Here's what I think about being a mom:
Stretch marks: I don't need a GPS unit because I have my own road map on my stomach. Ha! You probably paid for one.
Laundry: I have dirty laudry from 1996! My laundry room could easily be mistaken for the scene in Close Encounters where he builds a giant volcano. Maybe I just need to add some soap and see what happens.
Dishes: If I ever need to hide something from my family, I have a great hiding place. Put whatever you don't want them to find under the dish towel. No one ever looks there.
Discipline: I can't really say much here. My son actually spanked me the other day, so I should probably apply to be on The Nanny.
Shopping: The planets and stars must be aligned along with naptime, snacktime, and crankiness level to make this work. If things go wrong, have a snappy comeback when someone asks if it is your child that just knocked over the green bean can tower. Something like, "The Jolly Green Giant did it. He's just jealous that the store brand is on sale. I've always known he had the potential for violence."
Diapers: I think I recently set a new record for holding my breath. I refer you again to the Close Encounters volcano set. I have nothing else to say.
TV: If I don't stop singing the songs to all the kid shows, I'm going to voluntarily admit myself to the psych unit.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Excuse me, Sir?
Have you ever been the subject of a mistaken identity? Have you ever seen a lady that looks like a man that looks like a lady? Or a man that looks like a lady that looks like a man? I've seen "It's Pat!" on SNL. Pat is a character whose gender is the mind-boggling question nobody can figure out. It's funny. But not when it's you.
Apparently, I'm mannish-looking. I don't see it. I think I clean up pretty well. I have figured out that it is only when I have short hair that I resemble a dude. You could say it's a pretty strong argument for growing my hair as long as possible. Thing is, I occasionally have a complete brain fade and cut it again.
Imagine....I was about 19. We had just moved to Virginia. It was summer and very hot. The kind of heat that makes me suddenly develop the urge to yell obscenities. My mom, dad, and I drove to the church. My dad was meeting a man there about a job lead. He went in; my mom and I stayed in the inferno on wheels. After quite some time, a middle-aged woman came out of the church and headed straight for us. She leaned in through my mom's open window and said, "I noticed you have been out here for some time. Why don't you come inside? It's nice and cool, and you (referring to my mom) can relax on the couch in the foyer." Then, as an afterthought, "...and your son can play basketball in the gym."
Imagine the horror. Any self-confidence I had was vaporized. I could feel it draining out of my body. I wanted to run...and I don't run. The last time I ran was when my kite string broke at the park, when I was 5! (Or actually, last year at the public pool in my bathing suit when my son ran from me. We won't go there now though, maybe later.) I couldn't grow my hair fast enough, but grow it did...just in time for me to have another complete brain fade and cut it again.
This time, my mom and I went to deliver a birthday cake to my mom's friend. The friend's elderly mother lived with her, and she answered the door. She told my mom that her daughter wasn't home. She said, "Why don't you and your husband come inside?"
Seriously. I am a girl! I have makeup and jewelry and....a bustline! Once more, I was completely crushed. My mom attributed it to the woman's old age and the fact that it was dusk outside. Whatever.
Well, it grew out and got pretty long. It's now about 15 years later. My hair had yet another rendezvous with the scissors, and I once again assumed my role as the androgynous stranger. My hair was short, and I got a perm. I decidely told my sisters that I thought I looked like Mike Brady from The Brady Bunch. As it grew out a little, I was driving in my car one day, and a brief glance in the rear view mirror revealed that I looked exactly like Javier Bardem in one of his recent movies.
It's longer again now, thank goodness. Although, if you pass someone on the street who looks like a lady that looks like a man, it might be me.
Apparently, I'm mannish-looking. I don't see it. I think I clean up pretty well. I have figured out that it is only when I have short hair that I resemble a dude. You could say it's a pretty strong argument for growing my hair as long as possible. Thing is, I occasionally have a complete brain fade and cut it again.
