HomeFull Moons and Safety Glass
Full Moons and Safety Glass
Balancing money, time, self, and family
Member Since: April 14, 2008 Last Signed In: December 04, 2008 Blog Views: 2472 Send To A Friend Sign Guestbook Add as a Friend
Let Me Count the Ways
Strategies for Stress Let Me Entertain You Elevated Here Kitty, Kitty What's in Your Trash? Ain't Nothin' Normal About It YouTube for the Rest of Them Toddler Speak 3:24:12 April 08 May 08 June 08 July 08 August 08 September 08 October 08 November 08 December 08 
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Like many working moms, I struggle with the balance of work and family. This is especially true when I have to travel for work. I make the "big bucks" in the household budget, so "big bucks" leads to occational travel, especially in my line of work. Luckily for me, I have a husband who is generally accepting of this and usually supportive. Even if it does mean that bathtime is skipped while I am out of town. Paul may be understanding, but the kids are not as generous. In an effort to grossly overcompensate for the travel, I carry the kids' art work with me in a folder (a practice I learned from my ever-travelling father) and, when possible, I take them to breakfast the morning that I fly out. And...like so many other mornings..breakfast out is what I did this morning. Taking two kids ages four and two out for breakfast is not, generally, enjoyable. By the time I finish cutting up their pancakes, they are done eating and asking to leave. I, on the other hand, have not even salted my eggs much less scarfed down my food. Leaving is out of the question. Leaving would not provide Mommy with her required and necessary sustainance...coffee. Mommy is NO FUN without her coffee. We labored through our breakfast. We talked about their upcoming days. I encouraged them to listen to Daddy, sleep in their own beds, and not bicker with each other. I promised them presents upon my return. I assured them of frequent phone calls, both at home and at day care. After breakfast, we headed over to the bank. I needed cash to get me through cab rides, bellman tips, and dinner. Pulling up to the ATM, my four year old asked: "Mommy, why do you need to go to the bank?" "Well, this is where we keep our money?" "Why do you keep your money here?" "It is safer at the bank, honey." "Why is it safer at the bank than at home?" Gee...good question.
I often notice that my husband and I seem to have less in common than more in common. He is very organized and relishes lists and schedules. I, on the other hand, am chronically losing things, forgetting about my bill reminders, and piling things up in the office instead of filing them. This exasperates him, I am sure. Luckily for me, after nine years together he has stopped pointing this all out to me on a regular basis.
The other day, though, I did feel that karma had slapped me in the face. Paul used to complain that I had a bad habit of taking my shoes off right by the front door as soon I walked in. After several days, several pairs of shoes would pile up leading to him walking around the house, shaking his head, muttering to myself. I always blamed the generally uncomfortable nature of work shoes. He didn’t buy it. But, he got his revenge… I now walk around the house, shake my head, and mutter to myself. Why? Because my girls take their shoes off and leave them all over the place. The other day I picked up seven pairs of shoes. Seven. Two in the living room, two in the family room, two in the bedroom, and even one pair in the hall bathroom. Crocs, sandals, tennis shoes, etc., etc. And that doesn’t even count the three pairs of my own shoes that were in a pile by the front door.
This weekend I came to a realization.
