Define: vacation

B and I have an ongoing discussion. He persists in calling the trips we take as a family, vacations. To me, they may be many things, but vacation is not one of them. Packing up a family of 5 (one who's under a year old and one who has severe food allergies) to go anywhere, takes a Herculean effort. Add to that, these vacations usually start with 8+ hours in a car. All. Together. Did I mention 8 hours?

Merriam-Webster defines vacation as:

1 : a respite or a time of respite from something :
INTERMISSION. 2 a : a scheduled period during which activity
(as of a court or school) is suspended b : a period of
exemption from work granted to an employee for rest and relaxation. 3 : a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation vacation at the beach. 4 : an act or an instance
of vacating

Do you see the words rest and relaxation in those definitions? Yeah. Me too. Rest and relaxation are two words that are nowhere to be found on our family vacations.

Vacations to me do not consist of the following:
-kids
-driving
-wiping of bums, noses, or boo-boo's
-diapers, no wipes, no diaper creme, no Batman toothbrushes, no Johnson & Johnson's Baby Wash
-coolers stuffed with Yo-Baby, Danimals, sippy cups of chocolate milk
-totes filled with granola, Wheat Thins, graham crackers and Twizzlers
-portable DVD players
-Veggie Tales movies
-5:30 a.m. wake-up calls

They DO consist of the following:
-beds that are made magically while I'm cavorting
-drinks that appear mysteriously in my hands
-delicious meals that are prepared for me, again while I'm out cavorting
-any place I make a mess, someone else cleans it up

In short, my idea of a vacation looks a lot like my kids' vacations. The difference being that my kids live in this lap of luxury 24/7 365 days a year.

Hags and double hags

I really, really dislike those people who decide that because they're "...just running in..." they can park wherever they want.

I pulled into a gas station the other day to get some milk. This particular gas station has the pumps right in front of the convenience store and some parking spots on an angle at the side of the convenience store. I pull into a parking spot and park. Get out. Go inside. Buy my milk. While I'm doing this, some hag pulls straight up to the convenience store...see the beautiful diagram below.


Hag's parking situation

WHAT IS THAT ALL ABOUT? There are parking spaces for people to PARK in while they're shopping. That's what parking spaces are for. HAG. Of course that meant that no-one could get by either...had I had all my faculties present, I might just have pulled up next to her car and laid on the horn until she came out.

The same sort of thing happened at Krispy Kreme the other day. Some woman pulled up to the curb at Krispy Kreme and left her big azz SUV running while she "...just ran in." Now, I could maybe give her the slightest pass if she was pulling in for coffee...nope, no I can't because that's what I was doing. She was, however, pulling up to get three dozen assorted donuts for some function she was on her way to (I presume that they were for a function and that she wasn't going to eat all three dozen donuts). And it wasn't ok to just let the gal behind the counter choose the assorted donuts. No! No! She wanted to choose them herself. All in all, she was in the Krispy Kreme for at least 15 minutes. Now, keep in mind that this Krispy Kreme has a drive-thru! HELLO! If you wanted to keep your car warm and didn't want to get out...go through the drive-thru! Hag!

What makes you all sooooooo important that regular parking rules don't apply to you?

To interfere or not to interfere...that is the question

In my normal pell-mell fashion, I hiked out to an area Kohl's to find something to wear to my sister-in-law's baby shower this weekend. This is very typical for me. I'm not a recreational clothes shopper. I am decidedly NOT like my mother-in-law who has a huge walk-in closet (and a 5-bedroom house full of closets and a beach house full of closets) that is full of clothes. Many of those clothes have tags on them! That is astounding to me.

When I shop, it's typically because I need something and I likely need it for the next day. Not necessarily a good strategy seeing as how I'm 5'4" and my clothes invariably need altering because I'm too tall for Petites and too short for Misses.

Buuuutttt...I digress.

Whilst in the changing room trying on the various sweaters I was contemplating, I heard a young boy's voice say,

"Mom? I found some more t-shirts."

She replied, "Good."

