Alright kids, here we go. Am I just a mom who struggles with kindergarten and keeping things off the living room floor? No. I’m a working mom with career goals. Over the years have they changed? Well yeah. My priorities have changed.
Do I want to rule the world? Well, I already do. I’m the final say on the outfits in our house. On the tv shows, when friends can come over, when friends must go, who gets a bath when, how much food “counts” as a dinner, and a plethora of other items.
Do I want to rule another world? Not so much anymore. But I wouldn’t mind managing a small corner of it or at least being treated like I’m not an idiot. See? Change in priorities but completely doable, right?
So I’ve got a real problem with people strolling into my corner of the office (note: not my corner office) and trying to tell me how to do my job. Not so much if this is an actual boss or executive – but when you’ve worked here for 3 months and 2 years experience? I really don’t need to hear it. In fact, when I get these lectures from the new kiddo – who I shall refer to as DB from here on out – all I really hear is blah-blah-blah.
I know this Is a male dominated industry, but it still gives DB no right to speak to me or anyone else as if we’re inferior idiots to him. Most of what he says is wrong or at least slightly off base. He needs help with simple tasks non-stop. And answering a question once isn’t enough – we have to answer it at least 4 times a week, every week. There’s no learning when you know it all already, right? Not sure why he’s asking so many questions if he knows it all though….perhaps that’s part of my idiocy.
I have loved this job and my work at this company for the duration of my time here. Yes, there’s been hiccups along the way, every job has them. But now, to be degraded daily and spoken to like a child (did I mention I’m college educated in this industry with 10 years experience?) is disgusting. To get no assistance from any level of management in correcting this when dealing with it personally didn’t work is disheartening.
My choice from the execs? Sit here and take that – or I can be demoted to another department. One where my brain will slowly rot and my co-workers will wonder, what on earth happened to me? I’ll keep my pay but ever moving up will be even more of a challenge.
Do I swallow my pride and continue being treated like garbage?
Do I just leave the situation and stress for something I can do in my sleep?
Do I try to find another company and job I’d love like I’ve loved this one?
What do I tell my kids if I take the demotion?
What WOULD I tell my kids if this were them?
What would you do?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Granola doesn't mean death!
I don't recall if its been mentioned but my son, who is five, has life threatening allergic reactions to any peanuts, some of their legume cousins, and tree nuts. Its a bit of a double edged sword. On one hand, these items are easy to work around in my kitchen. He used to also be allergic to dairy, eggs, soy, all legumes (I'm talking green beans, peas, etc), and cinnamon. Having outgrown most of those, working to cook without nuts and peanuts is easy.
Finding food "off the shelf" or visiting restaurants? Still sucks.
So its my mission in life to give him variety. And a semblence of normalcy. And to understand that he needs to be vigilant, but we can deal with this.
With school starting up, I wanted him to be able to take a granola bar to school with him along with his juice, sandwich, trail mix (another homemade safe recipe!) and fruit. I want options for him, not just the same old lunch every day. However, the next time you're in the granola aisle at the store - spend 45 minutes reading every box from every granola bar maker - you won't find one he can eat.
Thankfully, I'm determined :) And this was really an easy recipe.
B-Safe Granola
Ingredients
2 cups rolled oats
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup wheat germ
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup raisins (optional)
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup honey
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Generously grease a 9x13 inch baking pan.
2. In a large bowl, mix together the oats, brown sugar, wheat germ, cinnamon, flour, raisins and salt. Make a well in the center, and pour in the honey, egg, oil and vanilla. Mix well using your hands. Pat the mixture evenly into the prepared pan.
3. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes in the preheated oven, until the bars begin to turn golden at the edges. Cool for 5 minutes, then cut into bars while still warm. Do not allow the bars to cool completely before cutting, or they will be too hard to cut.
I'll say, cut them while they're a little warm yet - but LET THEM COOL before you move them. Seemed to break less for me. B has never had granola before and thought they were ok but could maybe use some chocolate chips. Hey, I can oblige that - the rest of them IS pretty healthy. So we're trying them again this week with chocolate chips and I'll let you know the outcome!
Finding food "off the shelf" or visiting restaurants? Still sucks.
So its my mission in life to give him variety. And a semblence of normalcy. And to understand that he needs to be vigilant, but we can deal with this.
With school starting up, I wanted him to be able to take a granola bar to school with him along with his juice, sandwich, trail mix (another homemade safe recipe!) and fruit. I want options for him, not just the same old lunch every day. However, the next time you're in the granola aisle at the store - spend 45 minutes reading every box from every granola bar maker - you won't find one he can eat.
Thankfully, I'm determined :) And this was really an easy recipe.
B-Safe Granola
Ingredients
2 cups rolled oats
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup wheat germ
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup raisins (optional)
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup honey
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Generously grease a 9x13 inch baking pan.
