope I don’t screw this up voice.
I get so nervous answering questions regarding looks, weight, or beauty with my daughter. I want her to feel beautiful whatever her age and regardless of her physical attributes. I want her to be her own person and not measure herself against the images she sees on television or in magazines. I want her to be confident in who she is and what she believes – not just how she looks or doesn’t look.
I also don’t want to emphasize looks over more important things like intelligence, compassion, humor, independence etc. But, I am keenly aware of the pressure placed on women to look a certain way or weigh a certain amount or fit into a certain size. I struggle every day not to compare myself to others or judge myself harshly. I am my own worst critic. This is not what I want for any of my children, but especially not for my daughters. They deserve better.
As I answer my daughter, I think about the blog post – I’ve Started Telling My Kids I’m Beautiful by Off Beat Mama. The writer says we need to make our children believe that we are beautiful no matter how we look, especially as we age and carry the scars of life. We need to say it out loud and have our children understand that even imperfections are beautiful.
But, as a friend of mine on Facebook said so eloquently in response to this post, “We have to learn to see ourselves the same way first [as beautiful]. But, saying it, whether we mean it or not (yet) will make a huge impact on our kids and ourselves.”
I completely agree. So, I decide to face this issue head-on. I mentally prepare my speech about how beauty comes in all forms and how we need to love ourselves no matter what. I think about pulling up my new professionally done photo and a photo I don’t like of myself (almost all of them) and show her how beautiful I am in both, even if they are vastly different. I swallow my fears and begin by asking my daughter, “Why do you ask? Do you want to look like me?”
I brace for her response, but she shrugs and says, “Nah, I want to look like myself. Can we read a story now?”
I sigh, pick up her book and start to read about the girl that turns pink after eating pink cupcakes for the millionth time. I am grateful not to have that conversation, yet feel robbed at the same time. Didn’t she know we were about to share a landmark moment in our relationship. Didn’t she realize how much I suffered in those few moments just trying not to screw her up for the rest of her life. Oh well, I suppose there is always next time. Or maybe, just maybe, I don’t need to say anything at all because she is only five and these issues are my issues not hers.
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Visit Nicole to read more of her posts and thank her for all her hard work on the conference!
Today’s guest poster is Hilary from Feeling Beachie! Hilary is a CFO by day, writer by night. She wonders if she likes to find the humor in life or if it just finds her. She dated a guy so commitment-phobic she was able to write a book, Dangled Carat, about their relationship which will be published this September. Hilary can also be found on the Feeling Beachie Facebook page, the Dangled Carat Facebook page, and on Twitter.
My friend’s children came home from school and she told them that if they wanted a snack they needed to get one quickly as they soon had to leave for soccer practice. Her son didn’t waste any time as he questioned if there was any chocolate milk left. She told him that there was and he grabbed a glass and filled it to the rim.
Her older daughter announced, “Chocolate milk isn’t good for you. It contains high fructose corn syrup.”
My friend agreed, but said, “True, but it is fine for a recovery drink after exercise, like Gatorade.”
Her son was paying no mind. He was just enjoying his beverage.
“Then why are you drinking it now?” The girl questioned her brother. “It is a recovery drink, and you didn’t play soccer yet.”
He took another gigantic swig of his drink, clearly relishing in the taste before answering. “I am recovering. I had a very rough day at school!”
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Now go visit Hilary and wish her luck on her book release! 🙂
Not many blogs get a birthday party. But mine did. Jim came home with cupcakes and a card. OK, ok. We look for any excuse to buy a cupcake, but still. He definitely got brownie points for that. Or cupcake points I suppose.
Some of you know that for the past couple of weeks I have become a bit “overly concerned” about some random goals I had set for myself. OK, maybe it was more than “a bit.” I couldn’t figure out why I was putting so much pressure on myself to meet these goals. No one made me set them. They were just numbers I chose. Nothing was going to happen if I didn’t make it. And nothing was going to happen if I did. I couldn’t figure out why I cared so much.
But now I do know why.
The goals I set were:
> 1,000 Facebook Fans
> 1,000 Twitter Followers
< 100,000 US Alexa Rank
I became pretty obsessed with these numbers. Just these three. I didn’t care about the numbers for Pinterest, Google+, Bloglovin’ or any of the other 247 social media sites out there. I didn’t even care about my number of email subscribers (which is arguably the most important). But why?
A couple of weeks ago, it was pretty obvious that #1 was not reachable. I was way more bummed about it than I should be. But why?
With only a few days left, I decided I couldn’t throw in the towel. I pulled out all the stops and asked for all the favors possible in a last-ditch effort. I just HAD to get there. But why?
