Wednesday, September 26, 2012

SuperMom vs Germy McSnotface

We just experienced The Kid's first illness. No biggie, you say. Oh lest you forget my friends? We're FTPs. First time parents.

I've been awake for 72 hours with one hand permanently attached to The Kid's forehead like my palm had freaky mom powers that could detect the slightest change in temperature. If I were a superhero this week, that would've been my super power. I lost my cool super powers like being able to produce free drinks using only my boobs long ago. Now I'm SuperMom: faster than projectile vomit, stronger than a baby trying to yank the thermometer out of his bumhole, able to leap piles of laundry in a single bound. Lamest.superhero.ever.

Our first reaction, of course, was to flip our shit, race to the closest hospital and demand expensive medical testing. Then hunt down the parents of the child who got The Kid sick and unleash fire upon their souls. After briefly being held hostage by batshit crazy, we decided to wait it out and take him to the doctor in the morning. We are still currently trying to track down Germy McSnotface's parents and sneeze directly into their eyeballs. Too much?

We did spend a small fortune at CVS stockpiling any bottle of anything that looked like it could remotely make our child feel better. They could have scribbled "magic juice" on a piece of paper, slapped it on a gallon of milk and I would have paid $20 for it.

Also, I think my pediatrician may break up with me. Which is devastating, particularly because we just started really getting to know each other. We were having a good time, ya know. Not getting too serious. Just seeing each other occasionally. Then I blew it. I think I scared her off. Calling her all the time. Begging for her to come live with me. Did you know your pediatrician can't come live with you? She said can't, but I'm pretty sure she just won't. There's the real problem with healthcare in this country. Lack of commitment.

Honestly, The Kid was pretty sick but he handled it like a trooper. He did score three whole nights of sleepovers and all night buffets. And kicked dad out of the big bed. And puked on dad's last remaining pillow on the couch. Baby winning.

In retrospect, I knew he'd be okay. And I know I have many more weird kid germ sick days in my future, but I can't help but want to protect him from everything that may cause him pain. I'd take a bullet for this little guy. I get it now. I know. Welcome to parenthood, genius. Sometimes this whole parenting thing has to punch me directly in the face for me to learn a lesson.

Oh sweet Jesus no. My husband just coughed. It can't be. Anything but this. Not flu.

I quit.

Friday, September 21, 2012

A Day in the Life: Murdering Caterpillars, Fart Noises and Run DMC

So sometimes I'm not really sure what to do with this short chubby cute little guy that I have to care for on a daily basis.

My kiddo. He is precious, but I think he gets kind of creeped out when I lovingly stare at him for hours. Sometimes I think when he's 16, I'll sneak into his room and lovingly stare at him while he's sleeping just to freak him out. Then I'll scream his ear and wake him up for payback. Cause I'm the mama and I can.

And he's kinda over just lying there staring at the bird mobile on his bouncy chair. Oh those were the days! I tried to put him in it again last week and he threatened to call CPS on my ass.

I mean, we do the usual. Ya know, cover the basics...feed him, change him, bathe him, keep him from offing himself for the eleventh time in an hour.

Then we do some playtime. Or I try to convince him to play with the hundreds of dollars in toys in his toy bucket and he plays with the Tupperware top and the Venetian blinds instead.

Then we sing. Or I sing and he bangs his Tupperware top on the dog's head and tries to chew on the computer power cord. Again.

Then we go outside for a stroll around the park. Or I stroll and he screams from his stroller to be let out. Then eats 2 leaves, gets a rash from the grass, kills a caterpillar and tries to eat it, crawls into dog poo, climbs on the slide and gets knocked over by a toddler, cries, steals someone's sippy cup, practices velociraptor screams, get tired and cries again.

Then we do some learning. Or I teach him his ABCs, how to count his toes, have a Hebrew lesson, read him a book and he makes fart noises with his mouth. And tries to eat the book.

After The Kid's half-hearted attempt at a game of peek-a-boo this morning, I decided we needed a change. Now I don't have much experience in kid friendly activities to draw from, but do have a whole heck of a lot of down time shenanigans from college.

Dance party it is.

A whole lotta Beatles, a little 90s pop, a touch of Run DMC, Lynard Skynard and some Queen. Singing It's Tricky to my 9 month old: not my finest parenting moment. But it was fun. And my child's giggles filling the living room was music to my ears.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

The Liebster Award...kind of like an Oscar

Oh, thank you, thank you. No, please sit down. Okay, keep applauding. I'll just stand here and bask. I'll keep talking through the music drowning out my acceptance speech making it just really God awful awkward for everyone. Maybe I'll have a wardrobe malfunction accidently on purpose and you can see that ahem...these are in fact real.  And bloody fantastic.

I'll invite my fellow nominees to the stage and graciously call them the real winners while secretly flipping them the bird in my head.  Of course, I'll have to thank my mom and dad and The Big Guy Upstairs. I'll forget to thank my husband.  But that's okay, he'll get really jealous of my new found success and fame then file for divorce in a month anyway.

