Pregnancy and Grief, Or How To Get Nothing Done

This post is the latest in my "Way-Back Wednesday" series (on the third Wednesday of each month, I revisit one of my favorite posts from the past). Enjoy!

You know those days where you have to keep reminding yourself how much you love your spouse, or you'll end up killing them?

I think my husband is having one of those days.

Oh well, at least Ryan gets me.

I have to admit, I've been a bit of a mess lately. I'm 30 weeks pregnant, so, thanks to hormones, my mind and body don't always feel like they are totally under my control. (This explains why I frequently walk like an old lady and sometimes call my kids by the cat's name.) We also happen to have a lot going on right now, including buying a bigger car, filing our taxes, dealing with an incompetent cable/internet company (I'm looking at you, AT&T U-Verse), and preparing for an upcoming family trip. I'd say I was juggling a lot of balls, but that would only be true if "juggling" meant "kicking around a bunch of balls and occasionally maybe throwing one up in the air and hoping it doesn't hit anyone in the eye."

It's a lot to handle under normal circumstances, but unfortunately there's even more: Late last week, my beloved great-aunt Ruthie--whom I have always considered a third grandma--died unexpectedly.

So, on top of the day-to-day absurdities of everyday life (seriously, AT&T? Thirty-five minutes on the phone to resolve NOTHING?), I have been flooded with grief and memories of my Aunt Ruthie. And, because my Aunt Ruthie and my mom were so close, I am also being flooded with memories of my mom. I am missing both of them so much right now it sometimes physically hurts. And the juggling thing? Those balls have rolled under the couch and are collecting dust and cat hair.

I haven't written much about my Aunt Ruthie on my blog, but back in October I wrote about my memories of my mom and our frequent trips to visit my grandma (Aunt Ruthie's sister). So while I get a broom and attempt to knock those balls out from under the couch so I can get them back up in the air again, go ahead and revisit this:

Arizona Memories, Or How I Learned My Grandma Is A Stone-Cold Killer

And while you're here, I'd appreciate any ideas you have on how I can apologize to my husband for my sub-par juggling skills. It'll get better...probably.

Mommy? No! I Am...VAGINA PERSON!

You are a poopy stinky butt!

Well, not YOU, exactly. Really, more like everyone. Everyone is a poopy, stinky butt.

According to my four-year-old, that is.

The Stinker has entered a lovely phase—The Potty Talk phase. Sometime in the last few months, he discovered that toilet talk is not just regular funny, like he thought it was before. Toilet talk, it turns out, is over-the-top, spit-milk-through-your-nose, fall-on-the-floor-with-your-friends-laughing funny.

Do you know how hard it was to find an appropriate picture for this post?

My first response to the potty talk was a huge mistake: I told him to stop it. Talk about adding fuel to the fire! Now poop is hilarious AND Mommy doesn’t much like it! Let’s just say the resulting verbal poo-splosion was epic. If he wasn’t talking about poop, pee, or penises it was only because he was cackling maniacally at his own genius.

But then, things got even worse. He took it up a notch: He discovered the word “Vagina.” And oooooohhhhh does my boy love to say “vagina.” He uses it creatively, throughout the day, in a wide variety of situations. For example: I am no longer “Mommy”—I am “Vagina Person.” As in, “HEY! VAGINA PERSON! LOOK! THIS STORE SELLS HOT WHEELS!! CAN I HAVE ONE, VAGINA PERSON?? CAN I? CAN I???” Another fun example: He made up a Vagina song, which he then taught to his younger brother. It goes like this: “Vagina! Vagina! Beautiful vagina! Vagina! Vagina! Let’s talk about vagina!” They like to march around the house singing it when the UPS guy stops by to drop off a package or when I’m on the phone with the pediatrician’s office.

The good news is that I have managed to contain the madness:  He doesn’t break out the potty talk at preschool, according to his teacher (that was a fun conversation). But the effort to hold in all those “vaginas” and other potty words during school hours is apparently monumental—as soon as I close the car door at pick-up time, he lets loose with a violent stream of 4-year-old profanity that sends his brother into fits of giggles and makes me want to bang my head against the steering wheel until I no longer care.

