Well hey there Peeps! It's been a while. Spring has spung here in Charm City, and that can only mean one thing....the circus is in town. That's right - every year Baltimore hosts the Greatest Show on Earth - America's Living National Treasure - The Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus during the end of March/beginning of April. And this year, Busy Momma and her crew decided to celebrate the beginning of spring, and Bella and Jack's birthday month by going to see the circus. I'll admit it - I LOVE the circus. And to be quite honest, I've been surprised at the number of friends and acquaintences who have told me that they HATE going to the circus! Shocking, truly shocking! Where else can you see elephants, tigers, acrobats, tight rope walkers, fire eaters, trapeeze artists and their death defying stunts all under one roof while drinking a $12.00 watered down coke and eating a $17.00 box of stale popcorn? Haters.
Anyway - yesterday was the big day. We had taken Bella to the circus when she turned 4, so she didn't really remember a whole lot about it. What she DID remember was being very afraid of the clowns, and she still kept a safe distance from the clowns she saw yesterday. Bella - being the first child - was taken to her first circus as a "Circus Celebrity". A "Circus Celebrity" gets to sit in the very front row AND gets taken onto to circus floor and sits in one of the three rings for part of the show. Pretty cool, huh? Unfortunately for Bella, when it was time to walk down onto the floor, a clown walked up to us and was to act as our escort. Let's just say that this was the day that we learned that Bella was afraid of clown. We learned it, the cast of clowns learned it and EVERYONE at the 4:30pm showing of the circus realized it as well. Needless to say, we opted to be regular circus audience members this time around. It was Jack's first time - and he was beside himself with excitement. And the circus did not disappoint. He was wide eyed from the moment the circus started until the very end. He loved the motorcycle acts, the tigers, the elephants, the cotton candy, the popcorn, the soda, the hot dags and of course - the spinny light. Poor Jack had NEVER been to an event that required the purchase of the $15.00 spinny light. How on earth has he reached the ripe old age of "almost" seven and NEVER been to an entertainment event that included a spinny light? So - yesterday he got the magical motorcycle spinny light. And Jack, being the rule follower that he is, spun that light like his life depended on it every time they dimmed the lights in the arena.
And it is at this point in the blog that I'd like to send a shout out to the dried-up, wizened woman who was sitting behind my wide eyed, excited, beautiful little boy. While I will never understand why you did not splurge and shell out the $15 bucks it would have cost to make your little darling happy with her own spinny light, it is not mine to ask. HOWEVER, when you go to a circus, and the adorable little boy in front of you holds up his spinny light during a BLACK OUT When YOU CAN"T SEE ANYTHING ANYWAY - try not to let your inner and obviously disappointed and troubled child out by telling MY SON to put his light down because you can't see. Might I remind you that unless you have spidey senses or "magical eyes" you can't see SHIT during a blackout and they tell the kids to spin their lights. So please crawl back under the rock you slithered out from and STAY THERE!
Other than that - Busy Momma and her crew had a WONDERFUL time at the circus! Much to Bella's delight - there was not one, but TWO ladies dressed up as Mermaids! Those meramids became aerialists who spun around on bright silver rings that hung from the arena ceiling. And as my children looked on with wonderment, and gasped in delight at the fearless and unbelieveably talented performers - Busy Momma's mind was whirring. The gears were in motion and I became obsessed with one question:
Who are the STUDS of the circus?
That's right - you read that right. For most of the circus, I wondered about the back stage hook ups. Who hooks up with whom? Now, being a theater geek, I am well aware that with every show, there is always a pecking order if you will of hook ups. So I began to wonder - who are the studs of circus life? Who are the most elegible bachelors on the circut? Here are my thoughts n this most important topic:
1. The tiger trainer? While the tiger trainer was kind of good looking and all muscle bound, I am going to say that No, the tiger trainer is NOT the stud of the circus. In fact - PC and I both believe that the tiger trainer guy is the "creepy wing man" of the studs of the circus. He's the guy at the bar who wears pants that are a bit too tight, a shirt that is unbuttoned a bit too much, a chest that is a bit too hairy and gives you the creeps the moment he makes eye contact. His pick up line is old and as stale as his breath. He probably hits on all of the girls in the chorus and winds up spending the night with the bearded lady.
2. The clowns? Obviously not. While I WAS impressed with the clowns who could juggle fire - and think that they are definitely at the TOP of the clown hook up pecking order - PC and I once again agree that clowns only hook up with other clowns. I think that is an unwritten and largely unbroken rule in circus life. I just can't see clowns co-mingling with the acrobats or the aierialists. I just don't see it happening.
3. Acrobats - hmmm. Tough one. While they are muscle bound - and bendy- the acrobats we saw yesterday were, for the most part, all dressed as sea urchin type creatures. They wore head -to- toe purple and neon orange bodysuits. This detail, while seemingly small and unimportant, is, I believe a huge "tell" in the back-stage hook-up pecking order. No self respecting stud would EVER wear a head-to-toe spandex bodysuit. Would he? I am making this decision STRICTLY on costume - but I am going to say that NO - the acrobats are not the circus studs.
4. The Motor-Cycle Men - now while it might seem an easy pick, as they wear leather and ride motorcycles and really are in ALOT of danger in the "Sphere of Death" or whatever they call that steel cage they ride around in - I'm saying no. Here is what I think - I think that the motorcycle men are NOT studs at all. I think they are a quiet bunch of very religious, very Catholic guys. They are supposedly all members of one family, they are from South America AND they are 3rd and 4th generation circus performers. So, I can't see being the big man-whore of the circus community while your parents and brothers and sisters are all on tour with you. I just don't see it happening. Not that they don't get any tail - I'm SURE they do - they just do it covertly and in the backseat of somebody's car or in the elephant cages, the way the rest of us good Catholics do.
5. The Tight-Rope Walkers - again - all one family. Don't see it happening with mom and dad in the act. Plus, these days, they are all attached to some kind of harness - so their act just doesn't seem a "death-defying" when you can clearly see the wires and you know that if they fall - they will just look like fish on a hook hanging from a pulley attached to the ceiling instead of plummeting to their certain death.
So who does that leave us with? Well, one very obvious choice and one not-so-obvious, but I think sure winner. Now according to PC - the studs of the circus are:
The Flying Trapeeze Guys and Girls.
Why?
Well because first of all - they save the flying trapeeze act until the very end of the circus - thereby highlighting their importance in the show. And let's face it - who DOESN'T want to hook up with the star of the show? AND they can fly. I mean say what you will about them - but they are in AMAZING shape, they are all pretty great looking AND they can do amazing tricks. So PC and I both think that the absolute STUDS and hardest to get hook ups are the trapeeze guys and gals.
HOWEVER - I believe that there is another group of circus folk who probably get all of the best looking girls. And this will SHOCK you - but when you think about it - it makes perfect sense. Who do I think gets the prettiest acrobats, aerialists, contortionists and dancers to go gaa-gaa over them? Who makes the prettiest, most stuck-up girls on the circus circut go weak in the knees? Are you ready?
The elephant trainers.
Yup - the guys who take care of the real stars of the show - the elephant trainers. THINK about it. While these guys are not the most ruggedly handsome, muscle bound men you can think of - they take care of the circus' treasure and most beautiful and gentle cast members - the elphants. Taking care of elephants is NO easy task (or so I've been told). They don't get the accolades, they don't get the applause, but they are there every day taking gentle, loving care of those beautiful creatures. A man who can whisper to an elephant and get her to dance and lay down and - well do anything - is a powerful, yet gentle man. And THAT will make the girls go wild. My theory is that the trapeeze guys have HUGE egos. And MY theory is that they go through cast members like the rest of us go through panyhose. They use them up and then - once they've gotten all they can from them - they ball them up and toss them out. And I dare say that some of the more seasoned ladies on the circus circut can see them coming a mile away. THIS is why the elephant trainers, in my estimation, probably get just as much if not MORE tail than the Flying Trapeeze guys.
