You win some, you lose some.

Posted on by
Reply

The game of motherhood is no different.  Yesterday morning was a stellar one.  Let me recount how it went down, with a rating of how remarkable each event was (scale of 1-10, one being as common as meltdowns and ten being as rare as Hailey’s Comet):

I woke up feeling refreshed (8)
Chloe woke up happy (3)
Gavin woke up happy (12)
Gavin was hungry (5)
Chloe was hungry (1)
I was inspired to make french toast (7)


Gavin thought it was a great idea! and did NOT throw himself on the floor at the tragedy that I could even suggest something so horrible, and instead couldn’t he just have some yogurt? (10)
Gavin helped me cook while Ian played with Chloe (3)
Both kids ate ALL their french toast (6)
And asked for MORE (8)

We ate, we danced, we laughed.  It was a regular day in the Brady Bunch household.  I’m not going to lie, that kind of morning sets you on cloud 9 for the rest of the day (or at least until dinnertime).

Lest you worry that my family has been taken over by pods, I assure you, breakfast was back to normal today.

 

WTTM Beyonce!

Posted on by
Reply

Welcome to the world Blue Ivy!  The baby, not the florist in Chattanooga, TN.  Or the event planner in Boston, Mass who hit the jackpot and is now inundated with calls and emails from TMZ (I guess they forgot to google their baby’s name prior to announcing it).

I mean the one and only B.I.C – Blue Ivy Carter, daughter of Beyonce and Sean Carter (“Jay-Z”).

Blue Ivy is an interesting name you say?  Wondering how they came up with it?  Me too.  So here’s what I found:

“Sources and fans suggest the couple chose the name “Ivy” because of the number 4 or Roman numeral IV, which is significant in Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s relationship. Beyoncé’s birthday is Sept. 4, while Jay-Z’s is Dec. 4; they married on 4/4/08; they reportedly have matching “IV” tattoos on their wedding fingers; and Beyoncé named her latest album 4.  And the significance of the baby’s first name, Blue? Well, Jay-Z has three albums with the word “blueprint” in their titles: The Blueprint was released in 2001; The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse, in 2002; and The Blueprint 3, in 2009.”

Though Jay-Z’s lyrics led us astray (“if we had a daughter, guess what I’m a call her Brooklyn Carter”), these two are no strangers to having names that mean something to them.  Jay chose his famous moniker after the subway line he grew up on – the Brooklyn bound J and Z.  Beyonce rose to fame in the group named after a page that fell open in the Bible as her mother pondered the perfect name for the girl group.  We should have expected something uber-symbolic from these two and they delivered.

Plus, I think “We-have-47-Grammys-between-us Carter” was probably too long.

Welcome to the Motherhood Beyonce!

Read em and sweep

Posted on by
Reply

After a week traveling around the tri-state area for the holidays, we arrived home yesterday.  By “home” I mean our tiny ‘sure-its-1000-square-feet-Mr.-Broker’, 2 bedroom apartment.  And by “we” I mean me, my husband, two kids, three suitcases and 47,000 bags of groceries, Christmas gifts and WHAT-THE-EFF-IS-IN-ALL-THESE-STUPID-BAGS-ANYWAY????

I am not known for being the most organized of people, but motherhood really helps with that.  I guess when you know you can’t get rid of your kids, you start skimming some of the stuff you actually care about.  Pre-kids, those bags might have sat there for weeks.  Definitely the suitcases.  But with Chloe on the move we need all the space we can clear.  As it is she can only crawl for 5 seconds without revealing yet another child endangering situation.

So I got to work while Ian distracted the kids.  I reorganized the cabinets to make space for all the new food.  I opened all the mail and sorted through bills, christmas cards and Val-Paks with frightening precision.  FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I rearranged furniture to accommodate my kids new kitchen set.  I have no idea what came over me.  Everywhere I looked I saw opportunity for space.  I dominated de-cluttering.

And after that I cooked ordered dinner, bathed my kids and read to both of them - individually! - before bed (in light of this amazing tale, you will surely forgive me for putting Chloe back into the same clothes from before her bath — she was only wearing them for a few hours).

Tomorrow my paralysis in the face large tasks will likely return.  By morning light I will once again fail to even notice the 3-4 amazon boxes that have permanent residence in the corner of our entryway.  And yes, I will continue to be suspicious of any one who dusts the corners of their apartment.  But today, today, I was a good mom.

2012 scoreboard — Me – 1, Apartment – ZERO

This could be a name changer

Posted on by
2

I have been known to come up with some pretty insane ideas.  I seem to yank them out of thin air and use them to clobber Ian over the head.

They range from the mundane “I need to get out of this house right now.  Pack up the kids and your old person armor, we are going out to dinner at a nice restaurant (so what if it’s 430pm),” to the fantastic “Do you want to go to Hawaii…yes?  Great, we leave in 6 days.”  Some of them require a lot of faith, “I am going to open a yoga studio with all of the money I have ever saved,” and some of them he knows will never ever happen, “I want to throw away my entire wardrobe.”

After seven years of marriage, I have learned two things.