My four-year-old is a Jedi master. Not a Jedi-in-training. Not a Jedi-with-Darkside-tendencies who falls of the wagon. Nope. She is an honest-to-goodness Jedi master. Here’s how I know… On Sunday, after I had endured two weeks of Mommy guilt, exacerbated by multiple trips away from home, sleep deprivation, and general crankiness, I decided that I would spend Quality Time with the girls. I awoke early, requested their presence during muffin making (only Carmen complied, Ava was engrossed in Sponge Bob), orchestrated an all-inclusive water colors painting session, and announced that after nap, the three of us would be taking a trip to ride ponies. So, after nap, I gathered them up, emailed a friend and her daughter an invite to join us, and out the door we went. Leaving my husband napping behind us. Once in the car, it started. The it, here, being the Jedi mind tricks. Now, I have known for at least 18 months that Ava is smarter than me. I have admitted defeat and accepted my situation. I just didn’t realize how deliberately she could apply this intelligence, focus, and powerful persuasion. Upon my morning suggestion of pony rides, she began her master plan of manipulation. In the car ride, she began to lay the ground work. Ava: Mommy, are we going to the pony rides? Me: Yes, honey. Ava: The pony rides over by Funderland? Me: Yes, honey. Ava: I like pony rides. Will Carmen ride her own pony or will she ride with me? (I realized later this question was intended to distract me from her plan) Me: She will ride her own pony. Ava: OK. Pony rides are fun but they are kinda short. Are we going to Funderland afterward to ride the dragon roller coaster? Me: No, honey. Ava: Well, we really should. It doesn’t make sense to drive all this way and not go to Funderland. For the next hour she wove suggestions of Funderland in and out of conversation. Not in a deliberate, overt way…but just enough to remind my subconscious that Funderland was the real purpose of the trip to Land Park. Funderland was the ultimate destination. Funderland was the Death Star. Ultimately, I was powerless against her focused use of logic, intelligence, and persuasion. Funderland and the dragon roller coaster were in her sights and she wasn’t going to let go. For the record, though, she never did get the cotton candy she wanted.
OK. This will be short.
When did Michael Jackson become Joey Ramone? Just a reminder...Joey Ramone is actually dead. For the record...MJ is not dead (I know it is hard to tell).
About a week ago, I took the girls to a Rivercats game. This was brave of me, indeed, as Paul was out of town so I was flying solo. I was quite impressed with myself, especially while navigating two wild kids, a handful of snacks, and…well…a beer for myself. All of this was accomplished without spilling anything or losing my patients and/or temper. The girls had a good time, mostly waving their foam fingers, eating junk food, and playing in the bounce house. I’m not sure they understood there was actually a baseball game going on, which was fine by me, as I don’t even like baseball that much. Wait…I don’t like baseball at all. Anyway, we left after the fourth inning, avoiding meltdowns and tantrums. We made it home in time for a bath and everyone was asleep by 10, including me.
One of the most hilariously chaotic things to try and do while out alone with the girls it to try and navigate a trip to the restroom. The event usually starts with a loud announcement wherever we are in public that Ava needs a trip to the potty. If I am really lucky, she yells “Mommy, I need to go poo poo!” Yelling this is apparently important so that everyone within in a quarter mile vicinity can hear. Once in the bathroom, one or both girls will state loudly that the bathroom is stinky. Finally, we squeeze into the tiny stall (no easy task with three of us). Ava and I take turns going. Usually, at this point, she makes another proclamation that she can see my butt. Nice. If I am really lucky, while all of this is going on, Carmen is peaking under the stall looking at the person next to us. If I am extra, extra lucky, she does this on all fours while kneeling in a puddle of, well, you know. Once the stall situation is over, we make our way to the sink and engage in a totally fruitless effort to wash our hands without spreading contamination all over the place. Sorry about that, guys. During one of our trips to the restroom, I had a conversation with Ava that left me wondering. It had to do with the paper toilet seat covers. We engaged in a back and forth about the purpose of the seat covers that went something like this: Ava: Mommy, why do we need to put paper on the toilet? Me: Well, honey, its to keep from getting dirty with germs when you go potty. Ava: What kind of germs, Mommy? Me: The kind that come out when you go potty. Ava: Germs from my poo poo? Me: Yes. Ava: But the poo goes in the potty, not on the potty! She had a point. So, I started to contemplate the true utilitarian purpose of paper toilet seat covers. I knew it seemed gross to sit where so many had sat before. But, I really had no idea if it made a stick of difference hygienically. I should clarify that I am not the variety of mother that buys into the hysteria of a totally germ-free world for my kids. I don’t usually load them up with anti-bacterial lotions and I try and avoid antibiotics if at all possible. I honestly feel that the obsession with a germ-free world is actually a little reactionary. I do, however, embrace frequently hand washing, especially after sneezing and trips to the bathroom. So, I decided to check out the real deal about paper seat covers. I turned to the magic box. Otherwise known as the computer and Google. Turns out the only thing paper toilet seat covers actually do is create more paper waste. We’re better off just washing our hands really well. Leave it to my four-year-old to outsmart me again. |