Imagine....I was about 19. We had just moved to Virginia. It was summer and very hot. The kind of heat that makes me suddenly develop the urge to yell obscenities. My mom, dad, and I drove to the church. My dad was meeting a man there about a job lead. He went in; my mom and I stayed in the inferno on wheels. After quite some time, a middle-aged woman came out of the church and headed straight for us. She leaned in through my mom's open window and said, "I noticed you have been out here for some time. Why don't you come inside? It's nice and cool, and you (referring to my mom) can relax on the couch in the foyer." Then, as an afterthought, "...and your son can play basketball in the gym."
Imagine the horror. Any self-confidence I had was vaporized. I could feel it draining out of my body. I wanted to run...and I don't run. The last time I ran was when my kite string broke at the park, when I was 5! (Or actually, last year at the public pool in my bathing suit when my son ran from me. We won't go there now though, maybe later.) I couldn't grow my hair fast enough, but grow it did...just in time for me to have another complete brain fade and cut it again.
This time, my mom and I went to deliver a birthday cake to my mom's friend. The friend's elderly mother lived with her, and she answered the door. She told my mom that her daughter wasn't home. She said, "Why don't you and your husband come inside?"
Seriously. I am a girl! I have makeup and jewelry and....a bustline! Once more, I was completely crushed. My mom attributed it to the woman's old age and the fact that it was dusk outside. Whatever.
Well, it grew out and got pretty long. It's now about 15 years later. My hair had yet another rendezvous with the scissors, and I once again assumed my role as the androgynous stranger. My hair was short, and I got a perm. I decidely told my sisters that I thought I looked like Mike Brady from The Brady Bunch. As it grew out a little, I was driving in my car one day, and a brief glance in the rear view mirror revealed that I looked exactly like Javier Bardem in one of his recent movies.
It's longer again now, thank goodness. Although, if you pass someone on the street who looks like a lady that looks like a man, it might be me.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Godzilla
So, a pretty terrifying thing happened to me recently. The thing is, about 30 minutes after it happened, my husband had no recollection of the event whatsoever. I don't understand how this happens. Indulge me....listen to my tale.
It was a run-of-the-mill sort of evening. I headed towards the bathroom with my 2-1/2-year-old, almost 3-year-old, son in tow. I am sure he believes that I know a secret way out of the bathroom and that if he comes with me, I won't be able to escape. You moms know how this goes. So, there we were. My boy was standing right in front of me, going on about fish, or sharks, or dinos....or whatever the new thing was at the time. All of a sudden, I saw a little face under the bathroom door. Now, I have to say that my husband loves to tease, (don't they all?) and I pointed towards the little toy whatever-it-was so that my son could see what Papa was up to. "Look," I said, "Papa put one of your toys under the door!" No sooner had I said that....when it moved! It was a lizard!!!! In a matter of milliseconds, my little boy went from standing in front of me to pretty much standing on my head. It was rather like wearing a large hat. I screamed. My son screamed. I called out "Daddy!" and my husband came running. I'm sure he thought he was about to see blood or bones or something of that nature. He nearly stepped on the thing. By now, my son and I had barricaded ourselves in the bathtub. I brought the presence of the uninvited guest to my husband's attention, and he hurried off to get something to put it in. He instructed me to watch where it went, as by now, the thing was making a run for my son's room. I tenaciously stepped out of the tub. I went to my son's doorway and kept an eye on the scaly intruder. He was just disappearing into a pair of my son's pants that didn't quite make the laundry basket and were on the floor. My husband brought a small box that he coaxed it into. He took it outside; my son and I follwed a safe distance behind. He let it out into the grass, and we all went back inside.
I was so upset by the thing, that I had to seek refuge at my sisters' home. I told them the whole upsetting story, sparing no detail. Then, I told them that immediately after this happened, my husband all of a sudden remembered that when he left for work that morning, there was, in his words, "a huge lizard" right outside the front door. Shut up. You didn't think this was important enough to mention to me? Fantastic. My son and I had been playing outside that day, and I left the door open to "air" out the house. I had unwittingly invited what could be an entire lounge of lizards to move in.