A few minutes later, I heard,

"Mom? Are you almost done?"

And I have to add that this wasn't in the whiny voice that my 5-year old would have asked this question. It was very matter of fact and it almost sounded like he was trying to figure out if he should wait or continue shopping and come back.

His mother replied, sharply, "WHY DON'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!"

I audibly gasped.

I didn't say anything but continued trying on my clothes, dumbfounded.

When I was done, I exited the changing room and saw a young boy, maybe 11 years old. He had a sad face but sweet and he was waiting patiently at the exit to the dresssing room. I gave him the biggest, broadest smile I could muster.

Later, I passed the mom and son as she exited the dressing room. All I could hear was her barking orders at him to, "Take me to where you found this shirt!"

Should I have said something to the mom? Should I have given the boy a hug? Should I have said something to him?

I know we're all stressed and tired and wigged out as parents. Believe me, with three under 6, I get it! But she broke his little heart right there and she humiliated him publicly. There's no call for that.

I did resolve to try my darndest to never talk to my children EVER like she talked to him. And certainly to never, ever, do that to them in public. I'd rather that people believe that I'm a complete pushover when it comes to my kids and that they run me ragged than to humiliate them like that.

What about you? Would you have said something to her?

They...

You know who I hate? They. You know They. Everyone knows They.

They say you should get 8 hours of sleep a
night.

They say you should exercise for 30...No! 60...No!
90 minutes a day.

They say you should make time for your
husband.

They say you should shine your sink every
night.

Well, They, don't have my life.

Let's figure this out shall we? There are 24 hours in a typical day.

Let's assume that I spend 8 of them sleeping (ha!).

We're now down to 16.

Let's assume I spend 9 of them at work (this means actually at the office not the emails I check at home). And actually, I work 3 10-hour days, but that doesn't help this exercise.

I'm now down to 5 hours.

Let's divide that up to about 2-1/2 hours in the morning and 2-1/2 hours in the evening.

I'm up at 5:30. I nurse baby M for about 20 minutes. While I'm doing this, B is in the shower. When he gets done in the bathroom, one or both of the boys are usually awake and in our bed with me and baby M. We watch "The Koala Brothers." B goes downstairs and gets them some chocolate milk. I get in the shower.

Within about 2 minutes, I hear, "Mom. I have to pee but I won't flush the toilet." Thank you...my skin appreciates not getting scalded.

Within about 5 minutes, many mornings I hear, "Mama, please take shirt off. Me want to take shower too." Sigh...my shower is over.

I dry my hair, put on my makeup (which I shouldn't need seeing as They said I should get 8 hours of sleep), slap some deodorant on and leave A in all of his glory in my hot, steamy shower.

I quickly get dressed and start to get the kids dressed. By now, we're onto "The Higglytown Heroes." Baby M was relatively easy but you see she's discovered how to roll, how to pull herself up and how to crawl (albeit the ugliest, most ungainly looking crawl you've ever seen, but it's a crawl). Invariably, she's had a blowout. Many, many, many wipes later and lots of "Please, M!, just lay still while Mommy changes you!" - she's dressed.

I forgot to mention that this whole process has been interrupted with "J! Get dressed please." "J, if you don't start getting dressed, the tv is going off." "J! How many times am I going to ask you?" At which point he usually looks at me completely seriously and says, "Maybe just one more time, okay Mom?"

Now...it's time for A. Getting him dressed requires all the patience I can muster. He is completely 2-3/4 and everything that that entails. In short, he's a handful. First, you have to get him out of the shower. Then, you have to get him to sit still while you dry him off. Then you wrestle him to the ground, gently, while you try to pull up his Pull-Up. Once you get it on, you have to then quickly but firmly stop him from running away from you while you try to put his jeans on. This is akin to trying to dress an octopus at this point. I generally go with one leg over his chest as a reasonable method of keeping him down but still having my hands free. Then, if his Highness approves, you put on a shirt. Again...some method of restraint is necessary. If you're lucky, you can get socks and shoes on too.

Phew.