The other good news, I guess, is that neither of my boys has managed to pick up any “real” profanity…yet. They truly believe that the worst word on earth is “stupid” and I hope to keep it that way for as long as I can. Because I can just imagine the day that they discover actual curse words—it will be like a whole new world has opened before them. A world filled with ways to embarrass and humiliate Mommy. A world strewn with shocked and horrified grandparents and teachers. A world where Mommy can no longer go to Target without suffering the judgmental stares of her fellow shoppers.

And a world without Target is not a world I want to live in.

Vagina Person

(No joke: Do a Google image search of "vagina person" and about 5 photos from my blog come up, including this one. OF ME.)

(Oh, but also? You probably don't want to do a Google image search of "vagina person." Trust me on this one.)

Sorry Kids, Mommy's Outta Here

This post is the second in my "Way-Back Wednesday" series (on the third Wednesday of each month, I revisit one of my favorite posts from the past). Enjoy! 

Sorry Kids, Mommy’s Outta Here

That’s right. I’m packing my bags. Leaving my family behind. In just two days, I. Am. Out. Of. Here.

Ok, truth be told, I’m only going to be gone for 3 days—and then I am most definitely, almost probably, coming back. I’m heading out for a girls’ weekend with my six college besties, and I can’t decide if I’m more excited for the actual weekend or for the airport and plane ride experiences.

Sad, isn’t it? I mean, you know you’re a mom of young kids when a trip to the airport and a 3-hour flight BY YOURSELF feels like a spa day. I’m already dreaming of it: Getting through security will be a breeze with no car seat, no stroller, no sullen preschoolers who refuse to answer the TSA agent when asked for their names. After security, I’ll stroll to my gate, maybe stopping at Starbucks or McDonalds for goodies—that I won’t have to share!—and then by a book shop for trashy magazines. And boarding will be lovely: I’ll just waltz to my seat and plop down to enjoy my snacks and gossip rags at will.

But then the real magic will begin.

The plane ride.

Here’s what I WON’T be doing during my flight:

• Reading “Little Critter” books out loud.
• Eating smashed PB&J sandwiches and soggy cucumber slices.
• Learning how to play the “Elmo’s ABCs” app on the iPad so I can help my kids with it.
• Watching “Cars 2” for the 93587935798357^th time.
• Holding someone else’s barf bag.

Here’s what I probably WILL be doing during my flight:

• Reading something—ANYTHING—for grown-ups.
• Eating whatever delicious goodies I could find in the terminal without worrying about modeling good habits for my fellow travelers.
• Smashing my 4-year-old’s high scores on my iphone’s “Angry Birds” app.
• Watching a PG-13 or even (gasp!) R-rated movie.
• Politely ignoring pretty much everyone around me as much as possible.

So, as I pack my one incredibly small suitcase and my definitely-not-a-diaper-bag purse, I leave you with this link to celebrate this month’s “Way-Back Wednesday.”

photo credit

All By Myself

It’s about a trip I took with my kids that went horribly, messily wrong. And it explains why I now carry large ziplock plastic bags with us whenever we all set foot on a plane together. Because those tiny airplane motion-sickness bags?

Ineffective.

By the way, if you’re looking for even more Crazed goofiness, I’ve been featured on a couple of other blogs recently. Check them out:

Last January, my friend Daddy Knows Less let me rant about childless people who think they know everything about parenting. (And yes, I was one of them once.)

And then, earlier this month my friend Martinis and Minivans interviewed me for her "Inside the Blogger's Studio" feature. Read it to find out what hilarious lie I told my kids to get them to eat their veggies.

Pinterest + Preschoolers = PAIN

Well, I may be the last on earth to do it, but I was finally hit by the Pinterest Plague. I bit the bullet a week ago and signed up. And now? Now, I have plans.

Big Plans.

Home decorating plans. Cleaning-my-house plans. Making-darling-and-incredibly-thoughtful-Valentines-Day-crafts-for-my-husband plans.

Lots and lots and lots and lots of plans.

For now I’m still in the research phase of most of these plans. It could take weeks, months, even YEARS for me to gather the necessary photos, infographics, and how-to lists needed in order to effectively put these plans in motion. That’s ok. I don’t have a lot of time to distress and paint old wooden frames at this point anyway.