2. In a large bowl, mix together the oats, brown sugar, wheat germ, cinnamon, flour, raisins and salt. Make a well in the center, and pour in the honey, egg, oil and vanilla. Mix well using your hands. Pat the mixture evenly into the prepared pan.
3. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes in the preheated oven, until the bars begin to turn golden at the edges. Cool for 5 minutes, then cut into bars while still warm. Do not allow the bars to cool completely before cutting, or they will be too hard to cut.
I'll say, cut them while they're a little warm yet - but LET THEM COOL before you move them. Seemed to break less for me. B has never had granola before and thought they were ok but could maybe use some chocolate chips. Hey, I can oblige that - the rest of them IS pretty healthy. So we're trying them again this week with chocolate chips and I'll let you know the outcome!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Poopwatch 2011
Update. The pricetag has been found. Poopwatch 2011 has come to an end.
It better not be called into action again.
It better not be called into action again.
I'm an archaeologist
While weekends may be for the mothers of school aged children to recoup from the trauma of elementary school....this does not apply to the mothers of babies.
I, unfortunately, am a member of both mother groups.
While the kindergarten antics have died down, the baby is making sure no one has a boring weekend. She's mobile now. I've become a carpet archaeologist looking out for every stray string, crumb, toy, marble, bead, or WHATEVER that the carpet seems to create overnight. I am having an affair with my vacuum - giving it more loving attention than I have been giving to my husband.
Yet last night, it happened. Not in my 5+ years of motherhood have I experienced this. I saw one of the ends of those little plastic "strings" that hold price tags on clothing on the floor. No idea where it came from. I started to go get it but before I could, she snatched it and ate it.
Then game the gagging and gasping as it went down, followed by her crying and gagging as I tried to get to it first and pull it out (I failed) and then the crying as it went down - you can't tell me that felt good.
So at 8 months old, before trying bread, milk, cookies, real meat, or anything that does not come in a prepackaged jar from the baby aisle, the baby ate plastic. And now my archaeological ambitions continue, only they've now moved to the diaper table as I tear apart every turd from this kid looking for the price tag.
And here I thought archaeology was all glamor and excitement like Indiana Jones. I'm in the Temple of Doom alright - but its much stinkier than I envisioned.
I, unfortunately, am a member of both mother groups.
While the kindergarten antics have died down, the baby is making sure no one has a boring weekend. She's mobile now. I've become a carpet archaeologist looking out for every stray string, crumb, toy, marble, bead, or WHATEVER that the carpet seems to create overnight. I am having an affair with my vacuum - giving it more loving attention than I have been giving to my husband.
Yet last night, it happened. Not in my 5+ years of motherhood have I experienced this. I saw one of the ends of those little plastic "strings" that hold price tags on clothing on the floor. No idea where it came from. I started to go get it but before I could, she snatched it and ate it.
Then game the gagging and gasping as it went down, followed by her crying and gagging as I tried to get to it first and pull it out (I failed) and then the crying as it went down - you can't tell me that felt good.
So at 8 months old, before trying bread, milk, cookies, real meat, or anything that does not come in a prepackaged jar from the baby aisle, the baby ate plastic. And now my archaeological ambitions continue, only they've now moved to the diaper table as I tear apart every turd from this kid looking for the price tag.
And here I thought archaeology was all glamor and excitement like Indiana Jones. I'm in the Temple of Doom alright - but its much stinkier than I envisioned.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Are you FREAKING SERIOUS?!
Day three.
This kindgergarten crap is starting to sound like a prison journal.
We made it to class. We were not NOT lost. However, the spiderman lunchbox was not as lucky. It made it to lunch. The dinosaur sandwich and trailmix were enjoyed thoroughly. But at the end of the day? The lunchbox is no where to be found.
At the end of day three.
I'm glad its the weekend. One more day of kindergarten this week and Momma may need to hit the bottle. Weekends aren't for the kids to recharge - its to give their mothers a break from the worrying, planning, and BUSINESS of kindergarten.
This kindgergarten crap is starting to sound like a prison journal.
We made it to class. We were not NOT lost. However, the spiderman lunchbox was not as lucky. It made it to lunch. The dinosaur sandwich and trailmix were enjoyed thoroughly. But at the end of the day? The lunchbox is no where to be found.
At the end of day three.
I'm glad its the weekend. One more day of kindergarten this week and Momma may need to hit the bottle. Weekends aren't for the kids to recharge - its to give their mothers a break from the worrying, planning, and BUSINESS of kindergarten.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
What's my name?
I thought that the first day of kindergarten would be the hardest. I was wrong. The second was worse. First, it was worst because I could not bring him. I could not hide around that corner and make sure it went ok. I had to let him be dropped off by my sister and then pray someone in the building found him before he accidentally passed himself off as the shortest third grader ever. I called after drop off time and my sister, a pro at this with a 1st grader in the same school, laughed about my neurotic worrying and assured me he made it to school just fine.