Wait, that's for my Oscar...

This is my Liebster Award...gah.  So many to keep up with.

My hilarious and brave friend (she's got 5 kids people...5! That she homeschools!) over at Diapers...or Wine presented me with this award.  I'm so humbled by it since she is quite possibly in my top 3 of funniest people in the entire universe.  Thank you for the honor.

Alrighty now to the Liebster Award acceptance speech.

11 quirky facts about yours truly:

1. I tell everyone I'm 5' tall.  I'm a lying liar who lies.

2. No matter how many taco seasoning packets or bags of spinach we have, I think we don't have any and always buy more.  We have 5 taco seasoning packets in the pantry right now. We rarely eat tacos.

3. I have an irrational phobia of frogs.  God got it wrong when he made those spawns of the devil.

4. My wedding was during a category 2 hurricane. Cause I'm a badass mofo. I'm the Chuck Norris of brides.

5. I wreck my car...a lot.  The only original piece of my last car was the driver's side door and the side mirrors.  That's it.  Of course it's never my fault. Last week, the garage door actually rammed my bumper. I swear.

6. I am a little OCD about time.  I can't wake up unless the minute is divisible by 5.  Sometimes my husband sets my alarm for 7:03 just to screw with me. I'm just a little crazy, ya'll. Not a lot crazy.

7. I played on soccer in Europe when I was 15. And when I say played soccer, I mean got drunk for the first time and the second time and the third time.

8. I keep Kosher even though I'm not Jewish.  <----- Have fun with that one.

9. I've rarely taken off my wedding ring in the past 4 years. Mostly because I can't get the damn thing off. I'm for reals. That sucker is stuck good. I have a feeling the husband did that on purpose.

10. I'm a serial blogger along with being a serial hobbyist. I lived in Israel for a year recently and it was the best year of my life. Of course I had to blog about that too.( is my now defunct blog if you are at all interested.  You're not? Oh, okay then.)

11. I HATE moving, yet we've moved 7 times in 10 years.  Getting ready for #8 as we speak.

11 Questions I have to Answer:

1.) If you could be a celebrity for a day, who would it be?
I probably should say someone awesomely talented or insanely rich. But let's be honest here: Blake Lively, because she gets to schtoop Ryan Reynolds.

2.) Who would you rather have dinner with, Oprah, Jenny McCarthy, or Lady Gaga?
Oprah. So I could woo her with my winning personality and convince her to give me a couple mil. Plus I'd have to throat punch Jenny McCarthy and gouge out my own eardrums with a q-tip if I had to listen to Lady Gaga actually talk.  

3.) Favorite movie?
Wall-E.  I freakin' love that movie. Or Princess Bride.  I freakin' love that movie, too. I'm a child, I know.

4.) Someone gives you a new, perfect home. Catch is, you have to leave EVERYTHING. Can't take one thing, not a picture, not a pillow. What do you do?
I wouldn't take it. Even though I complain about my piles of crap all over my house, I couldn't live without my beloved crap. Can I leave behind my husband's piles of crap instead and still take the house? That seems fair.

5.) The drink you could not live without?
Coffee, yep even over boxed wine. I'm a monster without my coffee. Makes me all sweaty palmed and sick just thinking I couldn't have coffee. But, I could quit anytime I wanted. Don't give me that side-eye...I could.

6.) What should you be doing with all the time you spend on Twitter or your blog?
Oh...laundry, eating, making homemade baby food, cooking gourmet meals for the hubby, finishing any of the gajillion projects I have, charity work, reading something intellectual, learning Hebrew, doing something to earn an income, earning my Master's Degree, brushing up on my presidential candidates to make an informed decision. Ya know, nothing of any value really.

7.) WORST movie you have ever-ever seen where you want your life back?
Probably Showgirls for obvious reasons, but V for Vendetta is pretty close.  Not because its a bad movie, its actually pretty good, but because its my husband's favorite movies and I've seen it 42 times. Besides chocolate and sex, nothing is good after that many times. And sex is iffy.

8.) Most amazing thing that has ever happened to you?
Having my baby boy of course. Living abroad is second.

9.) What kind of wedding dress did you wear (or prom dress if wedding doesn't apply)?
It was a classic strapless, form fitting beautiful cream colored dress with scalloped lace edges. If I could still fit in it, I'd wear it around the house to vaccum and do the dishes. That would get me a one way ticket to the loony bin from the husband for sure.

10.) Fave song of all time?
You are my Sunshine.  My mama sang it to me and I sing it to The Kid. He loves it.

11.) Partridge Family or Brady Bunch?
Patridge Family. The Brady Bunch creeps me out. I think there are some filthy Brady secrets behind those smiling faces and I don't like it one bit. Sickos.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

On this Episode of Intervention...

I've always wanted to have a super cool hobby. Something that I'm pretty good at, keeps me from staring at the ceiling fan like a loon and generally occupies what little time I have left in the 24 hours I'm not feeding, cleaning, teaching, caring, folding, making, driving, playing, cooking, changing, wiping, bathing and all those other present participles I do. So, in reality a hobby I can spend about 3 minutes on per day.