1) despite how well these ideas always turn out (not a single regret in the lot), my husband doesn’t like them.  They are drastic, spontaneous and generally cause a lot of chaos.  Ian, the even keeled, consistent and drama free only child, requires a lot of thought, planning and research to even consider a new idea, and even then, if it is going to require that much work, shouldn’t we just sit on the couch and watch football? “It’s Sunday for chrissake,” is what his face always says to me.

and 2) I am nuts.

#2 became evident to me only when I presented Ian with my latest idea.  “We need to change Gavin’s middle name.”

The fact that he didn’t laugh or explode with rage at the idea that we need to legally change the name of our 2 and 1/2 year old tells me that he has also learned a lot over seven years of marriage.  Instead, he begins peppering me with questions.

“Doesn’t that requiring going in front of a judge?”

Ok, doctors, the idea is alive.  Work fast!

“It will give me the opportunity to pretend I am a real lawyer.”

Gug-gong
 

“What about his fancy Pottery Barn chair?”

“I’ll get a new slipcover.”

Heart rate increasing.  Gug-gong, gug-gong.

 

“Won’t our family think we are crazy?”

“We won’t tell them, it’s just his middle name.”  Eye roll.

Oh no, I’m losing him.  Hurry, think of something good.

“Your grandparents changed your mom’s middle name after she was born.”

Genius.  And true.  Gug-gong, gug-gong.


Now I know what question is coming next and I tense just a little.  My own heartrate picks up.”What are we going to change it to?”

“Jagger”

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.  Flatline.

Time of death 4:39pm.

Whisper to a scream

Posted on by
Reply

My perfect angel of a daughter.  The one who smiles at everything and everyone.  The one who sleeps an appropriate amount of time without protest or procrastination.  The one who loves nothing more than to just be held – especially by her mama.  Oh my sweet baby girl.

Someone stole her.

In her place they have left someone that looks a lot like my Chloe.  Except she screams when you pick her up (she demands complete freedom to work on her cruising).  If somehow she has allowed you to hold her, she screams if you put her down.  Especially in a play pen, high chair, walker or anything that limits her range of motion (and consequently might keep her safe).  And she LAUGHS when you say things like “NO! Do not stick your finger in that electrical socket.”  Laughs.  I’m not kidding.

Today we were coming home from Chloe’s 10 month check-up on the subway.  Somewhere around Union Square she decided that the 15 minute subway ride WAS FAR TOO LONG TO BE STRAPPED TO MOMMY and she just started screaming.  Not temper tantrum screaming (clearly fake), not whining, not crying.

We are talking blood. curdling. screams.

Everyone in the subway car turned to see what was going on.  As far as they could judge she was not dangling over the tracks and I didn’t appear to be sticking a sharp object in her eye.  They looked away.  AND SHE SCREAMED AGAIN.  This time she added a convulsion like dance where she stood on my thighs, launched herself out of the baby carrier seat and threw her head back, arching, you know, to really let the scream fly.

Everyone was looking at me, expecting me to remedy the situation.  I laughed and called her BossyPants, evoking my best loveable-doofus-Tina-Fey-esq face.  This did nothing to end the screaming.

I took my cue from her arched back and tickled her exposed neck.  She laughed hysterically and uncontrollably.  My fellow subway riders went back to their business, probably feeling bad for me and Sybil-baby.

I hear what you are saying Chloe, terrible twos start now…

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em

Posted on by
Reply

Last night was sleep training night in our house (boo hiss).  Here is how it went:

Everyone goes to bed without a peep or protest exactly at their designated bedtime.  We all wake for the first time at 7am refreshed and ready to start the day!!!!

OR, that’s pretty much the opposite of how it went.  First let me back up.  This night was designated for sleep re-re-re-training because Ian was out of town.  This meant Chloe would have our room to herself, Gavin would have his room and I would have the TV to drown out both of their cries.

10:30pm -   the plan is in action.  Both kids are asleep and I have made myself a cozy little bed on the couch.  I flip around for something mindless to leave on as I slowly drift off.  Kardashians on E! – don’t get more mindless than that!  Remote down, fluff my pillow, close my eyes…

What’s that?  Kim is going to go off birth control?  Kim and Kris still don’t live together?  Mason knows all his colors?  This is riveting.

Now it’s 11:30.  One false start, but no big deal.  I will be asleep in moments and will sleep through to 7am.  I fantasize about sleeping so late that Gavin misses school.  Seven hours is going to feel good.

It’s 1:30am.  Chloe coughs (or hacks up a lung, I can’t be sure because I’m in the living room) but it didn’t wake her.  Gavin is coughing too but no sounds of his footsteps follow.  Back to sleep.  Five hours is going to feel good.

It’s 3am.  No one is even making a noise.  What is wrong with me?????

It’s 430am.  Now I am kind of annoyed.  Why isn’t anyone waking up?  Where is Gavin creeping towards my room with huggie monkey in hand?  Why haven’t I had to brace myself against Chloe’s crying protests?  I mean, if everyone was just going to sleep I wish I was in my bed.  This couch is cold and uncomfortable.