My blogging buddies and real life friends came out in droves to share my page with their followers and friends.
And I made it! The moment I hit 1,000 I immediately went running to my kids to tell them. And THAT was the moment I realized why it mattered so much.
It was the look on their faces.
I spend so much of my time feeling guilty over being the “sick Mom.” The Mom that my kids hear talking about doctor’s appointments and naps and aches and pains. Others get to see the well-rested out-in-public me but my kids have to see the Mom that comes home exhausted. I worry that one day their childhood memories of me will consist of only that.
They never got to see the businesswoman me or the musician me or the anything-that-would-make-them-proud-of-me me. Until Momopolize. They think the blogger me is pretty darn cool.
Facebook fans impress them. Having more Twitter followers than them impresses them. Being ranked in the top 100,000 out of the 650,000,000 websites that exist in the world impresses them (Alexa ranks all websites, not just blogs. Google, Facebook, Amazon and the like are in the top 10.). Yeah, I really have no idea if that is the actual number of websites but that was the number I saw most often in a search and it sounds good to tell them I’m in the top .01%-ish.
So those numbers weren’t important to me because I want to achieve fame and fortune (well, a little fortune would be nice). It wasn’t to get that elusive book deal or attract bigger advertisers (well, yeah that would be nice too.).
Those numbers were important because for that moment I wasn’t sick Mom. I wasn’t even average Mom. In their eyes I was famous Mom. And maybe THAT will be what stays in their memory.
I mean, I KNOW those numbers don’t really mean all that much. I know of widely successful blogs that don’t even have a Twitter account. And others that have a huge Facebook following but only a few of those fans ever click on their blog posts. And my Alexa rank just shows me there must be a whole heck of a lot of websites that never ever ever get viewed. Like, ever! (You’re welcome for the Taylor Swift song that is now stuck in your head.)
But – shhhhhhhh – don’t tell my kids any of that. Let me be famous Mom for just a little longer.
Oh, and in case you are as easily impressed as my kids, when I started writing this my numbers were:
1,047 Facebook Fans
1,772 Twitter Followers
114,117 US Alexa Rank (I didn’t quite make it under 100,000 but we are just going to gloss over that for now and celebrate, k?)
And my goal for the coming year? To Momopolize the entire Blogiverse!!
(Or at least make my kids think I do.)
<insert evil laugh and cue world domination music>
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P.S. My next post will be more about my first year of blogging and the wonderful community that is out there, including a shout out to those who answered my plea for help on Facebook. (I intended to include that list in this post but have to leave for an appointment for a sick kitty, sorry!)
P.P.S. For those who have been around for a while, you know that 47 is my favorite number (Always has been. No idea why.). Anytime I talk about any kind of numbers, I will add 47 to the end. When I saw my Facebook number was ACTUALLY 1,047 it was like a blog birthday gift. I guess I’m easily impressed also…
Even though summer break has ended for some of you, my weekly(ish) summer guest posts are still going strong! I still have a couple of weeks before the most wonderful time of the year the first day of school. Plus I still have many fantastic posts that my blogging friends have graciously agreed to let me post for your viewing pleasure!
Today Melissa from Home on Deranged is being sweet enough to guest post for me. She and I share a love/hate relationship with sugar.
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They say hindsight is 20/20. I figure a good pair of glasses is 20/20, but what do I know? I try to learn lessons from my past, but let’s face it, I continue to try and wear clothes that I know are a little too small, turn on the vacuum during Max and Ruby, dust (because 5 minutes later it’s back. Seriously, where does it all come from??), and most of all, I try to lead by example in the healthy living department.
Um, yeah. One long list of epic fails there.
First, I brought in somewhat healthy Cheerios for snacks, which eventually evolved into breakfast time food. Then, I kind of, sort of, maybe, possibly let the Honey Nut version slip into the routine. No biggie. But then, the Frosted Cheerios looked so good, we had to at least try them. Now, for some really weird reason that I suppose can only be explained by the presence of wild fairies in our kitchen, the pantry now has Cap’n Crunch with berries (that counts as a fruit, right?). This must have happened while I was vacuuming that one time.
Then, I said okay to pudding and Jello. But, I bought the sugar free kind of both, that way at least my kids and husband (and me, let’s just be honest here) wouldn’t be subjected to my sworn enemy – SUGAR. But I love her. No, I hate her. I really love her. After I delivered my firstborn, the first thing I ate was a brownie. The chocolatey good one with frosting made by the bakery with a kiosk in the hospital lobby. That means the hospital totally sanctioned what they were selling. Swear.