Now as far as the girls on the tour - here is how PC and I see it. We think the easiest girls are the dancing girls in the chorus. Now, I will admit that I was a bit disturbed by how quickly PC blurted out "Chorus girls" when I posed the question. For those of you who DON'T know my PC - he spent YEARS doing show after show after show...usually as the lead (think trapeeze guy). Why he was able without a moment's hesitation to id the chorus girls as the biggest sluts on tour is a bit troubling. (Especially because in most of the shows I was in - I was a CHORUS girl! Hmmmm) We both think that the flying trapeeze girls and the girl who spins around in the air by her hair are the biggest bitches in the circus and thereby the hardest to hook up with. I think the contortionists are religious freaks. Why ? I have no idea. But that's what I think. And any of the girls in the family acts are probably locked away in their circus trailers at the end of every performance because their older brothers know exactly how horny the other performers can get and they will KILL anyone who mars the honor of their little sisters.
So by now you all either think that I have a sure and certain mental problem because these are the things that ran through my mind all day yesterday - or you are laughing your ass off because you DO really know me and are not surprised at all that these are the thoughts that preoccupied my brain all day long. If my thought process disturbs you - keep this in mind.....if YOUR child ever runs away and joins the circus - now you will be that much further ahead of the game in preparing them for circus life. You see, PC and I would not be surprised AT ALL if Bella came home from school one day and announced that she was running away to join the circus. Sparkly costumes, mermaid tails and spinning while upside down at very high speeds while dressed in a sequined covered mermaid tail is simply an opportunity that my Bella would NEVER EVER be able to resist. So, in all fairness to me - these thoughts were simply me being a good mother. Trying to prepare myself for a future that might include nightly updates from the circus tent...that's all I'm sayin'.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Being a Grown Up Sucks
Don't you remember a time in your life when you couldn't WAIT to grow up? Maybe you had just had a huge fight with your parents about your curfew or your boyfriend or how your particular boyfriend and his pimped out car with that big back seat were to blame for your embarrasingly early curfew. Maybe you were even younger and you couldn't WAIT to be a grown up so that you could use all of your "grown up money" to buy that Atari system or Barbie Dreamhouse that your parents told you was waaaay too expensive. You would show them. You would be able to do ANYTHING when you were a grown up - right?
And then - you grew up. And what the HELL happened? Sure, you don't have a curfew anymore....but you DO have that babysitter to pay when you get home. And sure, you can buy that Barbie Dreamhouse now......or you could use that money to buy groceries for the week. Or to pay dance school tuition this month...or to pay down that credit card....or fix that sink in the bathroom that drips..... Hmm - all of a sudden that Barbie Dreamhouse fades into the fog of distant memories. Along with that Atari you never got, the pony that never materialized and that BMW convertible that never actually appeared on your 17th birthday with a red bow in the high school parking lot. At some point, we all realize that being a grown up isn't really all it was cracked up to be when we were 7, 11,or 16. Being a grown up is hard and sometimes it really, really sucks.
No one ever told you that once you were grown up - you would have the pleasure of experiencing all of the torture of elementary and middle school again - through your kids. AS if 4th grade long division homework wasn't excruciating enough when YOU were in fourth grade - you now get to experience it all over again with your kids. And if you somehow missed out on being tortured by the mean girl or jack-hole boy in your class fear not! For that particular kid's son or daughter will SURELY select YOUR child as his or her own piece of toilet paper for at least 6 months. And if you were waxing poetic about that teacher who just hated your guts and was mean and unfair to you...well, don't get too misty eyed. For that teacher lives on through another. And she or he is even meaner, uglier, smellier and more degrading than YOUR teacher ever could have been.
But that's the stuff that takes wimpy-assed, novice grown ups down. It takes alot more to take me, or PC, or Sookie or Fifi or Hermione down. Much more indeed. The stuff that really sucks, the real shitty thing that NOBODY ever tells you when you're little is that sometimes, when you are a grown up - life is really, really unfair. And there is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes good things happen to bad people. Sometimes people who behave badly are revered by millions and reap financial rewards from their ridiculous, irresponsible behavior - look at Charlie Sheen and Lindsay Lohan. And as hard as that is to swallow - it's even harder to explain it to your 10 year old. Speaking of explaining shitty things to your 10 year old....
No one ever tells you that you might have to say terrible things to your kids. Things that you know will just tear them apart and rip them to shreds. And I'm not talking Tiger Mother shit. I'm talking about things like: your brother is really really sick and is going to die. I'm talking about conversations like: so and so's mommy got really, really sick and died over the weekend. THAT'S what can take even the toughest grown ups down for the count. How do you explain to your 10 year old that, yes, indeed, even Mommies die. And that no one knows why God does what he does and takes Mommies away from their kids when they need them the most. And that no, you didn't do anything to make your brother die. Even though you secretly wished that he was a girl - that didn't make him sick and that didn't make him die. I promise.
How do you - as the all wise and all knowing grown up - answer questions that have no answers? How do you promise your kids that just because Mrs. So and So died doesn't mean that you will die. Do you promise them that you won't die? Do you make a promise that you can't keep so that they can sleep better at night? How do you not express your fear and outrage when a wonderful, generous, loving mother of three just disappears from the lives of her children? Yet a self destructive JACK HOLE of a man makes an ass of himself on the internet and acts as if he is indestructable and immortal and lives on to party another day. How do you not express YOUR anger at God, YOUR bewilderment and YOUR fear? But you can't - 'cause YOU'RE the GROWN UP! Your job, as the grown up, is to help your kids make sense out of the nonsensical. And that can be really difficult. No one tells you about this shit when you are plotting revenge against your mean mother who is keeping your 15 year old ass home from the REM concert where you would most likely get drunk or high or ARRESTED - or all of the above.
Our school community lost a good, good woman over the weekend. She was the mom who was ALWAYS there - picking up the slack for the rest of us. She had 3 children who adored her, and who are going to bed tonight without the kisses, hugs, snuggles, stories, songs or whatever it was that she gave them night after night for their whole lives. She had a loving husband who has to somehow find the strength to go on without her and raise their children and face all of the parenting hurdles he thought they'd face together all by himself. I'm sorry to say that I didn't know her very well. But you didn't have to know her well to know what kind of woman she was. As my Dad would say - she was "good people". And she will be missed.
There is no easy way to make sense of these tragic losses. Trying to figure all of this out really sucks. Why is it that it's only when we get to BE the grown ups that we truly appreciate how great we had it as kids? No one expected you to understand the hard stuff.
And then - you grew up. And what the HELL happened? Sure, you don't have a curfew anymore....but you DO have that babysitter to pay when you get home. And sure, you can buy that Barbie Dreamhouse now......or you could use that money to buy groceries for the week. Or to pay dance school tuition this month...or to pay down that credit card....or fix that sink in the bathroom that drips..... Hmm - all of a sudden that Barbie Dreamhouse fades into the fog of distant memories. Along with that Atari you never got, the pony that never materialized and that BMW convertible that never actually appeared on your 17th birthday with a red bow in the high school parking lot. At some point, we all realize that being a grown up isn't really all it was cracked up to be when we were 7, 11,or 16. Being a grown up is hard and sometimes it really, really sucks.
