Okay, so a few weeks ago I was on the phone with a girlfriend explaining how my garage door kept opening itself after I had closed it. I assumed, erroneously, that it was a lizard or something triggering the sensor. There are crazy huge lizards all over this place (Texas) so I said to her, "these lizards are assholes." Because clearly if they're opening my garage, they want my belongings stolen by neighborhood teens. That's an asshole move if I've ever seen one. She told me to make it the title of my next post. Well, Michelle, here you go.
Here are a few random/ranty thoughts I've had lately that I wanted to share.
1. The ability to deposit waste into a toilet of any size is not a mark of intelligence or lack thereof.
I don't know how many times I've heard parents brag on how early their kid was potty trained. Just shut up. They weren't trained, you were. Plus, let me just share a bit of wisdom with you: every asshole I know is toilet trained. Seriously, every single one. All the jerks that I went to school with, the pretentious waiter at the too expensive restaurant, nearly every politician, and every braggy mom...all use the potty and probably without a sticker chart. So stop. Please.
2. Bow size is apparently now a mark of wealth?
Please tell me this isn't actually true. I've started making a few bows for Claire because I refuse to pay $10 for something I can make for $3 in about two minutes. That being said, I understand how they end up so big. They get out of hand really quickly. I've had to reign myself in a few times. I don't understand parents who post pictures of their children's bow collections with a caption that says something about their kid being spoiled, etc. Unless the kid purchased them on their own, you, parent, are to blame for their spoiledness. My only assumption is that what you really mean is, "look how much money I've spent on this kid. It's impressive, right? There's more where that came from. Just click around in my albums, I'm sure I've posted pictures of my house and cars, too."
3. Are you planning to have kids is the most inappropriate, prying question in the world.
I'm guilty, I have asked this question at least twice in the last two weeks. Here's what you're really asking, "hey, so are you planning to stop taking your birth control any time soon? Because it's my business. I mean are you taking birth control now? How often do you have sex with your husband? When? Because I'd like to know if you're ovulating." Michelle and I discussed this recently, too. There are a series of questions that people seem to ask when you hit certain stages in life. First, it's the when are you getting married? Then it's when are you having kids? Then it's when are you having more kids? I'm guessing it all ends with when are planning on dying? How awkward are we as a society that we discuss these things with strangers in grocery stores, etc? But, sadly, I can't help it. I want to know the answers...
4. When did everyone start running marathons?
I feel like this is a recent trend. I, myself, have started running. Which is crazy because there was a point when I would've only run if chased and even then I might have tried fighting back before fleeing. I'm not built for speed, people. Almost every person I know is training for some 5K. It makes me want to run, too. But sadly, I hate running. So, my other option is Zumba which is equally popular. It may have something to do with the age of my friends and the fact that most are experiencing that post-30 metabolic slowdown.
Well, I haven't talked about it in awhile, but it is in the title of the blog...TV. I can say now that we hardly watch TV. It's nice. I feel like my girls are just as happy though even if I switch on some MMC so I can cook dinner. The great thing is that Claire no longer brings me the remote like she did when we were in the Sprout stage.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Discovering My Pride
I'm probably going to sound like a jerk for a minute, but bear with me and I'll stop sounding like a jerk by the end.
I was born and raised in a small town in southwest Missouri. I attended school in an even smaller town about 12 miles from my house.
Because we lived in one city but attended school in another I never really identified with either. Seneca, where I attended school, was a town of less than 2,000 people. It consisted of one main street with a flashing red light, two groceries stores that were inexplicably placed almost right next to each other, a beauty shop or two, a bank, and a few restaurants that came and went.
The people who live(d) in Seneca are/were close-knit and relatively simple. I'm pretty sure people didn't lock their doors or worry about anything more criminal than the occasional speeding ticket on the road to the baseball fields.
While my mom taught in the school district, I never really felt like we fit in there. We actually lived 5 miles outside of the sprawling metropolis of Joplin. Our address was Joplin and we did most of our shopping there. But, because we didn't attend the schools in Joplin, I didn't feel like I fit in there either.
For years this didn't matter. I thought to myself, who wants to be from Joplin, Missouri? It's nothing more than a dot on the map, a stop on the interstate, a blackhole that sucks in its residents tricking them into staying and never reaching their potential or pursuing their dreams. (see I told you I'd sound like a jerk, stick around)
When I was picking out colleges I wanted to get out of Joplin and never look back. In fact, my parents wouldn't even let me consider Missouri Southern State College, the Joplin school.
I scoffed at all things Joplin as being uncultured, quaint, and too boring for my tastes. So I headed off to Springfield, met great people, got a degree, headed off to Columbia, got a doctorate, and settled down to start my family.
Over the decade that all of this took place I visited Joplin frequently and even Seneca from time to time. I kept in touch with many friends and eventually reconnected with others. All the while, when people would ask where I was from I would reluctantly offer up Joplin with the explanation that my school years were spent in Seneca.
May 22, 2011, I was enjoying a quiet evening with my husband and daughter. We had dinner, washed the kid and put her to bed around 6 something. As I always do, I grabbed my phone to check out Facebook after Claire was in bed. I started reading these posts from friends talking about some tornado that had hit Joplin. I immediately turned on the Weather Channel and called my parents to make sure they were safe.
My dad answered, yes he knew there was a tornado, no they weren't hurt. My mom was actually napping through all of it. Relieved that my family was safe I turned my attention to the broadcast.
