My first mother’s day was a lot of pressure on Scott. Pressure that went right to his brain and addled it.
The morning of Mother’s Day in May 2007, I woke up to nothing. Actually, I woke up to Scott rushing out of the house with baby E to get me a card.
I did not take it well.
But the card made me cry especially because Scott put a tiny E footprint on it.
Tiny feet!
We also went out to sushi, I never had to change a diaper, and I never had to buckle my son into the car seat. The latter was especially awesome because the car seat routinely tried to attack me.
I was happy with my Mother’s Day even with the rocky start until Scott got a call from the hospital. He grabbed a pen and something to write on.
I looked over a few minutes later and saw he had written the random name and number ON MY FIRST MOTHER’S DAY CARD.
My sentimental heart was broken. Scott cursed residency, and I cursed him. We had to whisper fight (because the BABY IS SLEEPING), and I harrumphed to bed.
I’m sure people might think: You should just be happy you have a baby to celebrate Mother’s Day.
And those people would be wrong. Because I had waited 28 years to be the center of attention 1 day. Perhaps more to the point, I’d wanted to be a mom more than anything else so celebrating my official mom-ness meant a lot. Oh and I’m a sentimental freak. At one point I had every letter and card that had ever been mailed to me (then hoarders went on TV and made me uncomfortable so they were recycled).
My first card for Mother’s Day was a TREASURE.
My husband acted swiftly and decisively.
He hurried back to the CVS that he’d stopped been at 12 hours ago and bought another card. He glued the identical card over his doctor notes, and quickly pasted the card into the baby book.
And that’s why I’m not the least bit worried about Mother’s Day 2012. Oh, and doing a review post on exactly what I want didn’t hurt either.
Who hasn’t struggled with the thoughts and worries of motherhood culminating in the ever-present phrase: Am I a good mom?
How do we know we are doing it right? Whatever “it” is or isn’t or will be after newest research comes out.
In being the helpful person that I am, I created a simple checklist to help us know once and for all.
If you answered yes to 4 of these questions, you are probably fine, but you could pick a 5th and do it to officially be in the club.
Me as Fancy Nancy thanks to my daughter. Now we're all in!
The good moms have a secret handshake — actually it’s more of a high-five with our right hand while doing the Heimlich Maneuver in our left arm and continuing to steer a grocery cart with a foot and knee combo.
It’s almost as awesome as most moms are.
My toddler daughter is a listener. Sometimes I have to say something twice, but after my second explanation, she’s on board. She’s always been that way. Her teachers call her disciplined and socially aware.
On the other hand, my son didn’t find that phase until yesterday. Well, maybe more like between 4 and 5 years old, but not at 2. He was mostly described as focused, which sounds similar but that’s because the rest of the sentence is mumbled and should sound more like: very focused ON HIS IDEAS.
I have taken full advantage of my daughter’s listening gene mostly because it means less moving for me.
So as my daughter is skipping down the sidewalk outside of school, I smile and continue putting school bags in the car while humming along to my she-always-stops song.
I look up and think: Now, she’ll stop.
And then I say: Hey, N, stop there.
And she turns, smiles and KEEPS GOING.
Except the sidewalk does not keep going. The sidewalk ends in the school parking lot.
I begin to shout, and she begins to giggle as though running into the middle of a parking lot during the chaos that is preschool pickup is also a George Carlin stand-up routine.
I go full-on mom sprint (basically, The Flash but faster) and scoop her up halfway to a moving car while smiling apologetically at the driver willing this parent to forgive my inability to keep my daughter safe.
I give N the stern, We don’t run in the parking lot. We listen to Mama. We don’t make Mama run ever, talk and carry her back to the car as I try to catch my breath and dignity and parenting skills between mind’s eye movies of her being hit by a car.
As I walk up to my own car, I assure myself that this could happen to anyone and she usually listens and for every person looking at me cross-eyed another is nodding her head in understanding. Until my five year old greets me with a loud: Mama, you left me by the car with no grownup.