No one ever told you that once you were grown up - you would have the pleasure of experiencing all of the torture of elementary and middle school again - through your kids. AS if 4th grade long division homework wasn't excruciating enough when YOU were in fourth grade - you now get to experience it all over again with your kids. And if you somehow missed out on being tortured by the mean girl or jack-hole boy in your class fear not! For that particular kid's son or daughter will SURELY select YOUR child as his or her own piece of toilet paper for at least 6 months. And if you were waxing poetic about that teacher who just hated your guts and was mean and unfair to you...well, don't get too misty eyed. For that teacher lives on through another. And she or he is even meaner, uglier, smellier and more degrading than YOUR teacher ever could have been.
But that's the stuff that takes wimpy-assed, novice grown ups down. It takes alot more to take me, or PC, or Sookie or Fifi or Hermione down. Much more indeed. The stuff that really sucks, the real shitty thing that NOBODY ever tells you when you're little is that sometimes, when you are a grown up - life is really, really unfair. And there is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes good things happen to bad people. Sometimes people who behave badly are revered by millions and reap financial rewards from their ridiculous, irresponsible behavior - look at Charlie Sheen and Lindsay Lohan. And as hard as that is to swallow - it's even harder to explain it to your 10 year old. Speaking of explaining shitty things to your 10 year old....
No one ever tells you that you might have to say terrible things to your kids. Things that you know will just tear them apart and rip them to shreds. And I'm not talking Tiger Mother shit. I'm talking about things like: your brother is really really sick and is going to die. I'm talking about conversations like: so and so's mommy got really, really sick and died over the weekend. THAT'S what can take even the toughest grown ups down for the count. How do you explain to your 10 year old that, yes, indeed, even Mommies die. And that no one knows why God does what he does and takes Mommies away from their kids when they need them the most. And that no, you didn't do anything to make your brother die. Even though you secretly wished that he was a girl - that didn't make him sick and that didn't make him die. I promise.
How do you - as the all wise and all knowing grown up - answer questions that have no answers? How do you promise your kids that just because Mrs. So and So died doesn't mean that you will die. Do you promise them that you won't die? Do you make a promise that you can't keep so that they can sleep better at night? How do you not express your fear and outrage when a wonderful, generous, loving mother of three just disappears from the lives of her children? Yet a self destructive JACK HOLE of a man makes an ass of himself on the internet and acts as if he is indestructable and immortal and lives on to party another day. How do you not express YOUR anger at God, YOUR bewilderment and YOUR fear? But you can't - 'cause YOU'RE the GROWN UP! Your job, as the grown up, is to help your kids make sense out of the nonsensical. And that can be really difficult. No one tells you about this shit when you are plotting revenge against your mean mother who is keeping your 15 year old ass home from the REM concert where you would most likely get drunk or high or ARRESTED - or all of the above.
Our school community lost a good, good woman over the weekend. She was the mom who was ALWAYS there - picking up the slack for the rest of us. She had 3 children who adored her, and who are going to bed tonight without the kisses, hugs, snuggles, stories, songs or whatever it was that she gave them night after night for their whole lives. She had a loving husband who has to somehow find the strength to go on without her and raise their children and face all of the parenting hurdles he thought they'd face together all by himself. I'm sorry to say that I didn't know her very well. But you didn't have to know her well to know what kind of woman she was. As my Dad would say - she was "good people". And she will be missed.
There is no easy way to make sense of these tragic losses. Trying to figure all of this out really sucks. Why is it that it's only when we get to BE the grown ups that we truly appreciate how great we had it as kids? No one expected you to understand the hard stuff.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Unions? I Don't Need No Stinkin' Union....
OK - so unless you've been living under a rock lately, you've seen what's going on in Wisconsin between the newly-elected Governor and the Teachers' Union. Big, bad stuff - bad, bad stuff - the stuff that will either make his career or ruin him politically for the rest of his life. That remains to be seen. But this whole debate started me thinking - wouldn't it be nice if Moms had a powerful union? I mean really - no one works harder for less economic benefit than mommies. (Unless you are Justin Beiber or Miley Cyrus's mommy - those biotches gave birth to their 401Ks) I mean we work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - have no sick leave, no collective bargaining rights, no representation anywhere, are not paid a fair wage - we're not paid ANY wage...I mean come on! It's about time we organized and enjoyed the same perks other workers have!
So, I am proposing a union for us called: M.O.M.: Mothers Organized for More
More of what you ask? Well - more of everything! I mean think about it - without US, how would ANYTHING EVER get done? Children would be running around in dirty, ill fitting clothing - some would probably go naked - and they would all smell AWFUL as they would never bathe. No one would do homework, projects or reports properly, our children and their caretakers would eat frozen pizza and nachos for every meal. No one would realize that the kids' bellies hurt because they hadn't pooped in weeks - and the Emergency Rooms would be overrun with gassy, bloated people. In short, we would become a nation of very smelly, dirty, undernourished, obese, constipated people. Society would crumble. Mark my words - it would. So, I am proposing a few changes to the status quo, if you will, to make our lives a little more enjoyable - and to level the playing field.
Here are some of my ideas for making our lives just a wee bit easier....
1. All union members would have 4 weeks of MANDATORY vacation. This vacation would be funded by tax payer monies - because one thing I am certain of - every tax payer HAS or HAD a mother - and regardless if they loved or hated her - she gave them life and for that a debt of gratitude is owed. So pay up Suckas! The union members would be relieved by a cadre of wonderful, Mary Poppins-esque nannies and housekeepers - who are not physically attractive in any way - but will clean the house like it's never been cleaned before AND address any "hot button" issues with the children - like potty training and fresh mouths - while the mommy is relaxing on her mandatory vacay.
2. All union members would have a government-funded pension. This pension would make up for the 401K the member would have had had she stayed in the workforce. Even if the union member "enjoys" a full-time job with a pension or 401K - she will still be entitled to this pension because as everyone knows - once we have children and become union members - we are paid less, respected less, and more is expected of us in the workplace. Many of us leave the workforce for a period of time only to return working for supervisiors who are younger than us and are threatened by our professional and worldly experience - or work for supervisors who didn't make the same career sacrifice and resent us for the time we spent at home with our children. Either way - for most working moms - we pay the price one way or the other.
3. All liqour stores would be required to provide 1 free bottle of good wine per week to every card carrying member of the union. The wine, as many of us realize, provides important mental health and stability. It is for the mental and physical well being of our members.
4. All card carrying members would be entitled to certain medical services free of charge. These services include: boob jobs, liposuction, tummy tucks, skin resurfacing, microderm abrasion, tanning, whole body wraps, massages...basically any and all medical and cosmetic procedures that will help return your body to the state it was pre-union membership.
5. All members would have a professional cleaning service come in and clean their home once a month. It is not the union member's fault that she lives with a group of filthy and disorganized piggies. Therefore - she should not be expected to continually pick up after them. A professional service will do the "heavy" cleaning and then the filthy piggies can certainly be trained to do the minimum for the rest of the month.
6. Any time that the union member logs in the gym trying to work her body back into pre-motherhood shape will be rewarded with an equal amount of time at the spa of her choice receiving the services of her choice. These spa services will be paid for by the father of the babies. This will happen via a mandatory auto-debit from his paycheck so there are no misunderstandings.
Now, I'm sure that my loyal readers can think of MANY more benefits the union could provide. This is just a starting point. I'm just spit-balling ideas here. Ok, OK - I'm dreaming - I know it!
But darn it all - we really do DESERVE this union because we all know that this union will never, ever materialize. And yet - not one of us would walk out on our "job" as Mommy because we can't have a cleaning lady, or a massage, or a boob job. And not one of us would ever think of NOT becoming a member of the Mommy club because these "benefits" are not available. Of course...no one tells you what breastfeeding really does to your boobs BEFORE you breast feed, and no one talks about how you'll never be able to do a jumping jack without wetting yourself a bit after you've had 2 or more kids BEFORE you have them. Even so - I know that even knowing what I know now about your body after baby - I'd do it all again! And so would the rest of you...... As for M.O.M. - maybe one day........