The next few hours were like a movie. It couldn't be real life. The reporter was standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy I worked at during high school. Except there was no pharmacy. There wasn't anything, anywhere. My mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was see. It was so incredibly disturbing. The destruction was incomprehensible.
I wanted to do something, anything to help. I wanted to drive down and start dragging debris around. I was 7 months pregnant, so it wasn't really an option. So I sat, feeling helpless and so very sad for my hometown. That's right, my hometown. In an instant I felt protective of all things Joplin; the people, the places, the culture.
In the days that followed the people of Joplin showed the world, and this former resident, what they were made of. They showed what real human compassion looks like and they did it with such grace. They didn't let the storm victimize them. They stood facing down the challenge of rebuilding a city and said, when can we start?
In the times that I have traveled back to Joplin to visit my parents and friends I have many times driven down Main Street and been shocked by what I see. Before 5/22, between 26th and 20th streets you couldn't see very far to your east and west because of the buildings and beautiful mature trees. If you traveled to your east you would find neighborhoods made up of lovely ranch style-houses. If you traveled to your west you would find older homes that might resemble more of a Cape Cod style. Those are all gone now.
In their place new homes are springing up as fast as builders can build them. Families are once again celebrating milestones like graduations and birthdays.
If Joplin was a chalkboard, it was wiped clean when the tornado came through. But it couldn't erase the spirit of the people in its path.
I am proud to say I am from Joplin, Missouri. Not because I want you to ask me about the tornado, but because I want to tell you about the amazing community that I was lucky enough to be a part of for my first 18 years. The place that my family has called home for generations.
I think the tornado restored a sense of community that may have been waning in this world of email and social networking where you never actually have to talk to another live person.
Joplin is more than a dot on a map. Its residents are more than a number on a population sign. They are strong, resilient, beautiful people.
I would also like to say that out of the tornado several of my classmates have shown like the stars that they are. The Rhatigan Brothers wrote an amazing song and you can listen to it here. Erica Tremblay has made an amazing documentary and you can view the trailer here. Danny Craven and his Joplin High School students made this video. These people make me proud to say that I grew up in a little town in southwest Missouri. When I listen and watch these things, I can't help but cry. I am ashamed that it took such loss and suffering for me to feel pride in where I came from. I am proud, though.
I was born and raised in a small town in southwest Missouri. I attended school in an even smaller town about 12 miles from my house.
Because we lived in one city but attended school in another I never really identified with either. Seneca, where I attended school, was a town of less than 2,000 people. It consisted of one main street with a flashing red light, two groceries stores that were inexplicably placed almost right next to each other, a beauty shop or two, a bank, and a few restaurants that came and went.
The people who live(d) in Seneca are/were close-knit and relatively simple. I'm pretty sure people didn't lock their doors or worry about anything more criminal than the occasional speeding ticket on the road to the baseball fields.
While my mom taught in the school district, I never really felt like we fit in there. We actually lived 5 miles outside of the sprawling metropolis of Joplin. Our address was Joplin and we did most of our shopping there. But, because we didn't attend the schools in Joplin, I didn't feel like I fit in there either.
For years this didn't matter. I thought to myself, who wants to be from Joplin, Missouri? It's nothing more than a dot on the map, a stop on the interstate, a blackhole that sucks in its residents tricking them into staying and never reaching their potential or pursuing their dreams. (see I told you I'd sound like a jerk, stick around)
When I was picking out colleges I wanted to get out of Joplin and never look back. In fact, my parents wouldn't even let me consider Missouri Southern State College, the Joplin school.
I scoffed at all things Joplin as being uncultured, quaint, and too boring for my tastes. So I headed off to Springfield, met great people, got a degree, headed off to Columbia, got a doctorate, and settled down to start my family.
Over the decade that all of this took place I visited Joplin frequently and even Seneca from time to time. I kept in touch with many friends and eventually reconnected with others. All the while, when people would ask where I was from I would reluctantly offer up Joplin with the explanation that my school years were spent in Seneca.
May 22, 2011, I was enjoying a quiet evening with my husband and daughter. We had dinner, washed the kid and put her to bed around 6 something. As I always do, I grabbed my phone to check out Facebook after Claire was in bed. I started reading these posts from friends talking about some tornado that had hit Joplin. I immediately turned on the Weather Channel and called my parents to make sure they were safe.
My dad answered, yes he knew there was a tornado, no they weren't hurt. My mom was actually napping through all of it. Relieved that my family was safe I turned my attention to the broadcast.
The next few hours were like a movie. It couldn't be real life. The reporter was standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy I worked at during high school. Except there was no pharmacy. There wasn't anything, anywhere. My mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was see. It was so incredibly disturbing. The destruction was incomprehensible.
I wanted to do something, anything to help. I wanted to drive down and start dragging debris around. I was 7 months pregnant, so it wasn't really an option. So I sat, feeling helpless and so very sad for my hometown. That's right, my hometown. In an instant I felt protective of all things Joplin; the people, the places, the culture.
In the days that followed the people of Joplin showed the world, and this former resident, what they were made of. They showed what real human compassion looks like and they did it with such grace. They didn't let the storm victimize them. They stood facing down the challenge of rebuilding a city and said, when can we start?
In the times that I have traveled back to Joplin to visit my parents and friends I have many times driven down Main Street and been shocked by what I see. Before 5/22, between 26th and 20th streets you couldn't see very far to your east and west because of the buildings and beautiful mature trees. If you traveled to your east you would find neighborhoods made up of lovely ranch style-houses. If you traveled to your west you would find older homes that might resemble more of a Cape Cod style. Those are all gone now.