Then came the call at lunch.
"Mrs. P? Just calling to see why your son wasn't in school today."
"Not in school!? What do you mean NOT IN SCHOOL. He's there. Check all the rooms! HE IS THERE!"
"They have a sub and she took attendance and he's not there."
Now, its important to stop here and note that my son is a Junior, named after his dad. To save confusion (and in part because I wasn't 100% sold on the first name when he was born) we agreed to call him by his middle name. While all legal forms have his actual God-given name, he has never in his life been called or referred to by that. I used to joke that I wasn't sure he KNEW his real first name...turns out I was right.
"They have a sub? She's calling the wrong name. GO back and ask for him by his middle name..."
The secretary ran down, called out the middle name, and there was my sweet boy sitting at the table coloring a cat with all of his friends. Crisis averted. Again, never doubt the level of stress and concern your mother goes through on any given day without your knowledge.
She's freaking out over something possibly major often....and you're just coloring a cat.
Then came the call at lunch.
"Mrs. P? Just calling to see why your son wasn't in school today."
"Not in school!? What do you mean NOT IN SCHOOL. He's there. Check all the rooms! HE IS THERE!"
"They have a sub and she took attendance and he's not there."
Now, its important to stop here and note that my son is a Junior, named after his dad. To save confusion (and in part because I wasn't 100% sold on the first name when he was born) we agreed to call him by his middle name. While all legal forms have his actual God-given name, he has never in his life been called or referred to by that. I used to joke that I wasn't sure he KNEW his real first name...turns out I was right.
"They have a sub? She's calling the wrong name. GO back and ask for him by his middle name..."
The secretary ran down, called out the middle name, and there was my sweet boy sitting at the table coloring a cat with all of his friends. Crisis averted. Again, never doubt the level of stress and concern your mother goes through on any given day without your knowledge.
She's freaking out over something possibly major often....and you're just coloring a cat.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Kindergarten time
I did not disappear. Again. I just got busy. I'm not airing dirty laundry for the world to see but lets just say that Jimmy Carter would be proud of the fight and negotiations that went down between my ex and I to get the boy into kindergarten.
Two and a half weeks late.
In all fairness, it would have been only two weeks, but the child decided that after 6 months of stress and headaches, it would have been too cliche if he'd just, ya know, gone to school finally. Nothing like a hospital visit and case of pneumonia to slow things down. The ER doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I requested a note saying he's honestly sick...
"You want a doctor's note for missing TWO days of kindergarten?"
"Yes, yes I do. You have no idea."
Not so sure work would have believed the luck, or lack thereof, without some actual proof either. I swear I'm not a slacker employee nor a truant mother! We just apparently broke a mirror under a ladder when that damn black cat walked in front of us. But we made it. Two and a half weeks late.
We walked him up to school, showed him around, then turned him loose to play before school started. It was magical. It was going really well. Then, like any other overprotective mother that is having a hard time letting go, I hid around the corner to watch him do the locker/classroom morning routine.
I watched him awkwardly put his coat and backpack into the locker. Then stand there, completely overwhelemed and lost. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. I watched him carefully start to walk one way, then stop completely unsure and walk the other way, only to stop and just look lost. My heart sank. Then it broke. He was all alone and had no idea what to do. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. Finally, I watched him start to slowly walk completely away from his class and around the corner. I wanted to go help him and let him know I was still there and it was ok. But I did not. I caught his teacher's attention, told her he went the wrong way and needed help. She ran to go get him and then ushered him into his class.
I had to let him do it himself. Without me. Or so he thought. Even if you can't see her or don't know she's about - never doubt the ability of your mother to look out for you, kiddo ;) And when you come home bragging to me about how well you did, how easy it was, and how you were right on top of things - know that my proud smile is secretly directed at us both.
We're growing up.
Two and a half weeks late.
In all fairness, it would have been only two weeks, but the child decided that after 6 months of stress and headaches, it would have been too cliche if he'd just, ya know, gone to school finally. Nothing like a hospital visit and case of pneumonia to slow things down. The ER doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I requested a note saying he's honestly sick...
"You want a doctor's note for missing TWO days of kindergarten?"
"Yes, yes I do. You have no idea."
Not so sure work would have believed the luck, or lack thereof, without some actual proof either. I swear I'm not a slacker employee nor a truant mother! We just apparently broke a mirror under a ladder when that damn black cat walked in front of us. But we made it. Two and a half weeks late.
We walked him up to school, showed him around, then turned him loose to play before school started. It was magical. It was going really well. Then, like any other overprotective mother that is having a hard time letting go, I hid around the corner to watch him do the locker/classroom morning routine.