However, if you were to peek in the fridge now, you’d find full-on sugary Jello and Swiss Miss vanilla and chocolate swirl pudding cups. Yes, they really are as good as they sound. Excuse me while I wipe the drool off my chin.
One of the first sign language signs that Annie, our 2 year old, could show you was “cookie.” Oh yeah, that educational video totally paid off. If you give Leelou, the 1 year old, a drink of an Icee, she will drink so much, so fast, that her little forehead crinkles because you know she’s having a brain freeze moment.
And so this weekend, because why would I want to slow this rolling downhill freaking freight train I’ve got going, I introduced my family to s’mores. As a Girl Scout, this was always the best part of a camping trip weekend. Way better than snipe hunting, which I am particularly good at, thank you very much. I remember plenty of times around the campfire with our marshmallows, gobbling up possibly the weirdest concoction of a dessert invented by the evil SUGAR. (Oh, I love her so much.)
My husband has said several times – after seeing the various s’mores products now on the market – that he’d never had one (what the what???), and obviously our daughters had not yet been introduced to the graham cracker-marshmallow-chocolate goodness that they produce.
So Saturday night at the Walmart (oh yeah, we know how to party on the weekend!), there’s a huge endcap display with all the fixings you need to make s’mores. Thomas says, we should do that. I say, are you going to build a fire? He says, we have a gas stove. Duh. Of course we should use a live flame to roast marshmallows in our kitchen. Why wouldn’t you do that?
Fast forward to Sunday night (hey, trips to Walmart are long and involved). We’ve had a good day of play, took a swim in the pool, ate dinner with vegetables AND fruit (holy crap, why didn’t I take a picture?), and watched the last 15 minutes of Cinderella, the Disney version, natch. Time to introduce my little crew to s’mores. And here’s what we got:
I am totally waiting for my award for best mom from the Healthy Living Moms people.
Do you have a romance with SUGAR? She’s a saucy minx. Commiserate in the comments. (And then head over to Home on Deranged for s’more great posts!)
When Jimmy was little, I was the over-the-top kind of Mom. I wanted to do it all. Be it all. Have it all.
For Jimmy’s first turn being “snack person” in preschool I made an entire solar system out of ball shaped cupcakes for crying out loud (I will post a photo when I find it.). If there was a volunteer need at school, my hand was the first one up. Birthday party themes were meticulously planned from the plates to the games down to the piece of junk toy in the goody bag. I wouldn’t think of having a meal without a vegetable. (And if we went somewhere where there weren’t veggies, you could be sure I’d shove a carrot in Jimmy’s mouth when we got home). We had TV “coupons” that had to be earned for any screen time. I bought cute mix and match outfits from Little Me. And so on.
The problem was, I set the bar so high there was no way I could sustain that level. I stood on my tippy toes for as long as I could, trying to keep it up there. But I quickly realized I was in over my head.
The bar slowly slipped down, down, down.
Now the bar is just laying on the floor. I didn’t drop the ball, I dropped the bar. Now I’m completely a slacker Mom.
I feel bad that Greg never got to see the Mom who pole vaulted that bar. Without a pole.
He gets the Mom that was secretly relieved when the school stopped allowing class snacks to be brought in. The Mom that isn’t in his classroom frequently enough to know his classmates’ names. He didn’t even have a party for his past two birthdays. When the doctor asked at one of his check-ups how often he eats vegetables, he answered “Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe once a week.” (It’s really not THAT bad. He got quite a glare.) Video games are his babysitter some days. He wears wrinkled/stained/torn hand me downs because I haven’t shopped. (Sometimes they even fit.)
I don’t really WANT to go back to how I was when Jimmy was little. I’ve realized that I wasted many, many hours then obsessing over things that didn’t really matter in the long run (like a solar system that was eaten in 30 seconds.). The earth didn’t stop spinning when I stopped doing those things (See what I did there? And come to think of it, I’m surprised I didn’t make the planet cupcakes rotate around the sun cupcake…).
BUT I also don’t want to be the bare minimum Mom anymore. I want to do the things that make me a good Mom. Not the best Mom. Not the worst Mom.
I need to figure out a way to pick that bar up off the ground.
Photo modified from Ernie Freeman’s Limbo Dance Party album cover
I may not be able to jump over it anymore. But maybe I can limbo under it.
Now THAT is the kind of Mom I want to be.
The easy-breezy-don’t-worry-be-happy-life’s-a-party Limbo Mom.
The Limbo Mom: Where lowering the bar is a good thing.