So, I am proposing a union for us called: M.O.M.: Mothers Organized for More
More of what you ask? Well - more of everything! I mean think about it - without US, how would ANYTHING EVER get done? Children would be running around in dirty, ill fitting clothing - some would probably go naked - and they would all smell AWFUL as they would never bathe. No one would do homework, projects or reports properly, our children and their caretakers would eat frozen pizza and nachos for every meal. No one would realize that the kids' bellies hurt because they hadn't pooped in weeks - and the Emergency Rooms would be overrun with gassy, bloated people. In short, we would become a nation of very smelly, dirty, undernourished, obese, constipated people. Society would crumble. Mark my words - it would. So, I am proposing a few changes to the status quo, if you will, to make our lives a little more enjoyable - and to level the playing field.
Here are some of my ideas for making our lives just a wee bit easier....
1. All union members would have 4 weeks of MANDATORY vacation. This vacation would be funded by tax payer monies - because one thing I am certain of - every tax payer HAS or HAD a mother - and regardless if they loved or hated her - she gave them life and for that a debt of gratitude is owed. So pay up Suckas! The union members would be relieved by a cadre of wonderful, Mary Poppins-esque nannies and housekeepers - who are not physically attractive in any way - but will clean the house like it's never been cleaned before AND address any "hot button" issues with the children - like potty training and fresh mouths - while the mommy is relaxing on her mandatory vacay.
2. All union members would have a government-funded pension. This pension would make up for the 401K the member would have had had she stayed in the workforce. Even if the union member "enjoys" a full-time job with a pension or 401K - she will still be entitled to this pension because as everyone knows - once we have children and become union members - we are paid less, respected less, and more is expected of us in the workplace. Many of us leave the workforce for a period of time only to return working for supervisiors who are younger than us and are threatened by our professional and worldly experience - or work for supervisors who didn't make the same career sacrifice and resent us for the time we spent at home with our children. Either way - for most working moms - we pay the price one way or the other.
3. All liqour stores would be required to provide 1 free bottle of good wine per week to every card carrying member of the union. The wine, as many of us realize, provides important mental health and stability. It is for the mental and physical well being of our members.
4. All card carrying members would be entitled to certain medical services free of charge. These services include: boob jobs, liposuction, tummy tucks, skin resurfacing, microderm abrasion, tanning, whole body wraps, massages...basically any and all medical and cosmetic procedures that will help return your body to the state it was pre-union membership.
5. All members would have a professional cleaning service come in and clean their home once a month. It is not the union member's fault that she lives with a group of filthy and disorganized piggies. Therefore - she should not be expected to continually pick up after them. A professional service will do the "heavy" cleaning and then the filthy piggies can certainly be trained to do the minimum for the rest of the month.
6. Any time that the union member logs in the gym trying to work her body back into pre-motherhood shape will be rewarded with an equal amount of time at the spa of her choice receiving the services of her choice. These spa services will be paid for by the father of the babies. This will happen via a mandatory auto-debit from his paycheck so there are no misunderstandings.
Now, I'm sure that my loyal readers can think of MANY more benefits the union could provide. This is just a starting point. I'm just spit-balling ideas here. Ok, OK - I'm dreaming - I know it!
But darn it all - we really do DESERVE this union because we all know that this union will never, ever materialize. And yet - not one of us would walk out on our "job" as Mommy because we can't have a cleaning lady, or a massage, or a boob job. And not one of us would ever think of NOT becoming a member of the Mommy club because these "benefits" are not available. Of course...no one tells you what breastfeeding really does to your boobs BEFORE you breast feed, and no one talks about how you'll never be able to do a jumping jack without wetting yourself a bit after you've had 2 or more kids BEFORE you have them. Even so - I know that even knowing what I know now about your body after baby - I'd do it all again! And so would the rest of you...... As for M.O.M. - maybe one day........
Monday, February 14, 2011
Ahhhh...Valentines Day
Happy, Happy Valentines Day my peeps! First of all, I have to extend my most sincere thanks to everyone who read the last post and left beautiful comments on FB or called or came up to me and gave me a big hug. It really meant the world to me. PC and I are doing ok. We have good days and bad days. Today is a good day. And the good news is that the good days are slowly starting to outnumber the bad days. And once again - today is a good day.
Why, you ask, is today a good day? Oh - so many reasons my loyal readers and pals. So many reasons! First of all, last night was one of my FAVORITE nights of the year. First of all, it was Will's Blue and Gold Banquet and he earned a boatload of belt loops for Cub Scouts - and as any good Tiger Mother knows - the more belt loops the better! But, sadly, that is not what made my night SPECTACULAR. No - what made my night absoulutely freaking SPECTACULAR was the Grammy Award Show. Also known in my house as "The FREAK of All FREAK Shows". And last night did NOT disappoint.
Where to begin?????? Now, I am briefly going to discuss my favorite freaky moments - but I am purposely NOT discussing Lady Gaga. She will get her own post tomorrow or the next day. There is just waaay too much good stuff there. The ONLY thing I will say about her is this: Last night totally cemented her in as my personal hero (besides my mom that is...as she has taken to reading the blog of late. Love you MJ!) and I now bow down and worship at the altar of Gaga. But that's ENOUGH...stay tuned for my tribute to all things Gaga.
OK - my FAVORITE sound bite of the night came when Seth Green was talking about all of the "new things he'd seen" at the grammys and what a "spectacular time" he was having "and that was all backstage while getting high with Miley Cyrus"!!!! PRICELESS.
The fashion was surprisingly tame - on the whole. I will give a shout out to the night's worst dressed celebrity: Niki Minage.(Whoever she is) I honestly don't know what she was thinking...but it was a spectacularly hot mess. And I loved it. Hair and all!
But my FAVORITE Freaky Moment was courtesy of no other than - you guessed it: CeeLo Green and Gweneth "I-can-do-no-wrong" Paltrow. OH MY GOD! What was THAT?????????? The only thing I could think of was The Muppet Show. Was he channeling his inner Elton John? And what was her excuse? Those feather earrings? I think I had them in the 7th grade.The whole number was so out there - so ridiculous - that it made my entire night!
Seriously. Priceless.
Yes, there were other surprising moments - like when Justin Boober, I mean Beiber, danced surprisingly well with Usher. I will admit - the kid IS talented. I did NOT like the Bob Dylan thing at all - he sounded and looked SO old. Now, I realize that is because he IS in fact pretty old. But - it still made me sad. I fell asleep before Babs performed and I missed Mick Jagger. It seems to me like last night's show was a mix between geriatric performers, teeney boppers and total and complete freaks - that's all I'm sayin. I'm SUPER happy that Eminem won a Grammy - as he is on my list - that makes him all the more appealing to me. Yes, Eminem is on my 'list" along with Steven Tyler, Paul Rudd, Josh Duhmel, Daniel Craig and of course - Jon Bon Jovi. Just deal with it.
Another reason that today is a good day is that it is Valentine's Day and my husband gave me the most AMAZING, from-the-heart, sincere gift a girl could ever want. You see, we've had some spectacular Valentine's Days in the past, so it's pretty hard for PC to top himself year after year. On our first Valentine's Day, he wisked me away to the beach and took me out to a very fancy and expensive dinner and then we walked along the boardwalk/beach in the moonlight. Pretty romantic - huh? We've visited all of the MOST ROMANTIC venues in Baltimore. Several times he has had roses and candy waiting at our table at these restaurants. He's no slouch in the romance department, my Prince Charming. That is why today's gift is so amazing and truly appreciated. I dare say that it tops all of the other Valentine's Day surprises.