I watched him awkwardly put his coat and backpack into the locker. Then stand there, completely overwhelemed and lost. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. I watched him carefully start to walk one way, then stop completely unsure and walk the other way, only to stop and just look lost. My heart sank. Then it broke. He was all alone and had no idea what to do. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. Finally, I watched him start to slowly walk completely away from his class and around the corner. I wanted to go help him and let him know I was still there and it was ok. But I did not. I caught his teacher's attention, told her he went the wrong way and needed help. She ran to go get him and then ushered him into his class.
I had to let him do it himself. Without me. Or so he thought. Even if you can't see her or don't know she's about - never doubt the ability of your mother to look out for you, kiddo ;) And when you come home bragging to me about how well you did, how easy it was, and how you were right on top of things - know that my proud smile is secretly directed at us both.
We're growing up.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Happy Birthday Grandma....
I received a call from my mother today that it was my grandma's birthday. Being the fabulous daughter and granddaughter I am, I asked for Grandma's phone number to give her a ring and wish her a happy birthday. I realize, I should know this number - but lets just stay on topic, alright?
I called half expecting voicemail and was surprised when she answered - but shared the following heartwarming conversation:
"Hi Grandma! It's Danielle!"
"What?"
"It's Danielle Grandma, how are you?"
"What? Just a minute..."
She was on her cell phone with "her daughter in Colorado" - wasn't sure who was on a trip there, but I was in a hurry and wanted to get the call moving.
"Grandma, its Danielle - Mary's daughter - I wanted to call you for your birthday..."
"OH!! Thank you! It was a couple weeks ago but I'm glad you called."
We went on to talk about the weather, what she did for her birthday, and I told her I would try to stop by this weekend or soon for her to visit with my newborn daughter. All in all - a fabulous conversation.
I hung up, pleased with myself, and called my mom to ask why she told me it was grandma's birthday two weeks after the fact. After a very long pause...she sheepishly admitted that she had given me the wrong number by mistake.
I hope whoever's grandma I talked to did have a good birthday and enjoyed our talk. And after calling my own grandma, and getting the right one, I know that she did too.
My next dilemma: should I call the wrong grandma to cancel our visit?
I called half expecting voicemail and was surprised when she answered - but shared the following heartwarming conversation:
"Hi Grandma! It's Danielle!"
"What?"
"It's Danielle Grandma, how are you?"
"What? Just a minute..."
She was on her cell phone with "her daughter in Colorado" - wasn't sure who was on a trip there, but I was in a hurry and wanted to get the call moving.
"Grandma, its Danielle - Mary's daughter - I wanted to call you for your birthday..."
"OH!! Thank you! It was a couple weeks ago but I'm glad you called."
We went on to talk about the weather, what she did for her birthday, and I told her I would try to stop by this weekend or soon for her to visit with my newborn daughter. All in all - a fabulous conversation.
I hung up, pleased with myself, and called my mom to ask why she told me it was grandma's birthday two weeks after the fact. After a very long pause...she sheepishly admitted that she had given me the wrong number by mistake.
I hope whoever's grandma I talked to did have a good birthday and enjoyed our talk. And after calling my own grandma, and getting the right one, I know that she did too.
My next dilemma: should I call the wrong grandma to cancel our visit?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
"You work here? I need a salesman."
I come from a long line of strong women. Mostly because they can't stay married for long and end up with no other choice, but strong all the same. I can change the oil in my car, I can fix many things around the house, I am the breadwinner in my marriage, and I am succsesful in a mostly male industry. While I don't routinely burn my bras (although I have a few underwires I'm tempted to) I have spent the last five years hoping that my son is taking notes and learning that he better respect women because we can do whatever he can. Then my husband and I had a daughter and its come to a new level.
I have to pass these skills on as they were passed to me - minus the ability to drive a man away in 2 years or less.
The first chance to do so arrived yesterday when I took my sister to look for a car with my daughter and 2 year old niece in tow. The greatest moment did not come when we asked technical questions of the salesmen (eyebrows raised before answers were given) or when we haggled some of the prices down into our range then told them "we'd think about it". It came in a used car lot no where near ANYTHING - when my 1 month old decided to poop and completely fill her outfit!
It was magical as we wedged her into the front seat and my sister and I stripped her down nekkid in the front seat in the used car parking lot with a bunch of mechanics watching and get her changed into a new outfit. The whole time my niece is in the back seat waving a burpl cloth screaming "da baby needs dis!!!!" My sister and I are covered in bright yellow breastFed baby poo but we did not panic, we remained strong in our abilities and the mission at hand as mommies. Wiping ourselves with wipes and using hand sanitizer, we get her diaper packed away, and my sister gets out and walks up to the mechanics and says "You work here? I need a salesman."