In their place new homes are springing up as fast as builders can build them. Families are once again celebrating milestones like graduations and birthdays.
If Joplin was a chalkboard, it was wiped clean when the tornado came through. But it couldn't erase the spirit of the people in its path.
I am proud to say I am from Joplin, Missouri. Not because I want you to ask me about the tornado, but because I want to tell you about the amazing community that I was lucky enough to be a part of for my first 18 years. The place that my family has called home for generations.
I think the tornado restored a sense of community that may have been waning in this world of email and social networking where you never actually have to talk to another live person.
Joplin is more than a dot on a map. Its residents are more than a number on a population sign. They are strong, resilient, beautiful people.
I would also like to say that out of the tornado several of my classmates have shown like the stars that they are. The Rhatigan Brothers wrote an amazing song and you can listen to it here. Erica Tremblay has made an amazing documentary and you can view the trailer here. Danny Craven and his Joplin High School students made this video. These people make me proud to say that I grew up in a little town in southwest Missouri. When I listen and watch these things, I can't help but cry. I am ashamed that it took such loss and suffering for me to feel pride in where I came from. I am proud, though.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Love Thyself
I was talking to my sister last night about raising daughters. After some reflection, I've decided to share a bit of this with you so that maybe a daughter or two won't have to go through what I put myself through.
First, let's be clear, no one did this to me. I did this to myself. I'm talking about bulimia. Oh, and a side of anorexia. I literally tortured myself for a decade. Every day I woke up hating myself. I hated what I looked like, I hated how I acted, all of it. I hated feeling bad all of the time.
See, if I wasn't binging and purging and hating myself for that, I was starving and generally angry. Every single bite that crossed my lips caused some sort of self-loathing. I hated food. I hated my body. I hated my family because they didn't understand me. I was the worst person on earth for several years.
I just wasn't a nice person. My diseases made me that way. Now, as an adult, and as a survivor of these ugly diseases, I can see what I had become. Anyone that knows me now knows I love my family more than anything. My mom and sister are my best friends. I have probably the world's best in-laws and I love them like we were related by more than vows. My father and I have a better relationship today than we have ever in my life and I'm glad of that. I can't even describe the love I feel for my husband and daughters.
It's because of this love that I will not let them do to themselves what I did.
Every day I woke up hating how I looked and to compensate I was a raging bitch. I have no idea how I had friends. My body was the grossest thing I had ever seen. There were times I wanted to claw it off of me. I envied everyone else. I envied the confidence of my friends. I envied how they would just eat lunch and not worry if they would be able to puke it all back up. I envied their relationships and their attitudes. Why did everyone else get to be in such a good mood? They had dinner parties and I was generally busy. I feared eating in front of people. What if I got all binge-y in front of people. They would see how gross I was.
My disease was contagious. I had a partner in crime during my teen years. We would skip meals together, we would skip entire days. I'm pretty sure she knew at the time what I was doing when we did let ourselves eat but I wasn't going to share my darkest secret. I feel so incredibly guilty now for dragging someone else down with me. The solace that I have comes from the knowledge that she, too, recovered from my sweeping sickness.
I destroyed the trust in my relationships. Bulimia and anorexia are such deceitful diseases. No one ever comes out and says, "yeah, I'm going to go throw this stuff up. Be right back." Every bite taken is a lie. I had a handful of serious relationships that suffered. I mean honestly, what do you do when someone you care about is slowly killing themself? I think you probably get mad, then shut down, then not care and then say hurtful things. I had a few friends that went through this cycle. I am sorry for what I put them through.
A good thing came out of all of it though. I can spot these monsters from a mile away. Claire and Zora would have a hard time sneaking them past me.
Parents, you don't have to be a recovering eating disorder sufferer to catch the signs. Do your research. Ask questions. Be present in your children's lives. I will do every thing in my power to keep my girls from going through what I went through. I want them to know that they are beautiful no matter what. I want them to know that regardless of their beauty they are more than meets the eye. I want them to find self-worth in their accomplishments, friendships, and goals. Sadly, I want them to be nothing like 17 year old me.
Thanks for letting me get these things off my chest, blogosphere. Today I can say that I love the way I look. I strive to be in better shape, but I won't apologize anymore for my size and shape. I came by these things honestly for the first time in a long time.
First, let's be clear, no one did this to me. I did this to myself. I'm talking about bulimia. Oh, and a side of anorexia. I literally tortured myself for a decade. Every day I woke up hating myself. I hated what I looked like, I hated how I acted, all of it. I hated feeling bad all of the time.
See, if I wasn't binging and purging and hating myself for that, I was starving and generally angry. Every single bite that crossed my lips caused some sort of self-loathing. I hated food. I hated my body. I hated my family because they didn't understand me. I was the worst person on earth for several years.
I just wasn't a nice person. My diseases made me that way. Now, as an adult, and as a survivor of these ugly diseases, I can see what I had become. Anyone that knows me now knows I love my family more than anything. My mom and sister are my best friends. I have probably the world's best in-laws and I love them like we were related by more than vows. My father and I have a better relationship today than we have ever in my life and I'm glad of that. I can't even describe the love I feel for my husband and daughters.
It's because of this love that I will not let them do to themselves what I did.