In my pursuit of finding this super cool hobby, I've been a bit of a hobby collector. Is that a hobby?

I'll admit it. I'm standing up today in front of you and saying: Hi my name is The Mama and I'm a serial hobbyist. Of all the serial things one could be, I think I chose the best one.

As all good addicts do, I'm totally blaming my parents. I think my hobbying problem started as a child. I was involved in a lot of after school activities. And I was awesome at all of them. No, seriously. I was like some Super Kid with unmatched abilities and talents flowing out my awesome ass. Ballet? Awesome. Gymnastics? Awesome. Soccer? Awesome. Choir? Awesome. Drama? Awesome.

Oh how the mighty hath fallen. I was once great you know. Now I'm that pathetic lady living out her days recounting stories to anyone in earshot about that game winning goal in the U-10 league soccer championship. Go Guppies! Ever since I've been trying to feel that feeling again. My 9-year-old self kicks my 30-year-old self's ass at everything.

Tried ballet again. That lasted for 2 whole classes before I tore my calf muscle in the middle of a grand jete. Career ending injury. There was a disagreement between my head and body about my awesomeness. Body won.

I was mini-Martha Stewart for a half second while I was pregnant. I was craftin' the shit outta stuff. High on Modge Podge. Hot gluing hottie. Then I discovered Pinterest. That website broke my spirit. Well maybe it was partially Pinterest and partially my poor cutting skills. I've never been good at cutting in a straight line. Honest to God, check my report card. I actually failed cutting in kindergarten. It's my Achilles heel.

Thought I could take up drawing. Dreams of gallery openings flashed in my head. I have a hand. I have a fancy, ridiculously expensive charcoal pencil set and some paper. I can draw. Right? Wrong. Apparently drawing takes some talent and an "eye" for that crap...whatever that means.

I think I lost all my talent when I was 12. Maybe puberty hit and my talent just disappeared. Or went straight to my boobs.

You name it, I've tried it. Baking? Suck. Tennis? Suck. Kickboxing? Suck. Photography? Suck. Well, I'm still pretty convinced I could be the next Ansel Adams but my cheapo husband refuses to shell out the gajillions of dollars I need for a camera and won't let me turn our linen closet into a dark room. Something about the ever growing pile of useless hobbying tools in the garage.

I have convinced him to buy me a sewing machine so I can try my hand at quilting. I think that's just because he dreams of having a wife that will cook and sew for him instead of tell him to pick up pizza again and make sarcastic comments about him in her blog. Buuuut, he knew what he was marrying 6 years beforehand. Do not feel bad for him.

Jack of all trades? Addiction? ADHD? Maybe a bit of it all. Really there's not much I can do if I really did lose al my talent at age 12. I should just stick to what I know...blogging and drinking wine. On the bright side, if all that talent did go to my boobs-totally worth it for all the free drinks I've had. I may be talentless but I've had a damn good time.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Vacationing: Not for the Weak

We're ba-ack! Vacation, or a slightly more stressful week spent with in-laws sleeping on a pullout couch and sharing a bathroom with 4 other adults as I like to call it, was more or less as expected.

Although this vacation didn't leave me with that post-holiday refreshed and revived feeling, I did learn some important vacationing with The Kid lessons.

1. The stroller line at security and pre-boarding are reasons enough to have kids. Oh you've been waiting for 2 hours in this line? Haha. See ya suckas!

2. The Kid thinks vacation means "kicking daddy out of the big bed and getting an all night boob buffet" All week.

3. When your brother in law suggests you hike New England's tallest mountain with your 25 lb baby...overnight...laugh silently at his naiveté then let him carry the baby around the mall for 30 minutes. Bask in his repentance.

4. Fact: Maple syrup by the tablespoon is not a good breakfast alternative for an 8 month old. Somehow grandparents, even those who are medical professionals, do not believe this fact.

5. Even though your child has never woken up at 6:00 am before, inevitably he will wake up every single morning of vacation at 6:00 am. Bribery is not effective at this age. But eye gouging is effective at waking mommy up.

6. Airplane windows and elderly Russian women's fur coats can provide hours of entertainment on a plane. Side note: Elderly Russian women do not like sticky baby fingers and snotty baby faces on their fur coats.

7. Even though your child has never screamed in his car seat before, inevitably he will scream at the top of his lungs for 30 minutes straight while you are lost in the middle of nowhere on a damn mountain with zero phone service. Fun times.

8. Listen to your husband when he says you'll regret feeding the baby those refried beans at lunch. Just trust me on this one.

9. Don't play Monopoly with my husband. He's a fascist.

10. Personal space is a concept lost on 8 month olds. Peeing on your aunt the first time you meet her, reaching over to run your fingers through a stranger's long white beard, patting the back of a bald man's head and sticking your head through airplane seats to stare and velociraptor scream at the people behind us are all acceptable behavior to an 8 month old.