Now..you corral all three kids into the kitchen for some breakfast. I now have about an hour left of my allotment and about 2 hours worth of stuff to get done. I realize that there's no way we're getting breakfast at home so we put our cereal and raisins into plastic bags, fill up the sippy cups, brush our teeth, coats on and out the door.

Stop to get coffee....LARGE coffee. Thank you Jesus for drive-thrus and coffee.

Off to school...get there in about 15-25 minutes depending on traffic. I won't give you a blow-by-blow off the ride. You can thank me later.

When I get there, time to get them all inside the building. Drop off J's Epi-Pen in the locked cabinet, he takes care of himself from there on. Drop off A with his teacher, take off his jacket, sit him down for morning snack, if he wants it. Invariably he follows me into Baby M's room where I talk to M's teacher and give her the lowdown - what time she last ate, when she last slept and any other pertinent news. I then try to leave which can be a challenge depending on A's mood and how many hugs and kisses J wants to give me.

Luckily, the daycare center is across the street from my office so I can be in my office just as my 2-1/2 hours of "free time" comes to a close.

I don't have to give you a breakdown of the evenings do I? Suffice to say that they're like the mornings, only in reverse.

Now, where, I ask you, do They want me to fit things like exercise? quiet reflection on my day? sex? shiny sinks?

I can't answer this last question. It's getting time for my bedtime. I must get 8 hours, They told me so.

Can this be a Mommy blog AND a house blog?

And maybe every once in a while, a Good Recipe, a My Journey on Weight Watchers and/or a Whatever Else Comes to Mind Blog?

I'm so addicted to house blogs. I'm thrilled that Aaron and Jeannie of House in Progress started HouseBlogs. It means I can get my fix all in one place. Well..that and I do still check out what's happening at Drue's place on Brickman House. And and also over at Enon Hall. I'm in awe of folks like Teague and Mindy of Fixer-Upper or Ryan and Lisa of Raise the Ranch who, as far as I can tell, have no business renovating like they do. They appear to be your average, normal people who have no more construction background than I do. And yet they plunder ahead and work on their homes as though they know exactly what they're doing - even when they don't. I love it. It gives me hope.

My home is completely devoid of character. I mean I like it. The neighborhood is great (there's a pool and a playground - neither of which is all that great all the time because we live in Pittsburgh). There's tons and tons of space for the kids to play. But...let's face it. It was built in 1966. Does that explain it all? Your basic, average, suburban development house built in the late 60s. We were fortunate in that the prior homeowners replaced the roof, the air conditioning, the driveway and the furnace! Yeah! What they didn't replace was miles and miles and miles and miles of wallpaper. And high gloss shiny white paint...everywhere there isn't wallpaper. Including the ceiling. The mind boggles at all the shininess. But there is no character to the house. None. Nowhere. I've checked. It's devoid of character. Which I knew when we bought it but still ... sometimes I miss my old house built in 1948 with big, wide moldings around the windows. 6" baseboards with the electrical outlets actually in the baseboards. Crown molding in all the rooms. Plaster walls (well, I don't really miss those that much. It was always a bitch to hang anything). The cobblestone street in front of the house....sigh.

And now...my daughter's wailing has reminded me that I am a Mommy. With very little time to renovate. And so maybe it's good that I live in my characterless suburban house from the 60s. I can inject a little more character into it slowly but surely. And I can catch snippets of house renovators on House Blogs...

An M by any other name still smells as sweet

Bathtime girl

My little M just loves bathtime. To tell you the truth, it's second only to that early morning nursing/cuddling session for me. The whole ritual starts with us peeking around the corner into the mirror in the bathroom. When we spot our reflections in the mirror, we have to squeal with delight. Well, I squeal. M's smile spreads quickly across her face and I'm treated to her big gummy grin.

We sit down on the edge of the bathtub and turn on the water. M starts bucking back and forth with excitement. Makes it somewhat of a challenge to get her clothes off. We finally do and she practically leaps into the tub.