(Not too low though. My back will go out.)
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After I wrote this, I read “I used to be that Mom” on Our Small Moments. It is a beautifully written piece that you should go read also. And Courtney is going through a very rough time right now so she could definitely use some easy breezy vibes sent her way!
Michelle from “You’re My Favorite Today” is my guest blogger today. Every Tuesday for the past few months Michelle has been MY favorite because she posts a roll-on-the-floor-laughing recap of one of the shows I watch without fail. Well, watching it at all is a fail, but I do it anyway. What? Oh, you want to know what show. Ummm…well…it’s…the Bachllrrt. What? You couldn’t understand what I said with my hand in front of my mouth? Ok. Ok. I watch the Bachelorette. And so does Michelle. And she has made me look forward to new episodes during a painfully dull season because I know a hysterical recap is coming the next day. The only thing that would make it better would be live streams of her recap WHILE I’m watching (Michelle, can you work on that for the next season??). This week was the season finale, a.k.a. “final rose” ceremony. So in honor of the scriptedinsincere completely genuine heartfelt proposal on the show, here is some marriage advice for the Bachelorette. Something tells me she is really going to need it.
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Michelle Newman is a wife, mama, power-napper, carb lover, emerging blogger, reluctant jogger, and believer that Target is possibly the most perfect place in the world. She writes about her dramatic daughters, her long-suffering husband, the absurdity of celebrity life and anything else she can find hidden humor in over at her blog, You’re my favorite today. Follow along on Facebook and Twitter (although she sucks at Twitter).
I’m a child of divorce, several times over.
Well, technically twice, but since my mother and step-father split up and got back together a time or two unofficially before making it official, I think I can safely call it ‘several’.
You might say I grew up without a very positive example of what a successful marriage or relationship looked like.
You might be right (unless you count the Huxtables or the Keatons, of course).
I met my husband the first week of my freshman year of college, and other than a platonic date here and there in high school (meaning two) had never before had a real boyfriend.
Frankly, the thought scared me to death.
So I came into the relationship cold; without any kind of a map that might help me navigate the path and progression it ultimately took.
That was in 1987.
26 years ago.
Yesterday was our 20th wedding anniversary, so you might say I figured it out and did okay.
You might, once again, be right.
Over the past 24 years (20 married and 5 dating but let’s call it 4 since it was at least a year before I decided he was a keeper) I’ve learned a few things. Some things that, looking back — and ahead — are vitally important not only for a successful marriage, but for sanity and survival as well.
Some things that you should know right out of the gate, and some things that it can take years to figure out.
Things that it takes two people to learn and to know and to live.
Because if one is a giant ass-hat, good luck.
20 Things I’ve Learned in 20 Years
1. Let the little things go. Seriously. Let. Them. Go.
2. The most important thing you can give each other, other than a kick-ass back rub, of course, is R-E-S-P-E-C-T. And that respect you show each other? It’s also the most important thing you can give your children.
3. It’s important to share and talk, but don’t forget to listen. Or act like you’re listening.
4. You don’t always have to shave.
5. Silence can be as comfortable as that robe you’ve alsohad for 20 years. A lot can be said by words unspoken.
6. Telepathyis real, and as the years go on will freak you out every time it happens, which is often.
7.There’s always a bigger picture. Find it.
8. Candlelight and wine doesn’t stand a romance chance in hell against a man who will clean the kitchen and handle the bedtime routines while you take a bath.
9. A Friday evening trip together — without kids — to Target or Home Depot can be as wonderful and relaxing as a night at a fancy restaurant.
10. Staying on the same team can make all the difference in winning the game.
11. If you don’t act like a maid, you won’t get treated like one.
12. Gray hair is surprisingly sexy. As is no hair.
13. Don’t be a bitch unless absolutely necessary.
14. It’s not about fixing each other’s problems; it’s about facing them together.
15. Showering together isn’t nearly as much fun as you might think and can actually cause injury (or so I’ve heard).
16. The tough times, while at the time may seem unbearable, are the times that bind you even closer.
17. Finding humor in the mundane and laughing together every day is the very best foreplay.
18. I’m still always right, but I don’t always need to let that be known.
19. Keep liking each other.
20. It’s not about how much you’ve created, but about what you’ve created.
Somehow, all those years ago, some lucky stars fell my way and I found a guy who not only makes me laugh every day, but who has never, in all these years, treated me with anything other than the utmost respect and made me feel safe and loved and supported. And who gives me a kick-ass back rub anytime I ask.
And that’s helped make navigation pretty damn easy, even without the map.
