Mommadosey

There are a lot of things they don’t tell you when you are getting ready to become a parent.

They don’t tell you that you will want to smack the pre-children you for ever complaining that you were to tired to do something.

They don’t tell you that it’s not the work of having multiple children that is the hard part of parenting.  It is the fighting between the children that’s impossibly hard.

They don’t tell you that some evenings there is this huge sigh of relief that you breath when you tuck the last one into to bed.

And they don’t tell you that at some point, your weekends and evenings are no longer your own.

For you see when your kids are little you get this great idea.

Let’s let them try everything to see what they like best.  

Sucker!

You see one of two things happens when you make this decision.

Either they like everything they try, and you completely lose all of your evenings and weekends.

Or…

They really, really like and are at good at one thing.  And then they get really competitive with that one thing.  And the next thing you know you are at extra practices, extra scrimmages, special training sessions with personal trainers, private lessons, group lessons, long weekends at tournaments, long weekends at competition, Sunday games, Saturday games, and weekday games.  You buy a car that has extra trunk room to carry chairs, blankets, balls, uniforms, water bottles, first aid kits, musical instruments, and water coolers.    All to haul your beautifully obsessed and gifted child (They’re all gifted see.  Otherwise why would you do this to yourself?) almost every day of the week to their activity that they love.

The activity that they can’t bear to give up.

The activity that you signed them up for when they were little, sweet, and couldn’t possibly look any cuter in their uniform.

And then you realize that there is one more thing that people don’t tell you when you’re getting ready to have children.

They don’t tell you that you’ll be writing this blog late on a Saturday night at home because it’s the only time you have left that is your own.

And really, you won’t care at all for it’s all worth it to just remember how little, sweet and cute they looked when they first started wearing that inconvenient uniform.

So last night my daughter came downstairs red faced with her sweaty hair clinging to her round cheeks.

I asked her, “Why are you so sweaty?”

She replied in a very cocky voice, “I’ve been working out.”

Now in the few 7 years that Little C has been around I’ve never known her to enjoy let alone initiate any “working out” type of behavior.  I mean this is the little girl who wanted to quit soccer because she didn’t like the “kicking, the running, or the sweating,” and there was nothing we could do to convince her otherwise.

We tried to explain the health benefits, but that didn’t work.

We tried to explain the beauty benefits, but that didn’t work.

We tried to explain the social benefits, but that didn’t work.

She didn’t like the “kicking, the running, or the sweating” and that was that.  And any other “working out” type of activity?  Well if it involved any of the before mentioned three, they were out as well.

So I, confused by her newly found interest, replied, “Really?”

Her in a confident matter of fact voice, “Yeah.  I ran from one end of the bed to the other 56 times.  I did some push ups.  I did some crunches.”

Me, “Why are you working out?”

Her, “I want to get stronger so that I can beat Aaron.”

Me, “You want to beat Aaron?”

Her, “Yeah.  I’m tired of him beating me at Mercy.  I want to beat Aaron.  I’m getting so strong.  I’m totally going to beat him tomorrow.”

And there it is.

The call of the beating of the boys.

If I had only known it would be so easy to inspire her.

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For those of you who don’t know the childhood game of Mercy, here’s an explanation from Wikipedia .

“Two players face each other and grab their opponents hands (opponent #1’s right hand to opponent #2’s left hand, opponent #1’s left hand to opponent #2’s right hand, interlocking fingers or thumbs with fingers wrapped around an opponent’s back part of the hand). On the word “go”, each opponent attempts to bend the other’s hands back and inflict pain by straining the ligaments and tendons in the wrist. When a player can no longer stand the pain, or reverse the situation by overpowering the other player and bending back their wrists, the player cries out “Mercy!” (or “Peanuts!” or “Uncle” in some areas) and is then defeated. The players then disengage hands and match is completed.”

So for the past two days I’ve been sick, with the flu I think.I’ve had the exhaustion, the achy body, the chills, the sweats, the headache, and the sore throat.