What, you ask, did this prince of a man do for me? Were there diamonds on my morning coffee? Nope. Were there rubies or emeralds in my morning mimosa? Sadly - no. (No to the jewels AND the mimosa unfortunately) Is there an all day appointment booked at the spa for me? Negative on that one too. No, my loyal readers - after 19 years of togetherness - PC really and truly knows not only what I want...but he also knows exactly what I need. And I had a big-time need this morning.
You see, as I awoke and opened my eyes - the need for my morning cup of life-giving fluid...coffee - gripped me like a shark grips a surfer's arm. So, I heaved myself out of bed, dragged my weary bones downstairs and popped my hazelnut KCUP into the machine of happiness. As I sat down to enjoy my delicious cup of joyfulness - I turned my head and gazed into the dining room. Where what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Evidence of a large gastro-intestinal EXPLOSION courtesy of my 13year-old Golden Retriever, Dixie. Gross does not even BEGIN to describe what I saw. And it was everywhere. Now, this is nothing NEW for Dixie - it generally happens once or twice a year. But this time it was so utterly gross and disgusting that the thought "I just can't do this today" overcame me. I'd rather tear the carpet up from the floor than clean that stuff out of it. Seriously. So, in an act of undying, unconditional and unyielding love - PC came downstairs - all dressed for work, got on his hands and knees and cleaned it all up for me. Every last drop. And because of that - I hereby declare that PC is officially OFF the hook for any flowers or candy hearts this year. I'm serious. Enough is enough. PC - spend your lunch hour EATING and surfing the net. No need to hit the mall and stand in line at Godiva or Hallmark or wherever else you needed to go today. Cleaning up gallons of doggie poop earns you the right to spend an hour on ITunes...or wherever it is that you go.
Now for those of you who have not been married for a very long time, you might think that I am giving in and giving up waaay to easily. I mean - cleaning up dog poop is part of dog ownership - right? Yes it is - and PC is the official pooper scooper over here. But I see Dixie's latest adventures in gastro-intestinal distress as a metaphor for the past 6 weeks of our lives. Poor PC has had to clean up alot of proverbial poop lately. And he's handled it all without a word of complaint or frustration or bitterness. He's plastered a smile on his face and done all of the birthday party duty, grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning up, childcare, petcare and wife-care with amazing strength, dignity and courage. He has had to shoulder an unimaginable burden - largely on his own without the usual support of HIS Valentine. And for that - I will be eternally grateful. There is no box of heart-shaped chocolates that is big enough to express my gratitude to him. He truly deserves his pseudonym of PC for Prince Charming in this blog. He never fails to ride into my life on his white steed and rescue me from one disaster or another. I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful, supportive - and let's face it - HOT husband. So PC - thanks for loving me through thick and thin, for my beautiful babies - all 3 of them, for all of my jewelry, and for the past 19 wonderful, romantic, love-filled Valentine's Days. You have made ALL of my dreams come true - even the dreams that I didn't know that I could dream. I love you more than you could ever imagine.
Monday, February 7, 2011
To Everything There is a Season...
How many times has someone asked you: "What's your favorite song?" Bella asks me ALL OF THE TIME - secretly hoping my answer will change and my favorite song will be a little ditty by Justin Beiber. While that will NEVER happen - I do find that my answer changes often. Most of the time, my answer changes based on my mood. And as many of you know, my mood as of late has NOT been so great. In fact, these days music - which has never been high on my list of priorities- is about as low on the totem pole as it can get. Which is why I find it interesting that this blog post - which I've been "working on" for the past 5 weeks- revolves around a song.
One of the songs that I've always loved, and have turned to in times of crisis is Turn, Turn, Turn by Pete Seger. It's actually NOT by Pete Seger - it's lifted from the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible. Seger just changed the order of some of the words and added in the now-famous title line " Turn, Turn, Turn". The Byrds made the song famous. The Bible tells us that "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." And it seems, dear readers and friends, that Busy Momma has entered a cold, harsh season of her life.
The most unbelieveably heart-breaking thing happened to me - and my family -5 weeks ago. Our baby boy, Aiden Brian, who we were all so excited to welcome into our family, was born. And while the birth of his sister and brother were times of great joy and excitement, Aiden's birth was a time of heart-shattering and mind numbing grief. It wasn't time for him to be born. In fact - much to our deep and agonizing dismay, it seems that Aiden really didn't have a divinely-determined "time to be born". Two days before Christmas we learned, much to our shock and heart-ache, that Aiden was in serious trouble. A routine sonogram detected a problem that turned out to be a disaster. We rang in the New Year with the knowledge that our little, innocent, beautiful baby boy was going to die.
The knowledge that the baby - who was still kicking and boogie-ing down inside of me - was going to die - no matter what I did - was an exquisiste form of torture. Exquisite might seem like a strange adjective - but looking back - it seems appropriate. Because feeling him moving about allowed me to acknowldge his exisitence, the fact that he was a little person who mattered. It also made me acutely aware of how fleeting our time together might be. And fleeting it was. A day and a half after we had a confirmed diagnosis of a lethal condition - he was gone. And I knew the minute that God took him - that he was gone. And while some people might say that knowledge like that is impossible, that there is no way that I could have known - I will tell you that I knew. I sensed his spirit leaving me the same way I felt the glorious moment of giving life when Jack and Bella were born. I felt that little, precious life leaving me. And as angry as I am at God right now, I do acknowldge that that moment - being able to feel that, was a gift.
I am full of anger and questions and this deep, deep sadness that is so foreign to my nature, it frightens me. I don't like this at all - not one little bit. I can't stand being so sad all of the time. And I can't stand pretending to be happy and OK when I'm all broken and shattered and dark on the inside. I went out with the girls from Book Club the other night and a little part of me hoped that someone at the bar would say something that would really piss me off so that I could punch them right in the face. Who thinks that? Especially when they are headed to BOOK CLUB?!?! I just think that it would feel so good to just go ape-shit all over some stranger and punch someone or something over and over and over again. C to the R to the A to the Z to the Y - I know. And I know that no matter what anyone says to me - I would never punch anyone. I don't even know HOW to punch something properly. But I can fantasize about it...
Everyone says thing like "It will get easier" and "Time heals all wounds" - but it really doesn't. Time has NOT been my friend. Time marches on. Life goes on. People forget, or they assume that it's been "long enough" and that you're "over it". And I'm learning THAT'S when it gets REALLY hard. The first week or so after, we had so much "stuff" to deal with - funeral arrangements, deliveries, thank-you notes, mass cards, sympathy cards. We didn't have time to grieve. We were sad and shocked and scared of what we had to do - bury him, leave the house for the first time, put the kids back in school. Our friends and family were so wonderful to us. Fifi lost her mind and just got on a plane and lived here for a week! Hermione also was spurred into nonstop action and was here cleaning and cooking and clucking all over us. My brother sprouted wings and flew here and didn't leave me for a week. Poor Sookie burst into tears at the drop of a hat and was like our own personal goalie/PR professional - she ran communications and interference in all areas of our life. The outpouring of love and devotion and genuine, heartfelt sympathy was totally overwhelming. We will never be able to express our gratitude for the love and the prayers and the calls and the flowers, meals and whatnot. What we thought was grief was, in fact, shock and sadness - the harbingers of grief - but not grief itself.