In the tub, she's like a Weeble Wobble. She teeters back and forth on her bottom eagerly reaching and grabbing for her toys. Everything, and I mean, everything goes into her mouth. Every once in a while she slaps the water and looks so surprised when the water actually splashes her in the face. And then...she hurls herself backwards completely trusting that I'll be there to catch her. While she's lying back she tries to roll back and forth completely enjoying the feeling of the water shooshing through her hair. And every time I try to sit her back up, she hurls herself back.

The only thing better for M than bathtime with Mom is bathtime with her brothers, A and J. There's just ain't nothin' better as far as she's concerned.

After the bath is over, I wrap her up in a big bath towel and dry her off. And then I make sure she's covered completely in lotion (we have such a problem with eczema in this family). And once she's in her jammies and her soft, fine hair is dry...then..well, then it's my favorite part. I just hold her and smell her. And there just isn't anything in the world that smells as good as my M after a bath. I'm willing to lay bets on that.

He's 5!

When the hell did that happen?

J is 5 (well, truth be told, he's 5 and 2 months). That means that kindergarten is looming upon us. That means I have to grow up and be an adult. I don't think I'm ready. Ladies in the PTA scare me. Do you watch Desperate Housewives? Did you see Lynette take on the bully PTA lady?. I'm not as ballsy as Lynette. Sure, I talk a good game. I can puff up with the best of them. But when it comes right down to it. I. Am. A. Wimp.

Kindergarten registration is next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! I'm not ready. I have to have things like his immunization records (he's had three pediatricians in 5 years - any chance, all his records are in one place?) and his birth certificate! What?! I think it's in our safe deposit box.

Because we live in a fairly well-off suburb, I'm assuming that there will be all these perfectly-coiffed and manicured mothers stepping out of their SUVs with all the appropriate paperwork in color-coordinated binders. They'll know exactly which door to enter the school and which hallway to go down to find the right room. They'll already have all the appropriate forms filled out and checks in hand. Me...I'll be a bumbling idiot. I'll forget that I have to pump until about 30 minutes before registration starts. I'll come racing in with breastmilk stains on my shirt and likely, my nursing bra, will be unlatched and one of my colossal breasts will be flailing around in the wind (what a picture, no?). I'll go in the wrong door and get hopelessly lost trying to find the office. I'll probably get detention.

I hear all these horror stories about school. Moms who keep their precious Juniors back because they're sure he can't handle kindergarten. Moms who bully the principals into getting their kid into morning (or afternoon, whichever is better) sessions. Teachers who are scary. I mean, how am I supposed to navigate all that and still be a semi-sane mom?

My parents were very hands-off when it came to school. If I got detention or otherwise in trouble, it was assumed that the teacher was right and I deserved what I got. If I needed help on homework, they pointed me in the direction of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My mom did help with math but only to explain terms or to check my work. But never...and I mean never...would they have done my homework for me. They had better things to do than their kids' homework. And more importantly, it was my homework, not theirs. They attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and recitals but I don't think they ever volunteered in our classrooms (a fact that I'm sure I greatly appreciated as I got into junior and senior high school). And my mom could have done so. She was a stay-at-home mom and/or a work-from-home mom for my entire childhood. She just didn't feel it was necessary.

I'd like to be the same way but I'm sensing from friends that have older kids that that's not the way that it is anymore. A colleague routinely, and I mean routinely, does his son's homework for him. The kid is 10 and, I think, should be responsible enough to pack his own backpack up every night and make sure his homework is in there. He doesn't. His parents do it. This colleague told a story one time about how a teacher admonished his son for not having a particular piece of homework in his bag. My colleague was indignant and called the teacher and proceeded to blast her because she should have been yelling at him, not his son, as he packed his son's bags. Um...when is he going to learn personal responsibility?

Anyway. The registration is on Tuesday. I'm quite sure that it will be anti-climactic but still...I'll be up worrying about it until then. (Well, I'll be up but that's probably because we're trying to get A to understand that while we love her dearly, her presence in our bed is really starting to affect our marriage negatively and it's starting to affect my psyche very negatively and we would really appreciate it, please, if she would start sleeping in her own crib. Or at least start out there...I do really enjoy those early morning cuddles and nursing sessions).