After a while, I called my husband to let him know that I would be coming home soon. Before we said goodbye, I said, "I know this might sound silly, but I'm a little afraid to come home." He said, "Why?" I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. "Because of the lizard!" I said. "Oh," he said. "I forgot about that." It had been like 30 minutes.
And here all this time, my sisters and I were making big plans for extermination, an impromptu sleep-over, guard dogs, moving out the next day! I bravely told my sisters that I was going home. I was going to sleep fully clothed, with my pantlegs tucked into my socks, shoes on, a hat to cover my ears and head, with a blanket wrapped around my body like a cocoon, but I was going home. I faced my sentence with dignity. I went home. I did not sleep in my clothes with my pantlegs tucked in. There was no hat, no cocoon.
I'm pretty sure I will be receiving a medal soon. It will probably say, "For bravery in the face of intense fear, for actions commensurate with the most valiant of heroes, this medal is humbly awarded to....the lizard."
It was a run-of-the-mill sort of evening. I headed towards the bathroom with my 2-1/2-year-old, almost 3-year-old, son in tow. I am sure he believes that I know a secret way out of the bathroom and that if he comes with me, I won't be able to escape. You moms know how this goes. So, there we were. My boy was standing right in front of me, going on about fish, or sharks, or dinos....or whatever the new thing was at the time. All of a sudden, I saw a little face under the bathroom door. Now, I have to say that my husband loves to tease, (don't they all?) and I pointed towards the little toy whatever-it-was so that my son could see what Papa was up to. "Look," I said, "Papa put one of your toys under the door!" No sooner had I said that....when it moved! It was a lizard!!!! In a matter of milliseconds, my little boy went from standing in front of me to pretty much standing on my head. It was rather like wearing a large hat. I screamed. My son screamed. I called out "Daddy!" and my husband came running. I'm sure he thought he was about to see blood or bones or something of that nature. He nearly stepped on the thing. By now, my son and I had barricaded ourselves in the bathtub. I brought the presence of the uninvited guest to my husband's attention, and he hurried off to get something to put it in. He instructed me to watch where it went, as by now, the thing was making a run for my son's room. I tenaciously stepped out of the tub. I went to my son's doorway and kept an eye on the scaly intruder. He was just disappearing into a pair of my son's pants that didn't quite make the laundry basket and were on the floor. My husband brought a small box that he coaxed it into. He took it outside; my son and I follwed a safe distance behind. He let it out into the grass, and we all went back inside.
I was so upset by the thing, that I had to seek refuge at my sisters' home. I told them the whole upsetting story, sparing no detail. Then, I told them that immediately after this happened, my husband all of a sudden remembered that when he left for work that morning, there was, in his words, "a huge lizard" right outside the front door. Shut up. You didn't think this was important enough to mention to me? Fantastic. My son and I had been playing outside that day, and I left the door open to "air" out the house. I had unwittingly invited what could be an entire lounge of lizards to move in.
After a while, I called my husband to let him know that I would be coming home soon. Before we said goodbye, I said, "I know this might sound silly, but I'm a little afraid to come home." He said, "Why?" I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. "Because of the lizard!" I said. "Oh," he said. "I forgot about that." It had been like 30 minutes.
And here all this time, my sisters and I were making big plans for extermination, an impromptu sleep-over, guard dogs, moving out the next day! I bravely told my sisters that I was going home. I was going to sleep fully clothed, with my pantlegs tucked into my socks, shoes on, a hat to cover my ears and head, with a blanket wrapped around my body like a cocoon, but I was going home. I faced my sentence with dignity. I went home. I did not sleep in my clothes with my pantlegs tucked in. There was no hat, no cocoon.
I'm pretty sure I will be receiving a medal soon. It will probably say, "For bravery in the face of intense fear, for actions commensurate with the most valiant of heroes, this medal is humbly awarded to....the lizard."
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