It’s 445am.  Cuddled up in my own bed, it’s warm and the sheets are just the right amount of cool.  Chloe didn’t stir as the floorboards creaked and still no sign of Gavin.  I could get two solid hours now…

It’s 447.  Two hours, two minutes, same thing.  Chloe is standing in her crib screaming in my face two feet away.  I don’t even feign sleep training and swoop in to pick her up.  I can’t help but kiss her a thousand times.  She leans her head back with delight and I dive in to kiss her soft, baby-smelling neck.  Her head rests on my shoulder as I lean back on the pillows.  She finds her thumb to suck and in moments she is asleep.

I am wide awake and insanely in love.

Her other hand rubs my arm, tugging at my shirt, holding on and hugging.  I don’t dare move as I drink up this moment.

It’s 520.  I should really put her down and try to get some sleep.  Of course as soon as I lay her down in the crib, she starts crying.  She is clearly enjoying this as much as I am.  So I take her back in the bed.  She looks at me, climbs all over me, mocking my attempt to sleep.  I tease her and she sticks her fingers in my mouth.

It’s 545.  I nurse her and she is ready to go back to bed.

I slept for the next 90 minutes and today I am tired.  I know these hazy days of exhaustion will pass and I will recall them as one thick cloud, one day’s tired being indistinct from the next day’s.  But I also know that I will never forget the moments of cuddling and hugging I share with my daughter with no one else around, no husband to worry about waking, no big brother to demand equal expressions of love – just her and I, Chloe and me.

For an extinct species, dinosaurs make my life miserable

Posted on by
Reply

All month I have been asking Gavin what he wants to be for Halloween.  All month, my question has been returned with a blank stare.  I know he knows what Halloween is from TV school so I just assume he doesn’t have a preference.

That was my first mistake.  Assumed he doesn’t have a preference?  You mean the child that needs juice –  ”apple-juice, not-orange-juice-but-in-an-orange-cup, no-not-that-orange-cup, the-big-orange-cup, with-a-blue-straw, no-not-THAT-blue-straw-I-want-to-pick-my-own-blue-straw!”

This kid doesn’t lack opinions.

A week before his school Halloween party he tells me he wants to be a dinosaur.  I fought the urge to remind him “I-don’t-HAVE-an-effing-dinosaur-costume-I-have-a-hamburger-costume-that-I-bought-with-your-sister’s-strawberry-costume-four-weeks-ago-when-you-said-you-didn’t-care” and instead hoped it would blow over.  Cause he forgets things (never).

Two days before the party his nana asked him what he was going to be for Halloween.  “A dinosaur.”

F.

After dinner I run out to the pop-up Ricky’s shop down the street.  I feel like super mom when the employee tells me they have dinosaur costumes.  Even better when they have one in his size-ish (18-24 months isn’t a stretch, he is pretty small for 2.5 anyway)!  And it’s 50% off!  High on the spoils of being a delinquent mom, I hurry home to show Gavin his dinosaur costume.

He is unimpressed that night.

The next morning he won’t even put it on.  He carries the costume in a bag because I force him to.  He insists he will not wear it.

He comes home from school nonplussed with the T-Rex still in the bag.

ARE  YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?

Next year he is going as an easy child (no costume needed).

Hello world!

Posted on by
Reply

I did a lot of mom blog research and despite what I found I decided to start my own.

Reading hundreds of other blogs made me cry, made me laugh, made me angry and gave me lots of thoughts about toilet-training.  Most importantly it inspired me to chronicle my own adventures, foibles, my ‘oh no’ and ‘aha’ moments, victories and outright missteps as a mom.

My biggest concern lies in the fact that all the blogs I read seem to have certain things in common, that, well, maybe I don’t.

Here are some examples:

1.  Other bloggers: love their kids but find the 24/7 care and feeding of them to be tedious (which is true).

Me:  I love being a mom and wife.  I secretly wish to spend several lifetimes doing nothing but watching my kids play on the playground, preparing cream cheese sandwiches (I said I love being a mom, not that I was good at it), and singing the Sesame Street theme song (without ever even wondering how you actually get to Sesame Street.  Though it is clearly in Brooklyn).

2.  Other bloggers:  hate Gwyneth Paltrow (especially the NYC ones).  Jennifer Garner too (her LA counterpart).  Like highly trained police dogs I think these mom bloggers can smell their 1950s housewife mentality from miles away and are on constant high alert from the mere mention of their names.

Me:   I worship Gwyneth Paltrow.  She can do no wrong in my book.  She loves to cook, she speaks spanish and she practices yoga.  She married a smart and sensitive rock star, she is best friends with Mario Batali and Jay-Z.  She beautifully reads my favorite poem on Classical Baby (All Grown Up…The Poetry Show).  All of this even gets her a pass for dumping Brad Pitt, Shallow Hal and yes, even trying to be a singer.  She’s my mommy inspiration.  Jennifer Garner too.

3.  Other bloggers:  are wildly successful

Me: only my mom will be embarrassed when this blog bombs

Which leads to me to wonder…for the first time on the interweb (though certainly not the last)…am I doing this right?