I give up and roll out the abducted-by-strangers tape between the N-in-the-hospital-after-being-hit-by-a-car highlights while thinking back to the times I forgot to buckle the car seat, E hid behind kitchen cabinets in Lowe’s, and when I didn’t realizing the back gate was unlock until my son tackled my daughter as she toddled to the road.
My rational mind knows these moments happen to every parent, but I hear and see and know horrible consequences can follow a flash of forgetfulness.
My times of bad parenting are few and I believe to end them completely, I’d have to keep my kids in a bubble leashed to my belt. This tends to be frowned upon, and honestly, I don’t want to do that to them. I don’t want to parent them to the point that they don’t grow.
But sometimes I can’t let go of the what ifs.
And when I read the news, I’m awed by my moments of luck between my years of diligence.
I walk into a local kids’ clothing store to find Valentine’s Day clothing for my kids. I’m a total sucker for the holiday clothing lines.
My kids have 2-3 Christmas ensembles, a couple of Halloween shirts and at least one Peep This in the Easter collection. And this year, for some reason my husband can’t understand, I went crazy for Valentine’s Day. I decide that no one in my life will be allowed to feel unloved that day. Luckily, I’m an introvert so I don’t have a lot of people to worry about.
So I went off to pick out a shirt that they will wear once. Actually, I try to chose outfits that are versatile enough to be worn throughout the season. Halloween shirts with pumpkins can be worn in November. Christmas dresses with sparkling snowflakes are fine in February.
And hearts are good year ‘round in this home. Except I was thwarted. Not by my daughter who could’ve dressed in hearts from the 14th through the summertime if I bought every option but for my son.
Me after wandering around my go-to holiday clothing store for 30 minutes: Um, do you have an boy Valentine’s Day shirts?
Sales person that I wasn’t even speaking to: NO! {laughs although I can’t see what’s so funny} He could just wear red.
Being a bit underwhelmed by her fashion suggestions, I reply with so much niceness that I surprise myself: Yes, well, we have red shirts at home, but I was hoping for something special for him to wear at his Valentine’s Day party at school.
Her: Well, we did have this one “I’m Your Romeo” but I think we sold out.
Oh yes, just what my 5 year old son needs. A shirt about him falling in love and killing himself. Next, you’ll suggest the “Playground Pimp” shirt I saw at another store, and I’ll see if all the girls can be prostitutes for the day.
Me: Hmmm, that isn’t what I was really going for. It’s a bummer how hard it is to find good boy clothing…
Both our eyes drift around the store that is 75% girls clothing and mostly trucks and skulls in a small corner for the boys.
Her {nodding empathetically FINALLY}: Good boys clothes are definitely harder to find.
We ended up with a new Yoshi Shirt and a red shirt underneath, but I forget to take a photo far away enough for you to see it. Not that it's actually a Valentine shirt by any means.
Next, I went to Hallmark to get Valentine’s Day card for my kids. Except Hallmark thinks boys only like Toy Story characters and dogs and then moves on to the girls.
My son is mostly afraid of dogs and has also only seen Toy Story 1. He was definitely not as impressed as I was when I saw it in the movie theatre as the first completely computer animated movie.
I even went to the birthday, thank you and blank card sections looking for a cat and heart or a ninja or cat ninja playing soccer or really any combination of things without dogs or Buzz or Justin Beiber. I finally found a cat in a candy shop valentine card hitting two of his favorites and pretty much the only card that had anything to do with my son.
I know for many heterosexual adults Valentine’s Day is about women, but my kids aren’t even in elementary school. Could fashion lines and card makers let my boy celebrate for a few more years before I hand him the keys to get flowers and a condom?
The year my parent’s moved to Richmond, I was in college, and although I felt like they totally abandoned me by moving from 2 hours to 10 hours away because WHERE WOULD I DO MY LAUNDRY, I didn’t think much else about it.
Until I came to Virginia for break and my radio suggested I BREAK OUT MY CONFEDERATE UNIFORM because some dixie music was coming on. Or because this time we might win! Win what? Why the war of Northern Aggression!
Then someone explained that my parents lived in Hen-ri-coh.
Me: Are you sure? Because I took Spanish for a few years and I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced En-ree-coh.