After a very nervous, barely out of high school kid showed us the in's and out's of the vehicle in question, we climbed back into our car and left the used car lot. We may not have found the car (yet!) but we handled a mommy crisis and never broke stride in our ability to still be strong, competent women.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't go to the used car lot near nothing with a baby that hasn't pooed all day. There is no 1999 Malibu on the planet worth that nightmare.
2. Put some plastic bags in the diaper bag. A McDonald's cup will contain an overloaded diaper and half a package of used poo filled wipes - but what if you don't have older kids and therefore, there are not McDonald's cups hidden underneat the seats of your car?
3. Want to let a salesman know not to mess with you? Let him watch you soak your hands in baby poo, wipe it off, shake his hand, and ask him for the truth...that takes balls.
4. The 2 year old needs to be at daycare next time. I don't think I need to elaborate here.
5. We're all going to be ok and these girls will grow up fine with role models that can literally handle anything at any time and any place. And if they can't - they'll know they can call their mamas.
We found a few car options ,we're going back out tomorrow so I'm sure to have more fabulous tales for you.
I have to pass these skills on as they were passed to me - minus the ability to drive a man away in 2 years or less.
The first chance to do so arrived yesterday when I took my sister to look for a car with my daughter and 2 year old niece in tow. The greatest moment did not come when we asked technical questions of the salesmen (eyebrows raised before answers were given) or when we haggled some of the prices down into our range then told them "we'd think about it". It came in a used car lot no where near ANYTHING - when my 1 month old decided to poop and completely fill her outfit!
It was magical as we wedged her into the front seat and my sister and I stripped her down nekkid in the front seat in the used car parking lot with a bunch of mechanics watching and get her changed into a new outfit. The whole time my niece is in the back seat waving a burpl cloth screaming "da baby needs dis!!!!" My sister and I are covered in bright yellow breastFed baby poo but we did not panic, we remained strong in our abilities and the mission at hand as mommies. Wiping ourselves with wipes and using hand sanitizer, we get her diaper packed away, and my sister gets out and walks up to the mechanics and says "You work here? I need a salesman."
After a very nervous, barely out of high school kid showed us the in's and out's of the vehicle in question, we climbed back into our car and left the used car lot. We may not have found the car (yet!) but we handled a mommy crisis and never broke stride in our ability to still be strong, competent women.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't go to the used car lot near nothing with a baby that hasn't pooed all day. There is no 1999 Malibu on the planet worth that nightmare.
2. Put some plastic bags in the diaper bag. A McDonald's cup will contain an overloaded diaper and half a package of used poo filled wipes - but what if you don't have older kids and therefore, there are not McDonald's cups hidden underneat the seats of your car?
3. Want to let a salesman know not to mess with you? Let him watch you soak your hands in baby poo, wipe it off, shake his hand, and ask him for the truth...that takes balls.
4. The 2 year old needs to be at daycare next time. I don't think I need to elaborate here.
5. We're all going to be ok and these girls will grow up fine with role models that can literally handle anything at any time and any place. And if they can't - they'll know they can call their mamas.
We found a few car options ,we're going back out tomorrow so I'm sure to have more fabulous tales for you.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
It's a giveaway!
Alright, so its not MY giveaway, but its A giveaway! From a local business I am all too familiar with - passing them every morning on my way into the office and by using their products once I'm there. They're good people and who can't use a new office chair (for those who can't, feel free to enter and pass it to me if you win)?
It's simple - check out Kentwood Office Furniture on Facebook and like them. They'll draw at 200 fans, I'm liking those odds! No commenting, no recruiting people - seriously, its just that easy! I'll even give you the link - since that's the kind of gal I am:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kentwood-Office-Furniture/157565837605673
So there you have it. Two clicks, better chair, happier back and bottom. You can thank me later.
It's simple - check out Kentwood Office Furniture on Facebook and like them. They'll draw at 200 fans, I'm liking those odds! No commenting, no recruiting people - seriously, its just that easy! I'll even give you the link - since that's the kind of gal I am:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kentwood-Office-Furniture/157565837605673
So there you have it. Two clicks, better chair, happier back and bottom. You can thank me later.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I drool over my kids...
Literally.
Following an epic Friday night bedtime battle and then overseeing a 5 year old's birthday party can be exhausting (Note to self: probably should have had more parents stay to corral their kids!). Add in having a 3 week old newborn baby and limited sleep as a result and Momma starts to look like the most beautiful zombie in the world - since I like to think I still have better hair, skin, and fashion sense than most zombies.
Was anyone shocked when I passed out on the couch with my little bambinos tucked in all cozy for their naps? I certainly wasn't. I was, however, shocked when I woke up to the top of my 5 year old's head sweating like crazy!! I was moderately concerned that he'd picked up some strange strain of the flu or other illness at the party. I felt his forehead and he seemed ok, pulled the blankets back to cool him down, then started to move for the thermometer only to realize - the puddle on top of his head wasn't his fault. It was mine.