Every day I woke up hating how I looked and to compensate I was a raging bitch. I have no idea how I had friends. My body was the grossest thing I had ever seen. There were times I wanted to claw it off of me. I envied everyone else. I envied the confidence of my friends. I envied how they would just eat lunch and not worry if they would be able to puke it all back up. I envied their relationships and their attitudes. Why did everyone else get to be in such a good mood? They had dinner parties and I was generally busy. I feared eating in front of people. What if I got all binge-y in front of people. They would see how gross I was.
My disease was contagious. I had a partner in crime during my teen years. We would skip meals together, we would skip entire days. I'm pretty sure she knew at the time what I was doing when we did let ourselves eat but I wasn't going to share my darkest secret. I feel so incredibly guilty now for dragging someone else down with me. The solace that I have comes from the knowledge that she, too, recovered from my sweeping sickness.
I destroyed the trust in my relationships. Bulimia and anorexia are such deceitful diseases. No one ever comes out and says, "yeah, I'm going to go throw this stuff up. Be right back." Every bite taken is a lie. I had a handful of serious relationships that suffered. I mean honestly, what do you do when someone you care about is slowly killing themself? I think you probably get mad, then shut down, then not care and then say hurtful things. I had a few friends that went through this cycle. I am sorry for what I put them through.
A good thing came out of all of it though. I can spot these monsters from a mile away. Claire and Zora would have a hard time sneaking them past me.
Parents, you don't have to be a recovering eating disorder sufferer to catch the signs. Do your research. Ask questions. Be present in your children's lives. I will do every thing in my power to keep my girls from going through what I went through. I want them to know that they are beautiful no matter what. I want them to know that regardless of their beauty they are more than meets the eye. I want them to find self-worth in their accomplishments, friendships, and goals. Sadly, I want them to be nothing like 17 year old me.
Thanks for letting me get these things off my chest, blogosphere. Today I can say that I love the way I look. I strive to be in better shape, but I won't apologize anymore for my size and shape. I came by these things honestly for the first time in a long time.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thanks Tripp and Courtney for continuing to teach me life's lessons
Okay, I'm going to break your heart for a minute or two here...
A few months ago I blogged about a wonderful little angel named Tripp Roth. He valiantly fought EB for 2 years and 8 months before finally taking his eternal rest.
I still follow his mother Courtney's blog. I have been avoiding reading it lately even though she's been understandably absent, only posting a few times since her son's passing.
Today, I took a deep breath and clicked...I'm not even sure why because I knew it was going to be sad. I knew I was going to cry my eyes out and ache for this mother and her son.
I'm so glad I did. You see, I've been having a bit of a pity party for myself lately. When we moved to Texas we had some very intensive family time. It was me, Claire and Zora all day every day. Claire spent 2 days a week at an in-home daycare in Columbia, but in Texas, we hadn't found anyone yet.
Since I work from home I technically don't need childcare, but I think Claire does. I don't stimulate her enough during the day and I have to care for Miss Baby so at times, she's not center stage and she lets you know that this does not please her.
This made me a crazy person. Claire was bored, so she was acting out. The baby is now mobile and, like her sister, a bottomless pit, so I am constantly trying to keep her full.
I couldn't take it. This myth of stay-at-home-mommyhood. I didn't feel fulfilled, I felt drained and at my wit's end. I wasn't cherishing every moment, I was counting the seconds until Rob got home and I could do something like shower or pee by myself.
Then we found our balance. Claire goes to Montessori school every day in the morning. Miss B and I spend a glorious few hours together and bond like I did with Claire when she was a baby. I feel peaceful again. I feel like a sane person.
So why do I feel like an a-hole? It's because I feel guilty not feeling gloriously fulfilled by staying home with my children. This is not my calling. I am as good of a mother as you'll find, I'm certain. (yeah, I'm tooting my own horn) But I'm not a kindergarten teacher and never wanted to be one. I want to play an active role in my children's learning and education. I want to help them learn to read and do math and become world citizens, but I don't want that responsibility to rest solely on my shoulders. It's too much. I'm not cut-out for this gig.
All of that being said, there are people in this world that put me to shame. They are strong and patient and put on this earth to do something special. Courtney Roth is one of them. She spent every moment of her son's short life caring for him. She gave up anything that resembled "her" life and lived for him. This is something I hope that if necessary, I could do. I also hope I'll never have to test that theory.
Now she is without her baby. She has to figure out how to go on without him. It makes me realize that I wouldn't trade a single tantrum or tear, any of those drops of spilled juice or cereal messes, any of those "one more story, please Mommy" moments if it were my last with my babies. They are precious to me. I take the ease of my life for granted. I sweat the small stuff. I cry over spilled milk, literally.
I don't want to anymore. I want to savor each second. I'm going to try my best to take a deep breath and enjoy my babies like they deserve to be enjoyed. They are miracles and they are my angels. Tripp Roth continues to teach me things. Wise beyond his years. Thanks Tripp and thanks Courtney for continuing to be strong and honest for those of us who are neither at times.
A few months ago I blogged about a wonderful little angel named Tripp Roth. He valiantly fought EB for 2 years and 8 months before finally taking his eternal rest.
I still follow his mother Courtney's blog. I have been avoiding reading it lately even though she's been understandably absent, only posting a few times since her son's passing.
Today, I took a deep breath and clicked...I'm not even sure why because I knew it was going to be sad. I knew I was going to cry my eyes out and ache for this mother and her son.
I'm so glad I did. You see, I've been having a bit of a pity party for myself lately. When we moved to Texas we had some very intensive family time. It was me, Claire and Zora all day every day. Claire spent 2 days a week at an in-home daycare in Columbia, but in Texas, we hadn't found anyone yet.
