A Slippery Slope

I had fully anticipated this. I had ample warning. It’s common knowledge, after all.

Who among us isn’t aware that, at some point in our lives, we all transform into our mother?

Before we know it, we open our mouths and out pops dear ol’ Mom.

Eat your veggies! Drink you milk! Look before you cross and, for God’s sake, be home by nine!

However, as worrisome as this may sound, I fear the worst for myself.

I think I may have leapfrogged a generation.

You see, I am becoming my grandmother.

It all started with the simple purchase of a pair of elastic waistband pants, which was quickly followed by the discreet purchase of yet another pair….and then another. They’re just so comfy.

Of course, it made perfect sense to pick up the extra wide sensible shoes that matched the elastic waistband pants. Couldn’t pass those up. Since I was already in the shoe section, I figured I might as well buy some knee high nylons that were marked down 75%. Only a fool would pass up a sale like that.

And, since I was on a roll, who could blame me for snatching up the cozy cardigan which completed the whole ensemble?

Should I go back for the clip on pearl earrings, ya think?

These days, my oversized handbag is full of clipped coupons, Kleenexes and a broken pair of reading glasses……. Oh, there’s my missing knitting needle!

The other day, I somehow mistakenly checked out a book from the library with extra large print.

And I didn’t return it. So darn easy on the eyes.

I’m kinda under the radar about all this, but I am beginning to see the wisdom in comfort and the folly in vanity.

Who likes creeping satin panties anyway? Or stiff underwire? Itchy lace? Teetering high heels?

Not me.

Old age. It’s a slippery slope.

Somebody toss me a line??

I’ll wait over here on my rocker for a spell. Gonna knit me an afghan for the childuns.

Tinker 'Tude

She laid there sprawled across the chess board, hair in disarray and wings slightly bent.

“Tink! What are you doing here?”

From what I gathered, there was some sort of mix up during an afternoon cleanup in the playroom. A bit of a misfiling occurred. A misplacement of sorts. A goof. And, my suspicions were that my resident two year old was at the bottom of it somewhere.

Now, of course, Tink was full of complaints. She had spent the last four nights trapped in that Milton Bradely chess set and she wasn’t wasting any time letting me have it.

Didn’t I notice the light was not on in her teapot cottage?

Wasn’t I worried when her flower garden was looking wilty?

How did the children occupy themselves during her absence?

So, here we were. Me with my feather duster. She with an escalating fairy attitude. Nose to nose we were.

And, I heard her out. She certainly had a point.

It must have been a bit panicky locked in that box with all those faceless pawns, wondering when the next game night would occur.

However, I certainly cannot be held responsible for seeing that every toy is properly accounted for. Every. Single. Day.

So, I told her that. Plain and simple. No sugar coating…..

And so….

That’s how I ended up out here sitting on this toadstool in the backyard.

Ribbit.

Who would have thought a plastic fairy made in China could possess such a mean bag of tricks?

Mamma Aches...

“It’s from childbirth,” says my doctor after hearing my tirade about my uppity sciatic nerve.

“Pregnancy can do it to ya,” says my ophthalmologist as she writes me a stronger prescription for glasses.

“Bunions worsen with sudden weight gain,” says my foot doctor.

“Ya gotta stop bending at the waist to pick them up,” says my massage therapist as she wrestles with a knot in my back.

“Put some ice on it and elevate your feet,” advises my mom after I whack my shin on the toy bin.

“HUH?!” I say struggling to hear over the kids’ screams.

Mamma aches. It’s a new syndrome.

It does go away in time, doesn’t it?

And, can somebody pass me the aspirin?

Bloggy Orphans

I am a Stay at Home Mother. I have shelved my teaching career for a handful of precious years to attend to the needs of my little ducklings. I am happy to place their needs over our indulgences. I am filling their foundational years with my full attention and…

Not, now, sweetheart I am blogging…

and my greatest wish is that I use my years of teaching experience to mold their growing minds…

I said, not now. Go watch Dora.

Research states that the young mind grows more during the first five years than it does in our entire lifetime. In fact, there is a distinguishable difference in the minds of neglected children when compared to children who received at least “adequate” attention during these precious years. So, when you ask “Can we mold our children’s minds?”