I drooled all over his head.
So yes. I drool over my kids - I've been accused of that before - and now its taken on a literal meaning I can no longer deny. I love them to pieces and I'm not afraid to make a bold statement about it.
Even if it means adding a second bath into the day.
Following an epic Friday night bedtime battle and then overseeing a 5 year old's birthday party can be exhausting (Note to self: probably should have had more parents stay to corral their kids!). Add in having a 3 week old newborn baby and limited sleep as a result and Momma starts to look like the most beautiful zombie in the world - since I like to think I still have better hair, skin, and fashion sense than most zombies.
Was anyone shocked when I passed out on the couch with my little bambinos tucked in all cozy for their naps? I certainly wasn't. I was, however, shocked when I woke up to the top of my 5 year old's head sweating like crazy!! I was moderately concerned that he'd picked up some strange strain of the flu or other illness at the party. I felt his forehead and he seemed ok, pulled the blankets back to cool him down, then started to move for the thermometer only to realize - the puddle on top of his head wasn't his fault. It was mine.
I drooled all over his head.
So yes. I drool over my kids - I've been accused of that before - and now its taken on a literal meaning I can no longer deny. I love them to pieces and I'm not afraid to make a bold statement about it.
Even if it means adding a second bath into the day.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Bet you thought I gave up...again. YOU WERE WRONG!
But I didn't! I went off and had a baby :) She's fine, I'm fine, and life is good now. Glad that the random contractions have stopped, I no longer visit the bathroom every 15 minutes, and I am proud to say that I have been Tums free for over 1 week now!
And the fact that I have a sweet, soft, cuddly, cute as a button little baby girl to snuggle up with every day is pretty darn great too!!
But now, all I can think about is this great big, still somewhat pregnant tummy I have. It took me just over 4 years to get this under control last time...I don't want it to take another 4 years! And now I'm in my 30's, not my 20's! So it could be longer!
So although strict dieting is out for a few weeks still, especially since I am nursing, and I haven't gotten the all clear to exercise, I have been sitting here stewing and investigating my options. I will look ok this summer - I am determined. And NEXT summer is my husband's high school reunion, I have to look super by then :)
I started this by asking the question I consider before many of life's bigger decisions "What would a Kardashian do?" (it might not help me in financial decisions but for those of the vanity variety it never fails!). I was led to the Belly Bandit to get me started. 
Not sure what it is? Basically, one heck of a binding, corset device that gets things back into place and helps aid in shrinking things back down (you can check their site for more info or to order KK's limited edition design www.bellybandit.com). I thought it would be awful - but worth it. Who doesn't want the body of a Kardashian? Well - maybe not Khloe, but the other two? For sure!
I got it. I threw it on. And one week post partum, I look MAYBE 3 months pregnant. I seem to recall looking a good 6 months along for easily the first month or so with my first child. Looking at how things are progressing - with no diet, no exercise, and NO EFFORT I am sure I'll be into my pre-pregnancy clothing by the time that I return to work. I'm geeked. It's comfortable, I keep it on all day and FORGET it is there! I'm hoping it might even help repair some damage from #1 and get some skin back in place - we'll see.
From there though, I'm considering a diet plan and a MODERATE exercise plan. I AM nursing. That is hands down more important to me than any weightloss goal or fabulous pair of pants or the ability to look respectable at the beach this summer. So I'm curious now if anyone who reads this (ya know, both of you...) has done the Weight Watchers program for nursing moms?
I've looked into it on their site and it seems legit and they seem to be working hard to preserve milk supplies while giving mom some weight loss success - so I'm looking for some feedback. Did you do this? Something else? What worked, what didn't, what do you recommened? I'm lonely home with a newborn all day obsessing about my return to milf status this summer...give a momma a hand and leave me some feedback on it :)
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Rachel Ray...I've got a bone to pick with you
The worst part of being home on "restricted activities" for the remainder of this pregnancy? I'm stuck with daytime television. I hate it. I try to listen to the radio more and maybe catch the Price is Right, but these talk shows? Who on Earth is sitting at home watching these with baited breath?
SOMETIMES I can get a good recipe off Rachel Ray or find out about a new product. I'll tune into her from time to time to check her out, but I'm royally regretting that decision today. Not only did she chose the most overdone, overrated topics for today "lets give people a makeover!"...but she took it to a new level by forcing these makeovers onto guys. Some volunteered, some nominated by their wives - because nothing says "I love you" more than "let me take you on television to tell you everything that's wrong with your hair, face, and clothes so you can then be frilled up for an hour, only to return to everything I hate by the time we get home, and most likely tormented by your friends for the next 3 years when we get home". I'll apologize to my husband in advance, I suppose, for not nominating him and loving him (DARE I SAY IT?) just the way he is!!