Since I work from home I technically don't need childcare, but I think Claire does. I don't stimulate her enough during the day and I have to care for Miss Baby so at times, she's not center stage and she lets you know that this does not please her.
This made me a crazy person. Claire was bored, so she was acting out. The baby is now mobile and, like her sister, a bottomless pit, so I am constantly trying to keep her full.
I couldn't take it. This myth of stay-at-home-mommyhood. I didn't feel fulfilled, I felt drained and at my wit's end. I wasn't cherishing every moment, I was counting the seconds until Rob got home and I could do something like shower or pee by myself.
Then we found our balance. Claire goes to Montessori school every day in the morning. Miss B and I spend a glorious few hours together and bond like I did with Claire when she was a baby. I feel peaceful again. I feel like a sane person.
So why do I feel like an a-hole? It's because I feel guilty not feeling gloriously fulfilled by staying home with my children. This is not my calling. I am as good of a mother as you'll find, I'm certain. (yeah, I'm tooting my own horn) But I'm not a kindergarten teacher and never wanted to be one. I want to play an active role in my children's learning and education. I want to help them learn to read and do math and become world citizens, but I don't want that responsibility to rest solely on my shoulders. It's too much. I'm not cut-out for this gig.
All of that being said, there are people in this world that put me to shame. They are strong and patient and put on this earth to do something special. Courtney Roth is one of them. She spent every moment of her son's short life caring for him. She gave up anything that resembled "her" life and lived for him. This is something I hope that if necessary, I could do. I also hope I'll never have to test that theory.
Now she is without her baby. She has to figure out how to go on without him. It makes me realize that I wouldn't trade a single tantrum or tear, any of those drops of spilled juice or cereal messes, any of those "one more story, please Mommy" moments if it were my last with my babies. They are precious to me. I take the ease of my life for granted. I sweat the small stuff. I cry over spilled milk, literally.
I don't want to anymore. I want to savor each second. I'm going to try my best to take a deep breath and enjoy my babies like they deserve to be enjoyed. They are miracles and they are my angels. Tripp Roth continues to teach me things. Wise beyond his years. Thanks Tripp and thanks Courtney for continuing to be strong and honest for those of us who are neither at times.
Monday, April 30, 2012
It Looks Like a Stripper Threw Up in Here
I've been threatening to write this post for awhile. I've decided to just jump in with both feet and share my honest opinion(like you ever had any doubt).
Kids' rooms. What.the.hell? I remember the days of Strawberry Shortcake and Carebears and when Barbie was more of a plastic doll and less of a slut.
Let's start with a very special word with which everyone should familiarize themselves: appropriate. In short it means "suitable or proper in the circumstances." I like "proper" because it makes me think all Sense and Sensibility or Queen Elizabeth or something.
When I think proper for a baby girl's room or a toddler girl's room I think pretty colors (not necessarily pink or even pastel), educational and stimulating toys, lots of books, and soft things upon which to lie/sit/drool.
This is not the present trend though, as far as I can tell.*Disclaimer: I am basing all of this on what I see on Facebook and Pinterest...oh, and maybe Housewives of Somewhere-or-another.*
Now that we are all familiar with the word "appropriate" let's lay down some basic rules/review some tips for decorating your children's rooms so that you won't be bailing your daughter out of jail/pulling her down off a stage (eh-hem, the kind with a pole) anytime soon.
1. Animal prints should be used in moderation. Okay, so I love a good zebra print or even a giraffe from time to time (synthetic of course, get off my back PETA). However, you don't want it to look like a full-on African safari in there. I mean, hey, what's more cuddly than a bunch of skinned animals, but let's save those for birthday parties and t-ball games, k?
Sidenote: I have to mention that I have a good friend whose daughter, 9, has one of the loveliest uses of zebra print in her bedroom. So props to you, AH, for knowing how to not go overboard when decorating and for raising a delightful, classy little girl.
2. Feathers are actually kind of icky if you think about it. Seriously, whenever I see feathers being used on wedding cakes, centerpieces, etc I always get icked out. That was stuck in a bird, you know. Would you want me to pull out several handfuls of my hair for you to use as decorations? No? It's kind of the same thing except that I wash my hair more frequently than most people wash their birds. I hope.
How does this apply to baby rooms? People are constantly covering things in marabou. Marabou is a stork that apparently has some of the loveliest, fluffiest feathers somewhere on its storky body. So, I guess it's kind of appropriate if you believe children are delivered via bird. Otherwise, take that dust-catching, tacky frame off your baby's changing table and hit yourself in the head with it. Now you have some sense.
3. Google stripper clothes. Do the colors that you see on any of these website match the colors or prints in your child's bedroom? If yes, you have chosen poorly, so go back to Lowe's and pick out something more suitable for a baby girl to look at every time she awakens from her precious baby slumber. Do not, in the alternative, assume that stripper clothes have gotten classier. They have not.
4. If when you step into the room you can see more than four be-dazzled items you have gone overboard. Frankly, I think more than one be-dazzled item for a baby's room is too much, but that's just me. You know that sparkly things look delicious to babies and they come off pretty easily. Choking hazard!
5. Does any of the furniture look like it belongs in the lounge of a swanky hotel or seedy gentlemen's club? Remove said item immediately and get something your kid won't either slide off of or stick to. Gross. What is wrong with you?
6. If you have committed anywhere from 2 to 5 of the previously enumerated errors, just go ahead and buy a pole for your child's bedroom because you may be raising a stripper.