Random things I think about

I was reading Indigo Girl's post about ODP v CDP (of which I am most definitely a CDP) and I started thinking about an old boyfriend who was an ODP! Horrifying. He used to call me into the bathroom to chat while he was ... taking care of business. And while he was, and I'm sure still is, a nice guy, I resolved to never ever ever date anyone again who was an ODP. Luckily, my sweet husband is a CDP and in fact, we're both CD Pee'ers as well....and that's how you really know if you're compatible with someone.

Then that got me thinking about work. I work in your basic office park building - five stories. Male and female bathrooms on each floor. I have NO idea what men are like when they use a public restroom to take care of ... um ... #2. Women, however, would just as soon pretend that they're doing anything else in the stall than pooping.

There is nothing worse than getting to the bathroom to take care of business and finding out that the bathroom is not empty. Worse still is getting to the bathroom, finding it empty, getting ready to ... well ... release and then someone comes in. And then, the waiting begins. If you're lucky, the other person just needs to pee and will be done in a jiffy. If you're not, you and she are going to have to duke it out, so to speak, to see who can outlast the other one. I've yet to lose. Then I start giggling wondering if anyone's ever sat there so quietly for so long that the motion-sensor lights in the bathroom have turned off and left them sitting there on the throne in the pitch black.

These are the things that amuse me.

As an update: I declined to interview for the position that the headhunter called me for. I told him that if they'd consider some type of flex arrangement, I'd be happy to talk to them but that I really didn't want anything full time right now. They clearly weren't interested because he then asked me if I knew of anyone else who could fill the position.

My new nail guns...ain't they purty?

I get to be a Jane.

My sweet husband got me a nail gun for Valentine's Day. And not just any nail gun - a whole nail gun kit that comes with a brad nailer AND a staple attachment. I'm so excited. I'm running around trying to figure out what I can nail first...he's hoping it's him (yuck...yuck...yuck)

Are you a Jane?

I soooo want to be a Jane.

www.be-jane.com

I seriously want a table saw or a nail gun for Valentine's Day.

What do I want to be when I grow up

So I get a call from a head hunter who had previously recruited me for a job with a tech company in Boston. This was in the fall and they were all "Hurry up and get up here. Have to meet you. Want to interview you." So I did.

And it was no small feat. I had just returned from maternity leave with no vacation days to my credit. B was going out of town. M was only 4 months old. I'd never left her overnight. So, my Dad drives from Connecticut to Pittsburgh to watch the kids. B goes out of town. I leave on the absolute last flight out of Pittsburgh to Boston. Get in around midnight after the Red Sox won their division championship. Pump with a pathetic breast pump in the hotel. Interview all day the next day (pumping in between interviews!) and then take a flight back. And then....nothing. That's right...nothing. Not even a "Thanks. We hired the other candidate." Nothing.

So, the head hunter calls because they have a position open that would report to the position for which I'd previously interviewed. In all fairness, the first position was kind of a stretch for me in terms of experience so I don't know that I'd feel weird about working for a woman with whom I competed for a job.

But here's the thing. Since I interviewed with that tech company I finagled a new work arrangement at my current job. I work 3 10-hour days and have two days off. And I like that. I like having two days to get all those nitpicky things done around the house that need doing. You know...laundry. Drycleaning. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. I don't know if making a whole lot more money is worth it.

In other news.

J makes me laugh.

J: "Mom, can I please watch Buzz Lightyear.

Me: "J! No. I'm sick to death of you sitting on your bum watching tv, or playing video games or playing computer games. You need to move around and play. No more tv!"

Cut to 5 hours later.

J: "Mom. Could we watch a Buzz after dinner?"

Me (exasperated): "J!"

J: "What? I'll stand up."

Me: "Huh?"

J: "You said you didn't want me sitting on my bum anymore"

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good, she was very, very good.
And when she was bad, she was horrid.

So the story goes, anyway. And so now, I blog.

If a person blogs and no one reads it, does it mean anything?