But I did find one thing on Pinterest that I decided to try right away: an incredibly cute, easy Valentine’s Day craft for kids. Here’s the photo I found and the link to the website:

Click here for the original post

So cute and easy, right? My four-year-old son had a playdate with his best little girl friend coming up, so I decided to take on my first Pinterest Parenting moment and bust out this craft for them.

Well, as I should have expected, things did not go exactly as planned.

I got the kids started, and they were very excited. For about 30 seconds. Then, some things started happening.

First, they asked for other art supplies—markers, stickers, ribbons, stuff like that. Stuff that was NOT mentioned on Pinterest when I found this activity. I had misgivings—WE WERE DOING A PINTEREST CRAFT, not improvising some random art project like preschool hippies!! But I don’t like tempering a child’s natural creativity in general, so I went with it.

Next, they started experimenting. My son became fascinated with a glob of glue from his glue stick and began poking at it. Then he scribbled on it with a marker, yelling, “I’m dying it!! I’m dying the glue!” Then he used the marker to draw on his hair. Again.

Of course, distractions were inevitable. I’m not sure how jumping up and down, flapping one’s arms and shouting, “Look! Look at me! I’m flying! LOOK AT ME!!!” is part of anyone’s artistic process, but there was my son doing just that. His friend was unfazed and, after watching his antics for a minute or two, went back to using her rebel art supplies to do non-Pinterest-endorsed activities like coloring on top of stickers.

Finally, they finished their Valentines. Here are the results:

My son's valentine

His friend's valentine

Um, yeah. This would be MY valentine. Mommy, FTW!

At this point, my son’s friend became inspired and hid herself away in another room to make a “secret valentine.” When she emerged, she handed my son this:

awwwww....

Well, my little guy thought this whole secret valentine thing was a great idea, so he hid HIMSELF away in the other room to make one for her. When he emerged, he gave her this:

ummmmmm...

Apparently, my son’s “POOP” valentine somehow reminded the kids that playing with underpants is always a fun game, so they moved on from art supplies to that. To my son, the Underpants Game just means wearing underpants on your head and body and throwing them around the house. Like this:

He takes after his father.

So he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his girl friend’s suggestion that they use the underpants for a more practical, organized activity: to make a treasure trail (duh). So then I found this in our bathroom:

I love how they are evenly spaced.

There’s really nowhere to go but down after fun like that, is there? Thankfully, my friend showed up to claim her daughter right about then, so we’ll never know what might have happened next.

Can Southern California Recover from this "Arctic Blast?"

This post is the first in my new series, "Way-Back Wednesday." On the third Wednesday of each month, I'll revisit one of my favorite posts from the past. Considering that I've been blogging for a whole year now, I figure I've got about 3 months before I run out of "old" material. Then I guess I'll have to institute "What's-Happening-Today Wednesday," which, technically, will just be another new blog post. But, as my husband likes to say, that's Future Molly's problem. Present Molly likes "Way-Back Wednesday," and is proud to present the first in the series....
 
Can Southern California Recover from this "Arctic Blast?"
We've had quite the cold snap here in Southern California this past week. Daytime temps have been stuck in the 50's, and nighttime temps have fallen into the *GASP* 30's! OK, upper 30's, but still. We don't see 30 degree-weather very often around here, so the response has been somewhat close to panic. ESPECIALLY from the local news media. Check this out to see what I mean:


In light of this emergency, my family has had to take some extreme measures. First, we have had to figure out once and for all how to work this, our heater:

Cat photo bomb

Yes, that vent you see bears the sole responsibility for heating our whole house. For our part, this involves a complex schedule of opening and closing various bedroom and hallway doors so that the thermostat, in the living room, gets some heat and the boys, in their bedroom, get some heat, and that we, in our bedroom, are kept cat-free (thanks to my cold-hearted husband). Sadly, Hubby and I have to choose between heat and being cat-free, so I am sleeping under, I don't know, maybe EIGHT blankets at night these days.