Nothing against strippers, I hear it's good money. But I don't want my babies rolling around in glitter and wearing clear light-up shoes any time soon.
Well, the Devil takes many forms, they say. Mickey Mouse is one of them. Claire has recently become quite addicted to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She sings along with the songs and dances. It's cute, I guess. At least it's not Caillou.
Kids' rooms. What.the.hell? I remember the days of Strawberry Shortcake and Carebears and when Barbie was more of a plastic doll and less of a slut.
Let's start with a very special word with which everyone should familiarize themselves: appropriate. In short it means "suitable or proper in the circumstances." I like "proper" because it makes me think all Sense and Sensibility or Queen Elizabeth or something.
When I think proper for a baby girl's room or a toddler girl's room I think pretty colors (not necessarily pink or even pastel), educational and stimulating toys, lots of books, and soft things upon which to lie/sit/drool.
This is not the present trend though, as far as I can tell.*Disclaimer: I am basing all of this on what I see on Facebook and Pinterest...oh, and maybe Housewives of Somewhere-or-another.*
Now that we are all familiar with the word "appropriate" let's lay down some basic rules/review some tips for decorating your children's rooms so that you won't be bailing your daughter out of jail/pulling her down off a stage (eh-hem, the kind with a pole) anytime soon.
1. Animal prints should be used in moderation. Okay, so I love a good zebra print or even a giraffe from time to time (synthetic of course, get off my back PETA). However, you don't want it to look like a full-on African safari in there. I mean, hey, what's more cuddly than a bunch of skinned animals, but let's save those for birthday parties and t-ball games, k?
Sidenote: I have to mention that I have a good friend whose daughter, 9, has one of the loveliest uses of zebra print in her bedroom. So props to you, AH, for knowing how to not go overboard when decorating and for raising a delightful, classy little girl.
2. Feathers are actually kind of icky if you think about it. Seriously, whenever I see feathers being used on wedding cakes, centerpieces, etc I always get icked out. That was stuck in a bird, you know. Would you want me to pull out several handfuls of my hair for you to use as decorations? No? It's kind of the same thing except that I wash my hair more frequently than most people wash their birds. I hope.
How does this apply to baby rooms? People are constantly covering things in marabou. Marabou is a stork that apparently has some of the loveliest, fluffiest feathers somewhere on its storky body. So, I guess it's kind of appropriate if you believe children are delivered via bird. Otherwise, take that dust-catching, tacky frame off your baby's changing table and hit yourself in the head with it. Now you have some sense.
3. Google stripper clothes. Do the colors that you see on any of these website match the colors or prints in your child's bedroom? If yes, you have chosen poorly, so go back to Lowe's and pick out something more suitable for a baby girl to look at every time she awakens from her precious baby slumber. Do not, in the alternative, assume that stripper clothes have gotten classier. They have not.
4. If when you step into the room you can see more than four be-dazzled items you have gone overboard. Frankly, I think more than one be-dazzled item for a baby's room is too much, but that's just me. You know that sparkly things look delicious to babies and they come off pretty easily. Choking hazard!
5. Does any of the furniture look like it belongs in the lounge of a swanky hotel or seedy gentlemen's club? Remove said item immediately and get something your kid won't either slide off of or stick to. Gross. What is wrong with you?
6. If you have committed anywhere from 2 to 5 of the previously enumerated errors, just go ahead and buy a pole for your child's bedroom because you may be raising a stripper.
Nothing against strippers, I hear it's good money. But I don't want my babies rolling around in glitter and wearing clear light-up shoes any time soon.
Well, the Devil takes many forms, they say. Mickey Mouse is one of them. Claire has recently become quite addicted to the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She sings along with the songs and dances. It's cute, I guess. At least it's not Caillou.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Jealousy Ain't Just a River in Egypt...Wait, That's Not Right
A few weeks ago I had an experience with another mother that, well, rubbed me the wrong way. I've been considering whether or not to blog about it...here we go...
So, while at a gathering of children and adults Claire was having a great time hanging out with a child that is older than she is; more than twice her age, actually. Claire loves this little girl, I mean loves her. She wants to wear the clothes and shoes she wears, play with the toys she plays with, eat the food she eats...you get the idea. If you asked her, she'd probably say she wants to be her when she grows up.
I'm sure this isn't exactly the best time for the older child, though. We'll call her Amelia*. Claire's little. She sort of understands sharing and taking turns. She mostly just says, "Amelia's turn." Then cries until it's her turn again. She'll do it, but she doesn't have to like it. I'm sure Claire's not that much fun to play with, but Amelia graciously indulges her. They play house, dolls, hide-n-seek, torture the cats, and all sorts of other fun games.
So, in the midst of Amelia and Claire playing/fighting/running amuck another mother(not Amelia's) says to me, "Wow, Claire's really has a jealousy thing with Amelia, doesn't she." See how there's no question mark at the end of this? It's not a question, it's a statement.
I didn't really know how to respond to this statement. It seemed all at once condescending, hateful, off-base, and just down-right mean. The word "jealous" has such negative connotations. Claire's not jealous of Amelia. She looks up to her. She's her hero and her mentor. Claire wants Amelia to be her bestest friend in the whole wide world forever and ever and ever. She's not jealous of her though. Can a 2 year old even be jealous? This implies a level of cognition that I don't think we gain until young adulthood.
So, as the day continued, this mom proceeded to scold my child for "crowding" Amelia when Claire wanted to sit next to her and the like. I had to take a few deep breaths.