Grief rings the doorbell when everyone goes away. While everyone else is at work, writing their documents, teaching their classes, removing diseased organs and programming computers, grief sneaks onto your doorstep. And he rings the bell incessently. What I'm learning is that he is one persistent bastard. I didn't answer his call last week - because I was too busy. I was ORGANIZING! Organizing Bella and Jack's homework area. I ran out of label-maker tape, I was so busy. I just couldn't get to grief. Then, I decided to have lunch with friends - no time to deal with grief. But he showed up at lunch - and he started in on me. I pushed him away. Then he snuck up on me the next day during a conversation with someone who was trying to "make me feel better". And then he got me. And he hasn't let go of me. And I can't escape him. He clings to my back like a dowager's hump. I can actually FEEL him - my back hurts.
My mom - who really does know everything and pretty much is always right - tells me that I MUST let him in. That I have to welcome him in, pour him a cup of tea and sit with him for a while. She claims that the only way to get rid of him is to spend time with him. And in what must be an INCREDIBLY difficult statement for her to make- she also says that I really do have to stop cleaning my house like an OCD person on crack - and slow down. She says that I have to let myself cry. Ugh. Who wants to do that? I have a desk that is a bit dusty and a kitchen cabinet that is calling my name. I haven't labeled EVERYTHING in my home with my P Touch yet. I argue with her that obsessive, compulsive labeling, cleaning and organizing is WAAAY better than laying in bed and watching Jerseylicious marathons. She seems to disagree. So I'm going to try a compromise. Grief keeps getting in while I'm fighting to keep him away - so I might as well let him in. It seems that I don't have much choice in the matter. But I REFUSE to let him take over. The problem is that I don't know how to interact with him without letting him wash over me like a tsunami. I'm afraid that he will and that I will find myself adrift in a sea that I can't navigate through or escape from.
So that is why Turn, Turn, Turn is my current favorite song. It gives me hope that this too shall pass. I don't know when and I can't imagine how - but I know that people DO recover from this. I know people who have recovered from this exact form of torture - and worse. I know that my family - one member shy - will go on. We will thrive and grow after this long, cold winter. I know in my heart that Spring will come and new life will spring out of the cold, frozen earth where I find myself today.
Turn, Turn, Turn
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
Words-adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes
Music-Pete Seeger
One of the songs that I've always loved, and have turned to in times of crisis is Turn, Turn, Turn by Pete Seger. It's actually NOT by Pete Seger - it's lifted from the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible. Seger just changed the order of some of the words and added in the now-famous title line " Turn, Turn, Turn". The Byrds made the song famous. The Bible tells us that "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." And it seems, dear readers and friends, that Busy Momma has entered a cold, harsh season of her life.
The most unbelieveably heart-breaking thing happened to me - and my family -5 weeks ago. Our baby boy, Aiden Brian, who we were all so excited to welcome into our family, was born. And while the birth of his sister and brother were times of great joy and excitement, Aiden's birth was a time of heart-shattering and mind numbing grief. It wasn't time for him to be born. In fact - much to our deep and agonizing dismay, it seems that Aiden really didn't have a divinely-determined "time to be born". Two days before Christmas we learned, much to our shock and heart-ache, that Aiden was in serious trouble. A routine sonogram detected a problem that turned out to be a disaster. We rang in the New Year with the knowledge that our little, innocent, beautiful baby boy was going to die.
The knowledge that the baby - who was still kicking and boogie-ing down inside of me - was going to die - no matter what I did - was an exquisiste form of torture. Exquisite might seem like a strange adjective - but looking back - it seems appropriate. Because feeling him moving about allowed me to acknowldge his exisitence, the fact that he was a little person who mattered. It also made me acutely aware of how fleeting our time together might be. And fleeting it was. A day and a half after we had a confirmed diagnosis of a lethal condition - he was gone. And I knew the minute that God took him - that he was gone. And while some people might say that knowledge like that is impossible, that there is no way that I could have known - I will tell you that I knew. I sensed his spirit leaving me the same way I felt the glorious moment of giving life when Jack and Bella were born. I felt that little, precious life leaving me. And as angry as I am at God right now, I do acknowldge that that moment - being able to feel that, was a gift.
I am full of anger and questions and this deep, deep sadness that is so foreign to my nature, it frightens me. I don't like this at all - not one little bit. I can't stand being so sad all of the time. And I can't stand pretending to be happy and OK when I'm all broken and shattered and dark on the inside. I went out with the girls from Book Club the other night and a little part of me hoped that someone at the bar would say something that would really piss me off so that I could punch them right in the face. Who thinks that? Especially when they are headed to BOOK CLUB?!?! I just think that it would feel so good to just go ape-shit all over some stranger and punch someone or something over and over and over again. C to the R to the A to the Z to the Y - I know. And I know that no matter what anyone says to me - I would never punch anyone. I don't even know HOW to punch something properly. But I can fantasize about it...
Everyone says thing like "It will get easier" and "Time heals all wounds" - but it really doesn't. Time has NOT been my friend. Time marches on. Life goes on. People forget, or they assume that it's been "long enough" and that you're "over it". And I'm learning THAT'S when it gets REALLY hard. The first week or so after, we had so much "stuff" to deal with - funeral arrangements, deliveries, thank-you notes, mass cards, sympathy cards. We didn't have time to grieve. We were sad and shocked and scared of what we had to do - bury him, leave the house for the first time, put the kids back in school. Our friends and family were so wonderful to us. Fifi lost her mind and just got on a plane and lived here for a week! Hermione also was spurred into nonstop action and was here cleaning and cooking and clucking all over us. My brother sprouted wings and flew here and didn't leave me for a week. Poor Sookie burst into tears at the drop of a hat and was like our own personal goalie/PR professional - she ran communications and interference in all areas of our life. The outpouring of love and devotion and genuine, heartfelt sympathy was totally overwhelming. We will never be able to express our gratitude for the love and the prayers and the calls and the flowers, meals and whatnot. What we thought was grief was, in fact, shock and sadness - the harbingers of grief - but not grief itself.
Grief rings the doorbell when everyone goes away. While everyone else is at work, writing their documents, teaching their classes, removing diseased organs and programming computers, grief sneaks onto your doorstep. And he rings the bell incessently. What I'm learning is that he is one persistent bastard. I didn't answer his call last week - because I was too busy. I was ORGANIZING! Organizing Bella and Jack's homework area. I ran out of label-maker tape, I was so busy. I just couldn't get to grief. Then, I decided to have lunch with friends - no time to deal with grief. But he showed up at lunch - and he started in on me. I pushed him away. Then he snuck up on me the next day during a conversation with someone who was trying to "make me feel better". And then he got me. And he hasn't let go of me. And I can't escape him. He clings to my back like a dowager's hump. I can actually FEEL him - my back hurts.
My mom - who really does know everything and pretty much is always right - tells me that I MUST let him in. That I have to welcome him in, pour him a cup of tea and sit with him for a while. She claims that the only way to get rid of him is to spend time with him. And in what must be an INCREDIBLY difficult statement for her to make- she also says that I really do have to stop cleaning my house like an OCD person on crack - and slow down. She says that I have to let myself cry. Ugh. Who wants to do that? I have a desk that is a bit dusty and a kitchen cabinet that is calling my name. I haven't labeled EVERYTHING in my home with my P Touch yet. I argue with her that obsessive, compulsive labeling, cleaning and organizing is WAAAY better than laying in bed and watching Jerseylicious marathons. She seems to disagree. So I'm going to try a compromise. Grief keeps getting in while I'm fighting to keep him away - so I might as well let him in. It seems that I don't have much choice in the matter. But I REFUSE to let him take over. The problem is that I don't know how to interact with him without letting him wash over me like a tsunami. I'm afraid that he will and that I will find myself adrift in a sea that I can't navigate through or escape from.