Big girls go potty by themselves…

I say, yes, yes, we can mold our children’s minds. No, we need not become flash card wielding paranoid mothers. Pressure and over scheduling can be detrimental as well. But, a quiet moment cuddled up with mommy and a book…

You know where the Cheerios are! Gimme a minute!

…a morning in the park, pausing for a moment to enjoy the meandering line of ants under the tree…

I don’t know where Mr. Socky went…..

A day in the library browsing through books, enjoying a morning Mommy and Me class, a playdate with friends….All these activities help contribute to your child’s growing social skills, intellectual development, language and vocabulary acquisition and emotional well being.

Yes I see the Kitty. I know.I know. Kitty Kitty! Nice kitty!

Small attention to the details of their day, listening to their thoughts, focusing on their interests, engaging them in conversation, re-enforcing good behavior, allowing them the luxury of knowing that mommy will always be there…

Ssssssss! Can’t you see I am WORKING?!

All of these things lay the foundation upon which an entire life stands firmly, well grounded and secure. Ah, to grow up in a home under the watchful eye of an attentive, loving mother

STOP BUGGING ME!!

PS. Note to Social Services…..I am prone to exaggeration.

Battle of the Remote Control

Alright, ladies and Gents….In case you just joined us, We’re going for Round 2 in the WWW Sweetheart Battle of the remote control. In the last round, hubby pinned his sweetie to the couch landing on ESPN for a total of 30 seconds.

Wifey’s up and ready for round 2. She’s doing a quick cat stretch in the kitchen and ….she’s coming back into the ring…..Oh, this lady’s feisty. She has him in a wicked lip lock. Distraction is her game. His grip is loosening. Ouch! He’s dropped the remote. Wifey does a nosedive under the coffee table. She’s in possession. She’s in possession. This is quickly taking a turn for the manly worse. Oh, she’s hitting that volume button. The Soap Opera channel?? Gulp.

“Oh, Thor! Thank you for rescuing me from falling off that icy cliff. You know, in this light I can see our future when I look into your eyes….”

The man’s playing dirty pool. He stepped out of the ring and hit the channel button on the TV. Rookie move. Wifey’s calling foul. A penalty for hubby.

Back to the couch they go. Hubby’s performing a foot rub (his penalty). This is gonna be a slow game tonight, ladies and gents…..sorta like watching a defensive struggle on Monday Night Football Wha…Wait a minute, just wait one minute…..Wifey’s eyes are drooping. Oh! She can’t keep them open. Come on, fella! Is she nodding off mid-game? Ya got your opening. Is he going for it!? Come on, buddy, my granny could pull this one off! Just like stealing candy from a baby. She’s sawing logs, bud. Take advantage.…. There he goes….He’s….I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes….he’s pushing the buttons while the remote is still in her tight grip…Master maneuover.

“Biff! Biff! Smack! You motha…f******!”

And he scores the Sopranos! This just may be a win for all manhood… Bada Boom, Bada Bing…Kids in bed. Wife snoozing. A full stomach and we got Tony and his crew! This may be a hall of famer moment!

Note to hubby…I know I got the sports lingo messed up. That’s what makes it fernnnyy!

Top of the List

I am a list maker.

I make weekly To-Do lists, grocery lists, laundry lists and errand lists. There’s also birthday lists, doctor lists, and grooming lists. Of course, let’s not forget the Honey- Do list.

It’s my attempt to keep on top of things.

It makes me feel in control, at the mommy wheel and commander-in-chief-ish.

To say the least.

If there’s a lost errand, rambling about loosely, undone, unaccounted for and undocumented, I hurriedly shoo it in the direction of said lists.

“Now, now, haircut, you’re not going to get the best of me this season. Go find your place at the top of the list.”

“Ah, dental cleaning….go stand in line with the vaccinations. And, not such a sour face, please. I promise I won’t put you off much longer.”

“And, where do you think you’re sneaking off to, Ms. Mammogram? Hmmmm? OK, Ok, you can stand at the end of the line, but no more hiding out with Mr. Pap.”

My list making does consume quite a bit of my time. In fact, I spend much of my day overseeing these lists.

“I know, I know, Oil Change. Your point is duly noted. Pops will receive a memo with his coffee.”