I’ve also had the falling behind all of my work, the feeling bad for putting my children and my husband out, and the guilt of not doing all that I had planned this week.

I’ve had the foggy head, the crying for no reason, the crying for a reason, and the moments of clarity.

I’ve had the relief of a good nap, and the guilt that follows for daring to take one.

I’ve had the hunger, and the inability to eat or enjoy the food that I do eat.

The joke, “I’m only one good flu away from my goal weight” keeps running through my head.

All the while I am irritated, annoyed, and a little relieved that I have a good enough excuse to have a “lazy” day.

And I’m grateful. I am grateful to have a safe place to recover.  I am grateful to have the family who does support me, even when it is inconvenient.  I am grateful to feel every ache, every pain, and every emotion.  Because when I think of those who no longer can feel or be aware that they’re feeling, well it just makes me grateful.  Grateful to be here and to still be experiencing all that life has to offer.

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So today is Fat Tuesday in New Orleans which happens every year the day before Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.  Now for those of you unfamiliar with Lent, it’s the season right before and leading up to Easter Sunday that is typically celebrated with fasting and prayer.

And in thinking about this auspicious celebration, something funny occurred to me.  Isn’t it hilarious that the day before the famous fasting period is called Fat Tuesday?

Why?  Well it kind of reminds me of the people who when they are driving and are getting ready to make a turn in certain direction, swing their cars way out in the opposite direction and then jerk them around  two seconds later back in the correct direction of the turn they wish to make.

That’s what Fat Tuesday seems to be.  It’s the day of gluttony, the day of fat, before the responsible side in us takes over to treat out bodies better.

And I am certainly not one to break the system.  It’s a good one.  It’s been around since, well, what?  The Middle Ages?   You would think it would have began the year after the resurrection of Christ.  But I digress.

So what on this glorious day of gluttony should I eat to satisfy my sugar craving, the thing I would give up for Lent if I were actually religious?

 Click the picture for the recipe from My Recipes.com

King Cake.

Now that’s a good idea if I ever saw one.

Happy Fat Tuesday!

Enjoy the gluttony.

So I’m totally in Yawnsville this morning.  But I’m not going to go into my diatribe about why Monday mornings, along with people who drive in the right hand lane and insist that they have the right away when their lane ends, little children who discover and eat a treat that you’ve been saving for a special day, and taxes, belong only in Sucksville Land.  No.  I’m not going to talk about any of those things.

I’m also not going to talk about how my Internet service provider has been spotty lately, and how when you call them about the problem, they tell you that you have a hardware issue.  What an amazing coincidence that all of my neighbors apparently have the same hardware issue.

And I’m not going to talk about the fact that my children lose their shoes every single day.  I’m not quite sure where the shoes go.  But they get lost.  Every day.  And every morning before school, there is drama over the search for the shoes.

Nope.

Not going to talk about any of these things.

Instead I’m going to ask one simple question.

Sure, he can sing, he can dance, he can charm, he can lift and carry an actress up the stairs with the greatest of ease, so why then in a 3 or 4 hour (I lost track) program did we not see Mr. Hugh Jackman topless pouring water over his head while flexing? 

I would have enjoyed it.

I’m sure most of you would have as well.

And it would have made being in yawnsville this Monday morning

…totally worth it.

Le Sigh…

Deep inside I have this fear that I’m going to become one of those parents.

You know those parents.  They’re the ones who are constantly bragging about their kids and if you didn’t actually know their kids, you would think that they were the world’s answer to world peace, or hunger, or the next cure for cancer.  You would think that they were perfect.

Blech, choke, gag.

Oh my God these people make me crazy.

Yesterday I saw a woman with a “my kid is on the honor roll” bumper sticker, and I felt the need to ram her.

The only thing that stopped me was I love my pretty little car, and I don’t want to damage it.  But if I still had my old beater, consider that woman rammed.

Rammed I tell you.