I'm not sure why this got under my skin so much, but it did. I guess the moral of the story is to be careful how you word things when talking to people about their children. Is this really a lesson that any of us need, though?
Frankly, I would never say to a friend or an enemy that their child was jealous of mine, or anyone else's child for that matter. A statement like this seems to be more of a projection than an observation. Keep the kids out of it, please.
I feel like I often hear other parents criticizing kids when what they really want to do is criticize the other parents and their parenting. Own it. If you're going to be that person that criticizes another mom or dad, do it, but don't try to back into by saying something about the kid.
Examples:
Wow, Sally is really aggressive. Translation: I can't believe you're letting your child push the other kids around in the sandbox.
Has Danny always been so loud? Translation: Can't you keep your kid quiet?
Jenny really likes animals doesn't she? Translation: Your kid is weird and keeps harassing my pet.
At any rate, I'm not sure what the other mother was implying when she made her comment about Claire, but whatever it was, it was neither correct, nor any of her business. She is most certainly not jealous of another child unless that child lives with Caillou, himself...then she might be a smidge jealous.
Thanks blog-o-sphere for letting me get that out of my system. You're a gem.
Stay tuned for my next post...I'm writing about children's rooms that look like strip clubs...get excited!
*Name changed to protect the innocent.
So, while at a gathering of children and adults Claire was having a great time hanging out with a child that is older than she is; more than twice her age, actually. Claire loves this little girl, I mean loves her. She wants to wear the clothes and shoes she wears, play with the toys she plays with, eat the food she eats...you get the idea. If you asked her, she'd probably say she wants to be her when she grows up.
I'm sure this isn't exactly the best time for the older child, though. We'll call her Amelia*. Claire's little. She sort of understands sharing and taking turns. She mostly just says, "Amelia's turn." Then cries until it's her turn again. She'll do it, but she doesn't have to like it. I'm sure Claire's not that much fun to play with, but Amelia graciously indulges her. They play house, dolls, hide-n-seek, torture the cats, and all sorts of other fun games.
So, in the midst of Amelia and Claire playing/fighting/running amuck another mother(not Amelia's) says to me, "Wow, Claire's really has a jealousy thing with Amelia, doesn't she." See how there's no question mark at the end of this? It's not a question, it's a statement.
I didn't really know how to respond to this statement. It seemed all at once condescending, hateful, off-base, and just down-right mean. The word "jealous" has such negative connotations. Claire's not jealous of Amelia. She looks up to her. She's her hero and her mentor. Claire wants Amelia to be her bestest friend in the whole wide world forever and ever and ever. She's not jealous of her though. Can a 2 year old even be jealous? This implies a level of cognition that I don't think we gain until young adulthood.
So, as the day continued, this mom proceeded to scold my child for "crowding" Amelia when Claire wanted to sit next to her and the like. I had to take a few deep breaths.
I'm not sure why this got under my skin so much, but it did. I guess the moral of the story is to be careful how you word things when talking to people about their children. Is this really a lesson that any of us need, though?
Frankly, I would never say to a friend or an enemy that their child was jealous of mine, or anyone else's child for that matter. A statement like this seems to be more of a projection than an observation. Keep the kids out of it, please.
I feel like I often hear other parents criticizing kids when what they really want to do is criticize the other parents and their parenting. Own it. If you're going to be that person that criticizes another mom or dad, do it, but don't try to back into by saying something about the kid.
Examples:
Wow, Sally is really aggressive. Translation: I can't believe you're letting your child push the other kids around in the sandbox.
Has Danny always been so loud? Translation: Can't you keep your kid quiet?
Jenny really likes animals doesn't she? Translation: Your kid is weird and keeps harassing my pet.
At any rate, I'm not sure what the other mother was implying when she made her comment about Claire, but whatever it was, it was neither correct, nor any of her business. She is most certainly not jealous of another child unless that child lives with Caillou, himself...then she might be a smidge jealous.
Thanks blog-o-sphere for letting me get that out of my system. You're a gem.
Stay tuned for my next post...I'm writing about children's rooms that look like strip clubs...get excited!
*Name changed to protect the innocent.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Better Late Than Never and Lessons Learned on the Road to Texas
Alright, alright, I know I haven't posted anything in awhile...okay since March. I've been supremely busy. I will now enumerate why I have been busy so you will feel like an a-hole for making me feel guilty for not posting.
1. We moved. That's pretty much the whole list. We didn't just move across town though. We moved to a whole different state. A whole different country, if you will, e.g. Texas.
I must say that Texas is lovely this time of year, which I'm told makes up for the fact that it is unbearably hot for the rest of the year.
So far we have celebrated Easter in style with my sister and her family(niece projectile vomited Easter breakfast onto floor, couch, Claire's new swimming suit, possibly the cat), moved into our new digs(we have a pool, yay!), dined on the local fair(Chick-fil-A and In-n-Out Burger), and visited local landmarks(DFW airport, Super Target, and Love Field). I'd say we're enjoying it.
The move hasn't been too bad for the wee chubby one, but for the rest of us, it's been a different story. Claire has really been taking this whole terrible 2s thing seriously. I think she's spent more time in time-out than she has doing anything else. It wasn't easy on me either.
First, there was the whole leaving-of-the-old-house. It was really hard on me. I cried several times when I thought about the fact that this was the house where I brought home my babies. This was the house where Claire took her first steps, said her first words, and all manner of other firsts. It was the first house that Rob and I made our home together. Sure we lived a couple of places before this, but they seemed like other people's houses. This house felt like we made it our own.