I groaned through the haircut section thinking this is stupid. No guy is taking notes to hand to Bob the Barber later this week.
Then they crossed the line. The guyliner line. Really?? I might put on eye liner once a week - tops. How can I possibly go out of the house knowing that he might look more put together than me if he jumps on the guyliner train? And how are we going to survive the bathroom shuffle if he starts adding makeup to the agenda? I got past that though, knowing that no man would willing do that and the women that force their husbands to do it are sacrificing their own bathroom time - not mine. Then they went further and it became personal.
"Beards need gel."
What?! Yeah, read it again, I had to. I didn't type it wrong. And I didn't hear it wrong (I backed up the DVR to double check!). My husband's gorgeous, manly beard - needs gel? Fabulous! Just what I want to deal with after giving him a kiss - washing the greasy gel off my face. Does it double as hair gel? Because that's what I'll end up with after a hug. And wasn't the point of him getting the beard to look like a strong, rugged man? Not some dolled up pretty boy ready to be paraded around like one of those poor little dogs people cram into purses? You've crossed the line Rachel Ray, I'm feeling quite upset and if I wouldn't have to get out of the chair to waddle across the room for the remote I'd be changing this channel STAT!
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, they started dressing these poor guys. I don't want to see a man in store-bought beat up jeans. I don't want a man in a magenta sports coat or a neutral one with a "festive" pocket square. Varsity looking sweaters in your 30's and bomber jackets THIS CENTURY are simply unforgivable.
I want a man in a pair of well-worn blue jeans, sneakers that have seen some wear, and a t-shirt that smells just like him within 30 minutes of putting it on. I want a trimmed beard left to do its thing and hair that falls into place wherever it falls following a shower. I want to smell Irish Spring soap, not lavender man lotions when he gets into bed at night. If I wanted all of this grooming, make up, and girly fashion happening in my love life - I'd have switched teams long enough.
So, I'm mad at you Rachel Ray! For messing with these men and insinuating that mine isn't fine the way he is! I'm glad I'm not married to myself and that when he walks up, its clear that he's a hardworking man's man. THAT'S a YUM-O I can behind!!
SOMETIMES I can get a good recipe off Rachel Ray or find out about a new product. I'll tune into her from time to time to check her out, but I'm royally regretting that decision today. Not only did she chose the most overdone, overrated topics for today "lets give people a makeover!"...but she took it to a new level by forcing these makeovers onto guys. Some volunteered, some nominated by their wives - because nothing says "I love you" more than "let me take you on television to tell you everything that's wrong with your hair, face, and clothes so you can then be frilled up for an hour, only to return to everything I hate by the time we get home, and most likely tormented by your friends for the next 3 years when we get home". I'll apologize to my husband in advance, I suppose, for not nominating him and loving him (DARE I SAY IT?) just the way he is!!
I groaned through the haircut section thinking this is stupid. No guy is taking notes to hand to Bob the Barber later this week.
Then they crossed the line. The guyliner line. Really?? I might put on eye liner once a week - tops. How can I possibly go out of the house knowing that he might look more put together than me if he jumps on the guyliner train? And how are we going to survive the bathroom shuffle if he starts adding makeup to the agenda? I got past that though, knowing that no man would willing do that and the women that force their husbands to do it are sacrificing their own bathroom time - not mine. Then they went further and it became personal.
"Beards need gel."
What?! Yeah, read it again, I had to. I didn't type it wrong. And I didn't hear it wrong (I backed up the DVR to double check!). My husband's gorgeous, manly beard - needs gel? Fabulous! Just what I want to deal with after giving him a kiss - washing the greasy gel off my face. Does it double as hair gel? Because that's what I'll end up with after a hug. And wasn't the point of him getting the beard to look like a strong, rugged man? Not some dolled up pretty boy ready to be paraded around like one of those poor little dogs people cram into purses? You've crossed the line Rachel Ray, I'm feeling quite upset and if I wouldn't have to get out of the chair to waddle across the room for the remote I'd be changing this channel STAT!
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, they started dressing these poor guys. I don't want to see a man in store-bought beat up jeans. I don't want a man in a magenta sports coat or a neutral one with a "festive" pocket square. Varsity looking sweaters in your 30's and bomber jackets THIS CENTURY are simply unforgivable.
I want a man in a pair of well-worn blue jeans, sneakers that have seen some wear, and a t-shirt that smells just like him within 30 minutes of putting it on. I want a trimmed beard left to do its thing and hair that falls into place wherever it falls following a shower. I want to smell Irish Spring soap, not lavender man lotions when he gets into bed at night. If I wanted all of this grooming, make up, and girly fashion happening in my love life - I'd have switched teams long enough.
So, I'm mad at you Rachel Ray! For messing with these men and insinuating that mine isn't fine the way he is! I'm glad I'm not married to myself and that when he walks up, its clear that he's a hardworking man's man. THAT'S a YUM-O I can behind!!