So out of my fear of becoming one of those parents, I tend to go in the opposite direction.  I tend to do the “I don’t need to brag about my kids so let me tell you about the latest bad thing they did.”  It’s as if I’m saying, I’m better than you are see?  I don’t feel the need to brag about my kids, even though they are totally awesome and are on the honor roll.  I still don’t brag.  I’m better than you are see?  Better.

Get over it.

You can’t compete with all of this.

Stupid right?

I mean why do I care about these crazy bragging parents?

What do I care?

But sometimes, yes sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Stupid insecurities rearing their ugly heads again me thinks.

Stupid.

Maybe I need to get one of those bumper stickers.

Then I could be done with the whole thing.

So this morning having left the television on while taking care of my online duties, I noticed this horrible sound coming out of the television’s speakers.

Oh my goodness.

The pitchiness!  The forced sappy soundtrack!  Who was making this horrible noise?  Make it stop!

I looked up from my computer screen and Wham!  Grey hair.  Wham! Wrinkles.   Wham!  Men dressing way too young for their age.   The phrase “mutton dressed up like lamb” pops into my head.

Wait.

They look familiar.

Is that the New Kids on the Block ?

Oh man.  That’s just wrong.

Never ever have I been so grateful for the commercials to come on.  Phew.  Gave my ears a rest.

And just as I started to shake off the horrible noises, they started again.

What’s that?  NOOOOOOO!!!!  A commercial advertising their concert, and they’re coming where?  My town?  Of course they are.

Awesome.

The commercial finally ended, and the television show came back on.

Regis asks, “Now really, how old are you now?”

My thoughts exactly Regis.  My thoughts exactly.

This year is my last year in my 30’s, and I made a whole list of things that I refuse to not have done before I turn 40.

Ack.

I’m having an out of body experience now.  I feel like it’s someone else who is talking at this point.  40?  When did that happen?  I mean I don’t think I’ll mind 40, but at the same time I don’t feel like me who’s getting ready to turn 40.

But I digress.

I do that a lot.

Anyway…back to my list.

These are the things I refuse to have not done by the time I turn 40.

1.  I will not be fat and 40.  Though I’m not sure if Jillian Michael’s CD is the way to go as I could barely make it up to my office today after yesterday’s workout.

2.  I will go to Chicago.

3.  I will meet some other bloggers in real life.

4.  I will go to a blogging convention.

5.  I will meet new people.

OK. That’s about it. I pretty much already live my life the way I want. I’m kind of a bully that way. But those 6 pesky things still keep bugging me. How to get them done before 40? How to get them done before 40? How to get them done before 40?

Wait…

I have an idea!

Done!

Except for number 1.

Any ideas on that one?

I don’t think I can let Jillian hurt me any more.

So last week Little C came home with her “Is Your Child Gifted of Not” test results.  She is not.  And neither is Little B.

I looked over at my husband and said, “Our kids are the only kids of all of our friends who did not end up in the Gifted Program.”

He replied, “So?”

Me, “Doesn’t that bother you?  We have the Dumb Kids on the Block.”

You couldn’t see him at that point because you weren’t there, but trust me when I say he was very effectively ignoring me and watching some soccer match he had recorded.  I think it was US vs. Mexico.   No matter.   He was ignoring me and totally didn’t even break a grin to my clever boy band name remake.

Anyway…

I continued, “This comes from your side of the family.”

That got his attention.  He hates it that I think I’m smarter than he is or that my family is smarter than his.  We proceeded to have the “who is smarter than whom” debate.

I won with a “Of you and your sister, who was the one in the Gifted Program at school?”

Him, “Neither of us.”

Me, “And which of the kids in my family was in the Gifted Program at my school?”

Him, “Both of you.”

I rest my case.

And for some reason at this point I heard the phrase my Dad used to always use, “Oh yeah.  Well at least I married someone smarter than me.”

Isn’t that a good phrase?

He used it many times.

“Oh yeah? Well at least I didn’t marry someone who is spoiled.”

“Oh yeah?  Well at least I didn’t marry someone who obsessed with his work.”

“Oh yeah?  Well at least I didn’t marry someone who’s absentminded.”

It’s a good one isn’t it?  I like it alot.