The second adjustment we have had to make has been to our clothing choices. My boys had to trade their light hoodies for fleece jackets on our bike rides around the neighborhood. My poor 2-year-old abandoned his barefoot lifestyle and took to actually wearing socks inside the house. And while my 4-year-old STILL refuses to wear jammies to bed, he has been donning them as soon as he gets up each morning rather than wearing nothing but underpants, as is his usual style.

Yes, it has been a week of sacrifice and hardship for us here in Southern California.

So, for my first "Way-Back Wednesday," I've decided to revisit a post I wrote around Christmastime a year ago about my problems adjusting to winters in a warm-weather locale. I grew up in Chicago, so every year at Christmas I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone when I see Christmas lights wrapped artfully around palm trees, shining their twinkling lights on lush, green lawns. To see what I mean, check out my post...

A So-Cal Christmas

And, while I appreciate your worry and concern, know that we here in Southern California are going to be OK. Temperatures should be in the mid- to upper-70's by the weekend, my kids will enjoy their friend's birthday party in a local park, and the fleece jackets will be stored safely in the hall closet for the next few years.

How My Dead Cat And My 4-Year-Old Saved Christmas

I have to admit, Christmas is sort of a bummer for me. Thirteen years ago, one of my grandfathers died on Christmas Day, and then four years ago my mom died just a few weeks before Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year? Eh.

But this year, I had to rally my Christmas spirit. See, I now have not one but TWO young sons who believe in Santa Claus and who have fully embraced the spirit of the season. (That is, if by “spirit of the season” you mean “getting presents, eating junk food, and losing your shit at increasing volumes every day for the three weeks preceding Christmas.”) So I couldn’t really half-ass it like I have in the past.

But I knew I couldn’t make Christmas really wonderful for my kids if I was mostly faking my own joy of the season. So I thought a bit about what I could do to make me feel jollier over the holidays. And I came up with a great idea:

This year, for the first time, we would get a CHRISTMAS TREE!

Now, please understand, I am not such a Grinch that I have denied my children the delight of having a full-sized, decorated Christmas tree simply because I didn’t want one. The problem always lay with one of my cats. He was a voracious plant-eater—anything plant or even vaguely plant-like was delicious to him. And since plants violently disagreed with his digestive system, we had banned them from our house, including Christmas trees.

Tiny tree, post-Santa garbage collection

To compensate, we bought a 2-foot fake tree that we decorated then placed on a table and surrounded with whatever we could find that would block the cat’s access to it. Toys, books, empty cereal boxes, water bottles—it was like a yearly game of Tetris as we tried to cover every square inch of space around our midget tree with clutter and garbage so that the cat couldn’t get at it.

Ahhhh, clutter and garbage...the true spirit of Christmas.

Each year, I looked at our sad little garbage tree and wished we could have a big happy tree. I didn’t want my kids to grow up thinking it was normal for Santa to haul out the trash under the tree and leave presents in its place. I wanted a proper Christmas tree, and this year I was going to have one.

(As for the tree-eating cat? Well, it turns out that was a good news, bad news situation. The good news was the cat wasn’t eating plants any more. The bad news was that was because he died back in August.)

So, in an unusual fit of holiday cheer, I packed both kids up in the car and headed to Target to buy a big, beautiful, gloriously pre-lit fake tree.

At the store, we snagged one of the snazzy carts that have the little trailer behind it with two kid seats. This meant both of my kids were strapped in and contained—a definite plus in a crowded pre-holiday Target. But it also almost doubled the length of my cart—a definite minus in a crowded pre-holiday Target. But then, in a true Christmas miracle, we easily found the tree section, picked the kind of tree we wanted (7 ½ feet tall!!), and found a Target employee to load the enormous tree box into our cart.

But as we headed for the checkout lanes to pay, I realized we had two problems.

Add 70 lbs of kids and a huge Xmas tree...

One, my extra-long cart was now about two feet longer—thanks to the huge box sticking out of the end of it. Doing a simple left turn required about 72 adjustments and took at least 2 minutes. It was going to take FOREVER to get to the checkout lanes.

But it turns out that was a good thing, because it gave me some extra time to figure out how I was going to solve problem number two: fitting two kids in car seats, one driver, and one enormous Christmas tree box into my Honda Civic.

