Tag Archives: mommy blog

My kid is Frank the Tank

I have written plenty about Emily’s love of organizing.  From a very young age she liked things neat.  She puts away her toys.  She lines up her shoes.  She completely empties her backpack and makes sure there are no stray apple cores or bits of papers every day.  She is a neatnik and I am thrilled.  She makes it easy for me to be in Pick Up Clutter Free Overdrive.

Yesterday evening MQD asked me where his flip flops were.  “I don’t know, if I saw them I put them in your closet, but Em cleaned up the living room… so…” They were in the basket ordinarily reserved for dog toys.  Of course.  She has a tendency to stash things in odd places, but I can live with this.  No matter how many times I may think it as I look for something that I am certain was just right here it will not pass my lips “Dang, Em… would you stop with the damn cleaning up all of the time!?!”

So, with a solid four years (Em didn’t really maximize her cleaning skills until about three years of age) of a tidy house behind me I embarked on having Baby Number Two.  It will be a piece of cake, I thought.  I have one kid.  Two will be a breeze.

If Emily is high tea and elbow length gloves on the veranda then Lucy is a fraternity party in a wet basement.

It seems like just last week I had a baby.  She was sweet.  She pooped on me on occasion and I routinely sleep in a pile of wet drool, breastmilk, sweat from my ever changing hormones.  But Lucy was a baby. She can’t help the constant flow of liquids.  She was sweet.  And she smelled good.

A few weeks ago Lucy started crawling.  Last week she started picking up speed.  And yesterday she morphed from my sweet baby to a benevolent college freshman, drunk on cheap beer and loud music.

I took a shower.  We were chatting.  She was sitting next to the tub.  I could hear her little hands slapping against the side of the tub, the shower curtain swaying back and forth.  And then I didn’t hear her hands.  And the shower curtain stopped moving.  When I got out of the shower I was happy that no one in my house replaces a roll of toilet paper until it is totally and completely empty.

It didn’t stop there.  We went in to the kitchen to make dinner.  She sat in the middle of the floor with her plastic spatula and a spoon.  I turned my back for a second. I know better.

Splash!  Fisher’s water bowl hits the floor.  And she is off to the races, slipping and sliding like college kids in  a long hallway coated in laundry detergent. Things were just getting good.

Remember the first time you had a party at your apartment and That Guy showed up? That guy that was the life of the party.  He was funny and loud and had a tendency to get naked.  You were glad he was there because it meant your party was going to be awesome but somewhere beyond your desire to have your party look like a deleted scene from Animal House you kept thinking “oh shit, man, please don’t break anything…”

My second child, my sweet little Lucy… she is That Guy.  She is up for anything.  I am in so much trouble.



There is one born every minute…

I saw him as soon as we pulled in to the parking lot.  Immediately I was drawn towards him and I knew it was virtually impossible for me to pass up this opportunity.  I don’t exactly get out that often these days.  Even with two kids in tow I knew that he would see me, too.  All it would take was a single “Hey…” and I’d crumble.

MQD has been gone for three days.  He is the sensible one.  He keeps me in check.  This guy would never talk to me if MQD was with me.  I suppose I just wouldn’t be putting off the same “I’ll totally buy whatever you’re selling” vibe.

As we walked towards the co-operative grocery store in town I immediately remembered that I was still wearing workout clothes.  Maybe he won’t know that I am his type.  Maybe he won’t speak to me.  With Lucy in a carrier on my chest, I took Emily’s hand and thought maybe if I just avert my eyes he won’t see me.

“Hey…” he shuffled on over to me.  “I am selling these tie-dyes…”

And I crumbled.  I was his.  I saw some people I know.  I took this as an opportunity to try and escape.  “Lemme get some dinner in my kiddos and if you’re still here when we leave…” He gave me those eyes.  The hippie boy in a parking lot eyes… the you never know if you’ll see me again but I hope you do eyes.

Em and I split some sushi.  Lucy had some honeydew and a cucumber and a piece of Akmak.  We ate outside.  I watched person after person pass him by.  My heart ached.  Because I am a sucker.

We were walking towards the car.  I had a ten dollar bill burning a red hot hole in my pocket.  “Mom, I really do want a tie dye.”  Until that moment in time it hadn’t really dawned on me to buy one for Emily!! I could get my Buy Crap From A Cute Hippie Boy on and I could blame it all on her!  Genius.  It would be a tough sell convincing MQD that the adult size large tshirt was for Emily, however.

“So, you’re selling t-shirts.  And I’m a sucker.  But you need to give me your sales pitch.  Are you planning on saving the world?”

He smiled.  He laughed.  The Dazed and Confused style snicker that I adore.  I took this to be a no. In that single giggle I knew he was not saving the world – unless the world would be saved by a twelve pack of Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout or some glass beads that he planned to weave in to some hemp necklaces.