So that is why Turn, Turn, Turn is my current favorite song. It gives me hope that this too shall pass. I don't know when and I can't imagine how - but I know that people DO recover from this. I know people who have recovered from this exact form of torture - and worse. I know that my family - one member shy - will go on. We will thrive and grow after this long, cold winter. I know in my heart that Spring will come and new life will spring out of the cold, frozen earth where I find myself today.
Turn, Turn, Turn
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
Words-adapted from The Bible, book of Ecclesiastes
Music-Pete Seeger
Monday, January 31, 2011
AND...They're off!
Well - this past weekend marked a milestone for PC and Jack in their Father/Son relationship. This past weekend was PC and Jack's very first Pinewood Derby. And I must admit - it was much more exciting than I thought it would be. What IS the Pinewood Derby, you ask? The Pinewood Derby is only one of the BIGGEST and MOST EXCITING events in all of Boy Scouting! The Pinewood Derby is THE annual event that separates the mice from the men, the wheat from the chaff, the boys from the men AND the pros from the amatuers. It allows the winners bragging rights for the next 364 days and it condemns the losers to 364 nights of dreaming about snatching victory from the cold, hard clutches of defeat.
A bit dramatic? Too much you say? Oh, no dear readers - I am just getting started. Our journey to our first Pinewood Derby was one of great hopes, dreams and visions of ginormous trophies being carried home and displayed for the neighborhood to see. And while it didn't quite turn out the way the boys had hoped - they still experienced the exquisite thrill of victory and the agony of crushing defeat.
This all started when we signed up for Tiger Scouts in the fall. We received all of the scouting ecoutrements - the neckerchef clip, the shirt and all of the required badges and patches. We also recieved a box with a picture of a wooden race car on the front that said "Pinewood Derby Kit". Having no idea what this was - I promptly threw it into the mess that is my closet and never thought about it again. In a very strange twist of fate - Hermione was poking around my room right after the new year and found this box and left it out on my dresser. Good thing too - because I had completeely forgotten about this Pinewood Derby thing and I had just received an email reminding me that the Derby was almost upon us.
Being the Boy Scout virgin that I am - I just figured that the boys would take the car out of the box, decorate it and maybe race it at this derby thing. In another strange and very fortunate twist of fate - a very good friend and Boy Scouting GURU stopped by one night and happened to see the kit - which was still UNOPENED - in the family room. In what can only be described as divine intervention - he opened the kit - and much to my surprise - the kit contained nails, wheels and a WOODEN BLOCK! WTF? Where was the car thingy? Now - for those of you who know me and PC - you know that we are not what you'd call "handy". To be honest - when it comes to any activity that involves actual tools - I think we'd actually be considered "incompetent", "limited" or - in fact "dangerous". So you can only IMAGINE the sheer and utter PANIC I felt when my buddy revealed the contents of the Pinewood Derby kit. And you can only imagine his sheer delight when I said: "Um , where is the car?"
Yes Dear Readers - I had NO IDEA that we had to MAKE this car. As in CARVE this car and craft it out of wood - using tools that I don't have, wouldn't know where to find or what to do with them once I found them. Thank GOD PC was a bit more on the ball, shall we say. Apparently, he knew that the car had to be carved because he had, in fact, MADE a Pinewood Derby car way back when. So he was also quite amused when I told him, arms -a- flapping, eyes wide with terror that we actually had to "MAKE this bleeping-bleeping car - like out of a bleeping wooden bleeping block! OMG - BLEEPING MAKE IT - as in BLEEPING CARVE it with some sort of wood carving mother -bleeping tools - WT BLEEP??? Are we supposed to be bleeping wood workers now? What do these bleeping people WANT from us?" Once he calmed me down - he explained that he had it all under control and that I just needed to relax and take a Zanex (and wash my mouth out with Ivory Soap.). So I did. However - I will fully admit that I had NO faith in PC's abilities as a woodworker and was secretly researching BUYING a Pinewood Derby car on the black market. And I am also admitting - here on the blog - that I was very very wrong. Unbeknowst to me - even though we can barely put IKEA furniture together - PC is a genius with a Pinewood Derby car! Who knew?
The car was a masterpiece - a true masterpiece. PC and Jack came up with a design and a theme right away. It was a no-brainer. Their car was going to be a Ravens car. Once the block of wood looked like a car - and my kitchen table was covered in wood shavings - Jack painted it jet black. Then, over many, many nights and many, many hours, PC painstakingly hand painted the Ravens logo on each side of the car and the Ravens shield on the hood while Jack hovered over him, making sure that he got it "just right". And then, the most important tweak of all was made to the car: they weighted it down. After much discussion, research and test runs, the boys decided to place the weights and the car was ready. And the morning of the derby was upon us.
Jack's troop raced first - and as that beautiful Ravens car was placed on the track - PC and I stood, knees knocking, with the other first-time derby moms and dads. As much as we wanted our car to place first - what we wanted more than ANYTHING was for our car NOT to place LAST. Because THAT would be terrible. So, as we prayed to God that we would not place last - the bell rang and the cars raced down that track as fast as lightening. And we watched, hearts in our mouths, as our exquisite Ravens car zoomed down that track and finished in a very respectable third place! And then, in a miracle of miracles, it zoomed down the track and placed third AGAIN! and AGAIN! And then - in a moment that made me shout out loud - that gorgeous car of ours zoomed down the track and placed FIRST!!!!!!! FIRST! In one glorious race - our car placed first. And I will never forget the expressions of sheer, unadulterated DELIGHT on PC and Jack's faces.
Unfortunately, we came in 5th in the next race and Jack's car came in 4th place overall. Which, for Jack, was a crushing blow. There were big time tears and knashing of teeth - but once I got PC calmed down I could focus on Jack's disappointment. (Just kidding) What really cracked me up was how the dads handled this. Because as the moms were really riddled with anxiety and glad that their child's heat was over- the dads were all standing around planning for NEXT YEAR! Talking about new designs, how they'd weigh down next year's car and yadda yadda. Jack and PC are STILL taking about it. I must admit - they do have a really cool design idea. And while they plan and sketch, I watch the two of them growing closer and sharing an experience that Jack will never forget. And I'm surprised that I'm really looking forward to next year's derby...and already worrying that we will not place as well as we did this year. Oh well - I guess that is why God invented wine...
A bit dramatic? Too much you say? Oh, no dear readers - I am just getting started. Our journey to our first Pinewood Derby was one of great hopes, dreams and visions of ginormous trophies being carried home and displayed for the neighborhood to see. And while it didn't quite turn out the way the boys had hoped - they still experienced the exquisite thrill of victory and the agony of crushing defeat.
This all started when we signed up for Tiger Scouts in the fall. We received all of the scouting ecoutrements - the neckerchef clip, the shirt and all of the required badges and patches. We also recieved a box with a picture of a wooden race car on the front that said "Pinewood Derby Kit". Having no idea what this was - I promptly threw it into the mess that is my closet and never thought about it again. In a very strange twist of fate - Hermione was poking around my room right after the new year and found this box and left it out on my dresser. Good thing too - because I had completeely forgotten about this Pinewood Derby thing and I had just received an email reminding me that the Derby was almost upon us.
Being the Boy Scout virgin that I am - I just figured that the boys would take the car out of the box, decorate it and maybe race it at this derby thing. In another strange and very fortunate twist of fate - a very good friend and Boy Scouting GURU stopped by one night and happened to see the kit - which was still UNOPENED - in the family room. In what can only be described as divine intervention - he opened the kit - and much to my surprise - the kit contained nails, wheels and a WOODEN BLOCK! WTF? Where was the car thingy? Now - for those of you who know me and PC - you know that we are not what you'd call "handy". To be honest - when it comes to any activity that involves actual tools - I think we'd actually be considered "incompetent", "limited" or - in fact "dangerous". So you can only IMAGINE the sheer and utter PANIC I felt when my buddy revealed the contents of the Pinewood Derby kit. And you can only imagine his sheer delight when I said: "Um , where is the car?"