Monday, January 3, 2011
The Wisdom of Rob Van Winkle
A few days late, but with just as much sentiment, Happy New Year to you! I hope everyone had a good one and no one made any resolutions that are just impossible and will make you crabby for the next 2-3 weeks. Me? I made the greatest resolution a few years back and it was the only one that I've ever been able to keep really - no more resolutions. So far, this year is off to a good start too.
I know that people get wrapped up in the newness of the New Year and all of the possibilities facing them, but I personally don't see why we need some sort of uniform date. The motto at our house is based off of the very wise Rob Van Winkle (better known as Vanilla Ice): "If you got a problem, yo - I'll solve it." There's no mention of waiting until January 1st to get started, you got a problem - solve it. Want to lose weight? Do it now. Get out of debt, get to it. Stop smoking? Get cracking (or better yet...never start).
My eyes have been opened to the wisdom of one Rob Van Winkle over the last few months, in part due to my continued love for the early 90's white boy rap of my adolescent years and The Vanilla Ice Project on the DIY Network. The man is more than just a good pair of parachute pants, amazing slanty haircut, and David Bowie ripoff suspect....he's deep. So deep, I'd like to have dinner with the man just to pick his brain.
Have you see this show? By the LOOKS of it, the houses they are working on are about to have their copper pipes ripped out and sold at the local scrap yard for this crew to go get some more tattoos, piercings, and low riding El Caminos.
However, once you're past the initial glance and they start talking you realize that these guys are actually smart and savvy businessmen.
They know how to do things that I'd lose a limb doing. They negotiate high dollar deals, make cost effective decisions to achieve the maximum return on their investment, and they're (sit down and get ready for this one) exemplary role model citizens for the communities that they work in?! Never thought I'd be saying that back in the early and mid-90's - nor during that awkward "Celebrity Rehab" stint with a naked "Mini-Me" and Gary Coleman working with Ice to get him straight. Somehow, somewhere, at some point, the light went off and he made some changes.
Being an over the top rapper, who may be ridiculed but is making way more than the rest of, he's moved into music that he likes to keep his passion going. And into real estate and flipping, to take care of his family. It's shocking and surprising to say the least, but he's rolled with punches. And I don't think he waited for a specified day to do it. I think he woke up one day, realized "Holy Mother of Mary, I'm Vanilla Ice and if I don't make some changes, this life is going to get really bad really fast." It wasn't a monumentous day, announcement, or event. It was a decision that he made on a random day and stuck with. That's how it should be.
I know that people get wrapped up in the newness of the New Year and all of the possibilities facing them, but I personally don't see why we need some sort of uniform date. The motto at our house is based off of the very wise Rob Van Winkle (better known as Vanilla Ice): "If you got a problem, yo - I'll solve it." There's no mention of waiting until January 1st to get started, you got a problem - solve it. Want to lose weight? Do it now. Get out of debt, get to it. Stop smoking? Get cracking (or better yet...never start).
My eyes have been opened to the wisdom of one Rob Van Winkle over the last few months, in part due to my continued love for the early 90's white boy rap of my adolescent years and The Vanilla Ice Project on the DIY Network. The man is more than just a good pair of parachute pants, amazing slanty haircut, and David Bowie ripoff suspect....he's deep. So deep, I'd like to have dinner with the man just to pick his brain.
Have you see this show? By the LOOKS of it, the houses they are working on are about to have their copper pipes ripped out and sold at the local scrap yard for this crew to go get some more tattoos, piercings, and low riding El Caminos.
However, once you're past the initial glance and they start talking you realize that these guys are actually smart and savvy businessmen.
They know how to do things that I'd lose a limb doing. They negotiate high dollar deals, make cost effective decisions to achieve the maximum return on their investment, and they're (sit down and get ready for this one) exemplary role model citizens for the communities that they work in?! Never thought I'd be saying that back in the early and mid-90's - nor during that awkward "Celebrity Rehab" stint with a naked "Mini-Me" and Gary Coleman working with Ice to get him straight. Somehow, somewhere, at some point, the light went off and he made some changes.
Being an over the top rapper, who may be ridiculed but is making way more than the rest of, he's moved into music that he likes to keep his passion going. And into real estate and flipping, to take care of his family. It's shocking and surprising to say the least, but he's rolled with punches. And I don't think he waited for a specified day to do it. I think he woke up one day, realized "Holy Mother of Mary, I'm Vanilla Ice and if I don't make some changes, this life is going to get really bad really fast." It wasn't a monumentous day, announcement, or event. It was a decision that he made on a random day and stuck with. That's how it should be.
So good luck with your resolutions, for me, I'm reveling in my lack thereof and the leave you with one final Rob Van Winkle inspirational thought "Anything less than the best is a felony."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)