“I have this small hoodie tshirt?”  SOLD!  The hoodie tshirt is an elusive and grand item.  It would be my absolute pleasure to share this with my first born.

Best of luck to you, Cute Parking Lot Boy (CPLB).  If there was any doubt in my mind that you were not CPBL but actually Terribly Lost Tour Kid (TLTK) you sealed the deal when I asked if could take your picture.  CPLB let his arm hover over my six year old’s shoulders, like I might freak out if he touched her.  TLTK would have hugged her and let her take a bite of his half eaten falafel.

Falling on my head like a memory

I think I must be  pre-menstrual. I am a do-er, a mover and a shaker. And I am still in my pajamas. So is Lucy. Emily is only on her fourth outfit. MQD is out of town and I am trying to RELAX. I am not particularly good at relaxing.

We had chocolate milkshakes for breakfast. There will be no exercise in this house today, I don’t think. It is pouring down rain. I am itching to paint our bedroom but I am relaxing, dammit.

A movie. We will watch a movie. A movie will keep the constant “Mom, do you know why…” questions at bay, right? And Lucy will eventually nap if I sit in the rocking chair with my boobs out long enough. And then I will definitely start relaxing…

A League of Their Own. Great movie, great message, not starring a single Disney star…. a perfect afternoon. “Mom, why do they have to wear a dress? Those girls are playing baseball but they don’t have to wear a dress, do they, Mom?”

“No, honey, they don’t have to now. But remember this movie is about the first women’s baseball team, and a long time ago, remember everything wasn’t very fair.”

“Ohhh, so Martin Luther King Jr said girls can wear shorts when they play baseball?”

Not exactly. Every injustice in the world that has been righted was due to MLK in her mind. “Em, if it is still raining after this movie is over maybe we can watch a documentary about Martin Luther King, Jr? There is one on Netflix,” I said.

She smiles and hugs her sister. I start to get a little misty and think about how I am maybe too hard on myself. We are raising these girls up just right.

“Or we can paint my nails?”

Yeah. I almost forgot we were relaxing today. The nice thing about a history lesson is you can always do it tomorrow.  I mean, it’s history.  It will still be there.


Polishing a turd

I have a weakness for talking animal movies. Babe. Dr Dolittle. Beverly Hills Chihuahua (that might be the most embarrassing thing I have admitted here.) I suppose I watched either too much or not enough Mr. Ed as a kid.

Emily has inherited this love of mine. Together we were watching Racing Stripes, a plucky little film about a zebra named Stripes that thinks he is a race horse and the young girl that believes in him!

I was doing situps while watching this fine film and entertaining Lucy as she lolled about on the floor.

“You’ve been training Stripes haven’t you?” said the TV.

I started to laugh. Why yes, yes, I have, how kind of you to notice. I have been training Stripes. If by training Stripes you mean trying to embrace my wicked stretch marks and do something about the dangly skin they occupy. Progress has been slow. I know, I know, it took nine months to stretch the skin it will take at least that long for it to tighten up. But the greater truth? I have never exactly had anything resembling abdominal muscles. I’m not aiming for a six pack. I don’t expect to be able to sit down and not have pudge. I am 36. I have two kids. And I love beer, wine and peanut M&Ms. But it would be nice if my stomach didn’t hang over my jeans while I was standing up. That is a realistic goal, no?

And this friends, is how you polish a turd. Urban Dictionary defines turd polishing as “The act of trying to make something hopelessly weak and unattractive appear strong and appealing. An impossible process that usually results in a larger, uglier turd.”

I beg to differ. I think you can polish a turd.

Exhibit A: The Turd

Note the stretch marks, the muffin top and the beloved elastic waist maternity jeans. I know I should retire them. But they are so damn tasty, those jeans. And they love me so. It is my hope that in writing this I will shame myself in to letting them join their friends in the giant box of maternity clothes in my attic.

Exhibit B: The Bright & Shiny Turd

Lucy shall henceforth be named The Turd Polisher. It’s really all about your point of view. As she approaches six month’s old in July I am reminded that I will have ninety days to make good on the old “It took nine months to gain it, it will take nine months to lose it” rule.

I took the first picture yesterday. I was going to write about my progress towards accepting my post-second baby body. Yesterday, in my maternity jeans and feeling hard on myself I didn’t feel like I had made much progress at all.

This morning as I dressed to go for a jog Emily said “You know you could just wear that bra, it is like a running bra, so it is okay to not wear a shirt.” And I looked in the mirror with Lucy on my hip and I thought maybe she was on to something.

I think I am gonna ditch those jeans. And I am getting dangerously close to being the lady at the pool with all the tattoos that pees in the shower and wears a bikini even when she probably shouldn’t. If you can’t tone it, tan it.