I'm a sap. What can I say? It was rough and it didn't help that the radio station was apparently sent a memo about me leaving and proceeded to play songs that made me all weepy. It was ridiculous.
The girls and I left before Rob and before all of our belongings so at least I didn't have to see it empty.
So, we stopped off in Joplin for the weekend/beginning of the next week so that my mother could ride to Texas with us for visiting and assisting/child rangling. Yes, rangling is a word.
Whilst in JoMo I had the opportunity to assist with and attend a great benefit concert for a wonderful little boy named Chandler who is the son of one of my closest friends from elementary/middle/high school. Chandler was born with a heart defect and the concert raised money to help with his medical bills.
After driving 4 hours with my crazy children the day before, this was the best medicine for a haggard mother. During the concert(which was put on by a local gospel quartet at a huge-mongous church) one parishioner stood up to offer a blessing and said something so simple, but so profound. He was in his 90s so just being out and about was pretty impressive. He said that he was often caught up with the sadness that he felt for himself and his family's trials and tribulations, but after hearing Chandler's story he wondered what he had to feel so sorry for himself about.
At that moment I felt like a big jerk. Just the day before I had been driving through the heart of Missouri on a gorgeous spring day, sun shining, with my two healthy girls in my newish car, on my way to get my hair done, eat dinner with friends, ultimately move to a new state and a new home, and crying like a fool. What did I have to be feeling so sad about? Not adamn (you can't swear and talk about church in the same post) darn thing. I'm more than lucky.
Our old house didn't keep all those firsts and memories, I took them with me. They aren't packed in boxes, wrapped in tissue paper, or even tucked neatly into a suitcase. They're in my heart, Rob's silly laugh, in my daughters' eyes, and their beautiful smiles.
We'll make more memories in Texas. I'm sure they'll be huge. You know what they say: everything is bigger in Texas.
Just as I thought TV was history(because our cable took forever to be installed and because we don't have Sprout in our subscription), it pulled the old switcheroo. We have Sprout OnDemand. Are you kidding me? You mean all I have to do is press a button and I have Caillou 24 hours a day? Nothing good can come of this. Luckily, I think the pool and the playground within walking distance will keep us out of the house...at least for awhile.
1. We moved. That's pretty much the whole list. We didn't just move across town though. We moved to a whole different state. A whole different country, if you will, e.g. Texas.
I must say that Texas is lovely this time of year, which I'm told makes up for the fact that it is unbearably hot for the rest of the year.
So far we have celebrated Easter in style with my sister and her family(niece projectile vomited Easter breakfast onto floor, couch, Claire's new swimming suit, possibly the cat), moved into our new digs(we have a pool, yay!), dined on the local fair(Chick-fil-A and In-n-Out Burger), and visited local landmarks(DFW airport, Super Target, and Love Field). I'd say we're enjoying it.
The move hasn't been too bad for the wee chubby one, but for the rest of us, it's been a different story. Claire has really been taking this whole terrible 2s thing seriously. I think she's spent more time in time-out than she has doing anything else. It wasn't easy on me either.
First, there was the whole leaving-of-the-old-house. It was really hard on me. I cried several times when I thought about the fact that this was the house where I brought home my babies. This was the house where Claire took her first steps, said her first words, and all manner of other firsts. It was the first house that Rob and I made our home together. Sure we lived a couple of places before this, but they seemed like other people's houses. This house felt like we made it our own.
I'm a sap. What can I say? It was rough and it didn't help that the radio station was apparently sent a memo about me leaving and proceeded to play songs that made me all weepy. It was ridiculous.
The girls and I left before Rob and before all of our belongings so at least I didn't have to see it empty.
So, we stopped off in Joplin for the weekend/beginning of the next week so that my mother could ride to Texas with us for visiting and assisting/child rangling. Yes, rangling is a word.
Whilst in JoMo I had the opportunity to assist with and attend a great benefit concert for a wonderful little boy named Chandler who is the son of one of my closest friends from elementary/middle/high school. Chandler was born with a heart defect and the concert raised money to help with his medical bills.
After driving 4 hours with my crazy children the day before, this was the best medicine for a haggard mother. During the concert(which was put on by a local gospel quartet at a huge-mongous church) one parishioner stood up to offer a blessing and said something so simple, but so profound. He was in his 90s so just being out and about was pretty impressive. He said that he was often caught up with the sadness that he felt for himself and his family's trials and tribulations, but after hearing Chandler's story he wondered what he had to feel so sorry for himself about.
At that moment I felt like a big jerk. Just the day before I had been driving through the heart of Missouri on a gorgeous spring day, sun shining, with my two healthy girls in my newish car, on my way to get my hair done, eat dinner with friends, ultimately move to a new state and a new home, and crying like a fool. What did I have to be feeling so sad about? Not a
Our old house didn't keep all those firsts and memories, I took them with me. They aren't packed in boxes, wrapped in tissue paper, or even tucked neatly into a suitcase. They're in my heart, Rob's silly laugh, in my daughters' eyes, and their beautiful smiles.
We'll make more memories in Texas. I'm sure they'll be huge. You know what they say: everything is bigger in Texas.
Just as I thought TV was history(because our cable took forever to be installed and because we don't have Sprout in our subscription), it pulled the old switcheroo. We have Sprout OnDemand. Are you kidding me? You mean all I have to do is press a button and I have Caillou 24 hours a day? Nothing good can come of this. Luckily, I think the pool and the playground within walking distance will keep us out of the house...at least for awhile.
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