“And, sorry, Mildew in the Shower. We’ll have to take you off any and all lists until further notice. Check back when the kids are enrolled in school.”

“Pedicure, pedicure. I understand you’ve been shuffled and reshuffled. But, there’s no getting around it. End of the line with you!”

“I know, I know Mr. Date Night. You’ve been parked last in line far too long. How about I upgrade you to a Quickie and we call it even?”

What with the managing of all these personalities, it’s a wonder anything gets done around here.

Good thing I have lists.

New parent

Please check out my guest post on New Parent. It's a great new site with lots of information for parents.

Murder by Vacuum

So, it all started with the best intentions, really.

I was doing a little vacuuming in the playroom. Now, if I had noticed the pink feather boa cascading on to the ground, I could have avoided the whole fiasco.

But, I didn’t. And, so it happened.

Immediately, my high power Dyson vacuum violently sucked the boa halfway up into its bowels, causing a flurry of feathers, a burning smell and a high pitched whine to emit from my most beloved appliance.

Luck was with me (kinda) as it happened my girls were occupied downstairs and did not bear witness to the blunder.

Eager to cover up my crime, I pulled the vacuum to my room, boa firmly attached, trailing and bouncing behind. My cats began dive bombing the tail end of the boa, eager to help finish off the kill, I suppose. Shooing, them away, I hid the whole kit and caboodle deep in my closet and returned to the scene of the crime.

Assorted feathers were scattered on the floor and another kitty was making a feast of the situation.

Having heard my cursings, hubs was quick on the scene with the girls hot on his heels. I tried to stop him, but he was fast footed and eager to help. The feather strewn trail and burning aroma led him to the closet. Opening the closet door, he allowed a cat to escape. The cat coincidentally had firm hold of the boa and dragged the entire…um…situation out into full exposure.

As my daughters shrieked, a cat began regurgitating a feathery, glittery mass at our feet.

I, of course, stepped into the sticky muck. Hubs muffled a giggle. The cats fought over the boa’s carcass. And, the girls won a free trip to the toy aisle at Walmart.

Murder by vacuum.

At least it was quick.

And, kinda G rated, really, if ya think about it.

Sweep it, Sister!

"I sweep,” My toddler furrowed her brow as she pushed her plastic broom across the Lego littered floor.

“Clean up, clean up. Everybody, everywhere…” My preschooler had discovered my fluffy fuchsia feather duster and was boisterously bouncing around the room in search of cobwebs and dust bunnies.

And, where was I, you ask?

I was directing traffic from my perch on the couch, novel in one hand and a Cadbury egg in the other.

“Over there, darling, over there. The dust bunnies are under the sofa…”

“Atta, girl. Kick those Legos back into the closet.”

“We’ll have this place in ship shape in not time…Hand me the remote, would ya?”

Hallmark moments such as this are few and far between.

Gotta drink it up when you can. Live in the moment. Linger in the sweetness.

‘Cuz these kids can turn on a dime.

“Mommy! I hungry!”

“She won’t give it back!”

“I potty!”

“AHHHHH!”

Stick that!

My daughters love stickers. They put them everywhere.

On books. On paper. On car seats. On themselves.

In purses. In boxes. In shoes. In backpacks.

It’s highly addictive.

And, their dealers are everywhere.

The Target cashier.

The pediatrician.

The dentist.

Trader Joe’s, even.

Usually, they are in sticker heaven enjoying their stash.

Stick.

Stick.

Stick.

But, the other day, a monkey wrench was thrown in their direction.

“Mamma. Fix!” My toddler’s eyes filled with tears.

“Mommy, it won’t unstick. It’s broken!” My preschooler was mortified.

It was quite the sticker conundrum.

A bit of a sticker orgy, really.

Clinging to each other, the stickers were in a sticker game of Twister.

An impossible situation.

I eyed the garbage, but thought better of it.

“We’ll take these stickers to the sticker hospital. The Sticker Doctor will fix it up.” I nodded enthusiastically.

Then, after a quick late night trip to Target, we replaced the mangled stickers and it was another winning mamma moment for me.

Sure, hubs felt silly at the check out stand. “Sticker, please.”

But, he’s beginning to learn to roll with the pink and polka dot punches around here.

If ya know what I mean….