You know that gifted thing my brother and I had?  We got it from my Dad, that and the smart ass antagonize our spouses gene.

But for some reason Da Husband didn’t use that phrase.  He just rolled his eyes.  I guess that’s the non-gifted response, a simple eye roll.

Either that or it’s the I have a Master’s degree/high powered career so what’s so great about your “giftedness” eye roll.

Either way he was finished talking and was back to watching the U.S. vs. Mexico match.

But that’s OK.

Because at least I didn’t marry someone who was gifted, never did anything with it, and is totally jealous of her oh so average husband who surpassed all of his dumb gene odds.

{Disclaimer:  Hi little children of mine.  This is what you call a parody.  I don’t think you’re remotely stupid.  I think you’re brilliantly smart.  So if you’re even thinking of using the non-gifted excuse for your bad grades think again.  Do I need to show you your non-gifted father’s perfect grades from his undergraduate and post-graduate work?  Hmmmmmmmm?  Do I?  So get back to work and stop spending so much time on the Internet!}

In the middle of my junior year of college I was looking for easy courses that would satisfy my Humanities requirement, not an easy feat for an English major.  I discovered a beginning drama class, and the teacher of the class discovered me and made me his leading lady in a show he was producing.

Yes.

I was just that awesome.

Anyway via rehearsals and actually having to spend time in the Drama building, I made a few friends with the freaks that call themselve Drama Majors.

Oh what?

Drama Majors are freaks.  You know they are.  They know they are.  You can’t be a good actor unless you have a little freak in you.  Get over it!

Anyway, one of the things that rubbed off on me during my time with these people was their obsession with the Oscars .  And ever since then I’ve been obsessed with the Oscars myself.

Right now I’m in full Oscar mode.

Last Friday I finished up the “Best Picture” category with my viewing of Milk, and I made up my mind about who I think is going to win.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First I should probably tell you what movies are nominated.

1.  The Curious Case of Benjamin Button:  OK.  You knew this movie was going to be a sad disaster the minute you’re told that it’s about a man who ages backwards.   Of course it’s going to be about isolation and loneliness.   Of course it’s going to be sad.  And it was.  Horribly sad.  Tissue was required.

2.  Frost/Nixon:   This was another sad one.  The Presidency was soiled.  A single man showed the underbelly of isolation and loneliness, and it’s results.  Sad, sad, sad.  You may not need tissue, but you will definitely come out disturbed at the state of our nation.

3.  Milk:  Oh Lord.  Another horribly sad movie?  I’m sensing a pattern here.  Isolation, discrimination, suicide, and murder all are included in this script.  More tissue please.

These movies have got to start getting less depressing!

4.  The Reader:  Oh.  My. God.  Kill me.  Can a movie get any sadder than this one?  You have a traumatized man afraid to commit to anyone because of the Nazi woman who completely messed with his head and showed absolutely no remorse for it.  And she’s illiterate!  You begin to almost begin to feel sorry for this Nazi horror story except that she burned alive hundreds of Jews in a church.  Twisted I tell you. This movie is twisted.  Tissues and perhaps some anti-depressants are required after this one.

At this point I was almost scared to go any further.

I mean I’m already on the anti-depressants after the last 4 films.  I don’t think I can take any more sadness.

5.  Slumdog Millionaire:  Praise the movie Gods!  Finally there is a happy ending!  Sure you have a pathetic life of two orphaned brothers and their friend, another orphaned girl.  And there’s nothing sadder than orphans living on the street, begging their way through life just trying to survive.  But you also have justice,  true love, and honor.

The good guy wins, and the bad guy loses!

And if that isn’t enough for you, at the end you get dancing, Bollywood style.

Throw those pills away.

Put the tissue in the trashcan.

We have a winner!  If only for the fact that you leave the theater smiling.

And that brings me to my prediction for the winner under the category of “Best Picture”–Slumdog Millionaire.

Because really, the world is depressing enough right now.

What we all really need is a happy ending.

(Don’t Watch This.  It won’t make you laugh.)