I called my husband, thinking he could bring the second car around to take the tree home. No answer. After a few more fruitless calls I realized I was on my own. I paid for the tree and slowly, slowly wheeled us all out to the car.

With the kids safely strapped in their seats, I got started. Despite a valiant effort, the trunk was a no go. The box was going to somehow have to fit in the car with us. I got to work adjusting the front seats—pushing them back and reclining them as far as I could without crushing my kids. I took off both the headrests, and I pushed and pulled that tree box until it was almost, ALMOST all the way in the car.

But not quite.

The box and I had reached a détente. It needed one little push from the passenger side, but if I let go of it and left my spot on the driver’s side it would slide out of the car. And I wasn’t sure I could recreate the exact sequence of maneuvers that had gotten us so close to victory. I felt my newfound Christmas spirit slipping away as I imagined wheeling the kids and the tree back into Target to return it. I sighed and muttered to myself, “If I just had someone to give it a tiny push….”

From the back seat, my 4-year-old piped up, “I can help, Mommy! I’ll use all my strongth power!”

I smiled at “strongth power” and realized he was right. He could help me. My baby wasn’t such a baby anymore—he was pretty strong and, just as important, he could unbuckle his own car seat. He popped out of the car, got behind the box, and gave it his biggest push. Lo and behold, it slid just far enough in that we could close the passenger door. We jumped up and down in the parking lot, high-fiving and screaming “STRONGTH POWER!” while my 2-year-old applauded in the car.

We survived the trip home, and I used some of my own strongth power to put the tree together. And then, for the first time, we got out the BIG box of ornaments, and decorated our full-size Christmas tree.

And it may just stay up until Valentines Day

How to Help Newtown, Even From Afar

I had some posts planned for the next few days--some lighthearted, Christmas-y stuff. I may still get them up by Christmas, but right now I just can't. The news from Connecticut has me reeling, and every time I sit down to write it's all I can think about.

But I also can't bring myself to write about what happened. I could never do justice to such a horrible event, and I probably couldn't even describe my feelings about it in a coherent manner. And, my feelings seem meaningless when I think about the parents who have to look at empty beds, empty car seats, empty seats at the dinner table. For me, there really are no words.

My response to horrific events in the past has always been to ask, "How can I help?" When the victims are far away, it can be hard to find ways to help directly. Usually, monetary donations are the easiest way. After 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and the earthquake in Haiti, I helped organize fundraisers for the United Way, the American Red Cross, and UNICEF at my elementary school. We were able to raise hundreds of dollars, even though many of the school's students lived in poverty themselves.

So, in that vein, if you are able to donate money to help the victims' families and the community of Newtown, here are some ways to do it:

• The United Way of Western Connecticut has created the "Sandy Hook School Support Fund" to provide support services to the families and community that have been affected. You can find more information here. (Interestingly, the American Red Cross website sends potential donors to the United Way Fund as well--they say they have what they need to support their current response efforts.)
   
• The Newtown Family Connection is accepting donations on its website, and says all the funds it receives will go to victims' families. 

• Newtown Youth and Family Services has also been collecting donations, but its website now recommends that potential donors go through the United Way fund mentioned above.

I plan on making a donation in my family's name, probably to the United Way, and I know that will help, even in some small way.

But I can't stop thinking about the teachers, staff, students, and families of Sandy Hook Elementary School. I don't know what good it will do, or if it will even end up in the hands of someone who will appreciate it, but I think I will send a condolence card--or maybe several--to the town. Snopes.com confirms that the USPS has established an address specifically for this reason, if you'd like to send one too:

Messages of Condolence for Newtown

PO Box 3700

Newtown, CT  06470

Again, I can't say for sure who will be receiving mail or who will be available to process the flood of cards they are sure to receive, but I can only hope that someone there will see at some point that my thoughts and prayers have been with the whole Newtown community.

It's only been one day, and I'm sure more opportunities to help will become available over time. I will update this post with any other links I find. If you know of a way to help out that I haven't mentioned, please feel free to let us know in the comments.

Meanwhile, I'll be driving my boys crazy with extra hugs and kisses. They are too young to know about any of this, so they may just think I've lost my mind. That's fine with me.