Yes Dear Readers - I had NO IDEA that we had to MAKE this car. As in CARVE this car and craft it out of wood - using tools that I don't have, wouldn't know where to find or what to do with them once I found them. Thank GOD PC was a bit more on the ball, shall we say. Apparently, he knew that the car had to be carved because he had, in fact, MADE a Pinewood Derby car way back when. So he was also quite amused when I told him, arms -a- flapping, eyes wide with terror that we actually had to "MAKE this bleeping-bleeping car - like out of a bleeping wooden bleeping block! OMG - BLEEPING MAKE IT - as in BLEEPING CARVE it with some sort of wood carving mother -bleeping tools - WT BLEEP??? Are we supposed to be bleeping wood workers now? What do these bleeping people WANT from us?" Once he calmed me down - he explained that he had it all under control and that I just needed to relax and take a Zanex (and wash my mouth out with Ivory Soap.). So I did. However - I will fully admit that I had NO faith in PC's abilities as a woodworker and was secretly researching BUYING a Pinewood Derby car on the black market. And I am also admitting - here on the blog - that I was very very wrong. Unbeknowst to me - even though we can barely put IKEA furniture together - PC is a genius with a Pinewood Derby car! Who knew?
The car was a masterpiece - a true masterpiece. PC and Jack came up with a design and a theme right away. It was a no-brainer. Their car was going to be a Ravens car. Once the block of wood looked like a car - and my kitchen table was covered in wood shavings - Jack painted it jet black. Then, over many, many nights and many, many hours, PC painstakingly hand painted the Ravens logo on each side of the car and the Ravens shield on the hood while Jack hovered over him, making sure that he got it "just right". And then, the most important tweak of all was made to the car: they weighted it down. After much discussion, research and test runs, the boys decided to place the weights and the car was ready. And the morning of the derby was upon us.
Jack's troop raced first - and as that beautiful Ravens car was placed on the track - PC and I stood, knees knocking, with the other first-time derby moms and dads. As much as we wanted our car to place first - what we wanted more than ANYTHING was for our car NOT to place LAST. Because THAT would be terrible. So, as we prayed to God that we would not place last - the bell rang and the cars raced down that track as fast as lightening. And we watched, hearts in our mouths, as our exquisite Ravens car zoomed down that track and finished in a very respectable third place! And then, in a miracle of miracles, it zoomed down the track and placed third AGAIN! and AGAIN! And then - in a moment that made me shout out loud - that gorgeous car of ours zoomed down the track and placed FIRST!!!!!!! FIRST! In one glorious race - our car placed first. And I will never forget the expressions of sheer, unadulterated DELIGHT on PC and Jack's faces.
Unfortunately, we came in 5th in the next race and Jack's car came in 4th place overall. Which, for Jack, was a crushing blow. There were big time tears and knashing of teeth - but once I got PC calmed down I could focus on Jack's disappointment. (Just kidding) What really cracked me up was how the dads handled this. Because as the moms were really riddled with anxiety and glad that their child's heat was over- the dads were all standing around planning for NEXT YEAR! Talking about new designs, how they'd weigh down next year's car and yadda yadda. Jack and PC are STILL taking about it. I must admit - they do have a really cool design idea. And while they plan and sketch, I watch the two of them growing closer and sharing an experience that Jack will never forget. And I'm surprised that I'm really looking forward to next year's derby...and already worrying that we will not place as well as we did this year. Oh well - I guess that is why God invented wine...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
What Kind of Mom are YOU?????
Ahhhhh...nothing like a little parenting controversey to warm up a snowy January morning. You all know what I am talking about - the infamous Tiger Mother firestorm. A Chinese American Yale professor, Amy Chua, has written a book extolling the virtues of what she calls - The Tiger Mother. In the book, she describes the Chinese parenting philosophy and waxes poetic about why it is superior to what she terms "Western parenting". She also details her own experiences as a Tiger Mother to her 2 daughters - Sophia and LuLu. While much has been said in the media about her strict, unyielding rules and ideas about what makes a superior parent and child, little has been said about these two girls. And this surprises me greatly - because, according to Chua, while both girls are brilliant and immensely talented- they each responded VERY differently to her Tiger mothering. Sohia- the oldest daughter - responded beautifully to this extreme parenting philosophy. Now the term "beautifully" is WIDE open to interpretation, of course. If you consider being asked to play the piano at Carnegie Hall when you are in the 8th grade responding "beautifully" - then you are in luck. Because this child, due to her mother's RELENTLESS insistence on practicing the paino for 3, 4 and 5 hours a day, became a piano genius by the tender age of 13. And relentless Ms. Chua was. She would threaten to BURN Sophia's stuffed animals and donate her favorite toys if she didn't practice, or if her fingers weren't fast enough or if she didn't play with "musicality". YIKES!!!!
LuLu on the other hand didn't respond as well. In fact - LuLu wound up taming the Tiger! Without giving too much away - let's just say that this strong-willed little girl turned Chau's parenting philosophy on its head. The subtitle of the book does say that Chau was "humbled" by a child - and she truly was.
I LOVED this book - loved it. I think Amy Chau is bat-shit crazy, and based on her story of the childhood she provided for her girls - I truly think she needs to be psychologically evaluated. If her girls emerge from this experience unscathed - it will be a miracle. However - one thing I do have to say is that she is brutally honest about her parental triumphs and failures. And both her successes and failures were spectacular. The book is NOT a parenting "how-to" guide. I think it is an attempt to redeem herself in her daughters' eyes. There is no doubt that she truly believes that this "extreme" parenting style IS superior to what she calls "Western" parenting. But she also freely admits that it doesn't work with every child.
The evidence that Asian kids academically outperform their American counterparts is overwhelming and cannot be ignored. But what price do these kids pay for their academic superiority? And what price do their parents pay? Chau argues that this type of parenting is the ULTIMATE expression of love because this type of parenting is NO fun for the parent. These parents are hyper involved - she insists that Chinese mothers spend ten times as much time drilling academics with their kids than American mothers. She claims that she did all of the screaming and yelling and threatening in the best interests of her daughters - not to torture them. I don't know if I buy that. She certainly enjoyed all of the praise lavished upon her when her kids were deemed "prodigies" and were invited to perform at world-class venues.
While I would never identify myself as a Tiger Mom - I'm no fluffy Kitty Cat Mommy either. I was raised by a strict mother. As and Bs were the expectation in my house and if they didn't appear on the report card - you'd better have a VERY good explanation. But - that was because As and Bs WERE representative of my brother and I working to our best ability. I have no doubt that if we were solid C students that a C would have been accepted. While Mom and Dad had high expectations, my Barbies were NEVER in danger of being barbequed. And I'd like to think that MY expectations of my children are pretty high - hopefully appropriately high. I've been known to rip up homework that was a mess. I'm the mom who drills multiplication tables on the weekends and on snow days. My kids have to read for a minimum of an hour every day during the summer and on the weekends. They do workbook pages every day over the summer to prevent the dreaded "summer slide". Does that make me a Tiger mother? No way. My kids also have more sleepovers than I ever had, they have playdates, play sports and have every video game and video game system known to man. (Or at least known to PC!) I HOPE that I'm preparing them to be successful adults. I know that they are happy and having a great childhood. And I know that they don't hate me - which is more than Amy Chau can say about her kids.
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