And don’t even ask me about the Poor White Parkway because I was told to never cross the James unless I needed a topiary or cheap fabric.
Later that week, I went to Urkrop’s to pick up some food for my parent’s home, and when I checked out, the cashier asked me: How are you?
Me: What? Do I know you?
Cashier I don’t know: Um, no but I’m Diannah Belle and I’ve worked at Ukrop’s for 10 years and…
But all I kept noticing is how much the checking out part had slowed down. Also, how uncomfortable I am with all this smiling. But just when I thought I could escape, a man TOOK MY GROCERY BAGS.
Me: Um, where are you going?
Man stealing my bags: Which way to your car, ma’am?
Me: Excuse me? I got those.
Man stealing my bags: Nope.
Me: What?
Man trying to help me: We carry grocery bags out to your car.
Me: Um, okay…
As he left, I turned red and called my mom: THEY CARRIED MY GROCERY BAGS TO THE CAR AND I DIDN’T HAVE ANY MONEY TO TIP HIM. WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN ME?
Mom: Oh, you aren’t allowed to tip. I tried.
Me: Also, everyone TALKED to me.
Mom: I know! They’re so nice in the South.
Nice is one way to think about it. The other way is to impatiently wait until I could be safely ignored in the North where Spanish is Spanish, helping is stealing, and nice is just another word for nosy.
Well, it’s that time of year again. When we all make promises, resolutions, intentions and plans like we’ll be different people in January 2012. And we might be. Until we catch up with ourselves in February.
Here’s what my January self will be doing until December Alex shows up.
1. Dress my age, which is 33. This means I have to wear skinny jeans and heels instead of a mumu and slippers. Maybe I can pretend to be 75.
2. Take more time for myself. After looking over my schedule, midnight to 1 a.m. works perfectly.
3. Get more sleep. If I do #2, I’ll need to sleep in until 9:30 in the morning. Sorry Scott. And kids. And work. And school.
4. See my friends more. I wonder if they’re available at 1 a.m.?
5. Have a clean house. Related: Buy a new house.
6. Get in shape. I already have a gym membership from August. I last saw the inside of that gym in September, BUT FREEZING COLD JANUARY WILL BE DIFFERENT.
7. Spend an entire weekend writing. I’ll just fire my family Friday night and rehire them on Sunday.
8. Stop taking things like Facebook, Twitter and people so personally. (I hope everyone else’s New Year’s resolution is to be nicer to me.)
9. Be a better listener instead of assuming which way the conversation is going. Of course, I’m usually right but I’m going to try to listen anyway even while you go on and on and on about the subject trying to get out of what I want you to do even though you clearly should do it because you must have forgotten about the time that I helped you last week or that time next week when you are gone three nights in a row so how am I supposed to not think that I should have tonight and wait, what? Oh, you’re okay with my plans even though I have to leave right now? And you’ve been trying to say that for the last 10 minutes?
10. Be on time to every appointment by turning the clocks to Daylight Savings Time on New Year’s Day. This is the one resolution I can keep until March 11th!
See you next year – a little larger, a little less fashionable and completely exhausted.
Happy New Year!
We met up at the Virginia Fine Arts Museum to get a sneak preview of Mummy: Secrets of the Tomb. The exhibit begins with a 21 minute long 3-D movie.
Us: OOH! Free glasses!
We are not photographers. We are writers, dammit.
The lights dim and Jean-Luc Picard begins to narrate Mummy: The Inside Story. And no, Nicole, did not realize who Patrick Stewart is, but we’re still friends.
The Movie: Why is Ancient Egypt so fascinating?
Alex: The same reason social studies class never got past World War I?
Nicole: Past? I thought Ancient Egypt was before World War I. And do you think we can keep these glasses?
The Movie: Penis joke.
Alex: That was a penis joke.
Nicole: I think you should be the one who mentions it in the article.
We are next introduced to the mummy who is the star of the exhibit. Jean-Luc explains how through hieroglyphics, we know his name and occupation.
Nicole: How did this narrator learn hieroglyphics anyway?
Alex: He’s using a Universal Translator. (It’s hard being friends with non-Trekies.)
The Movie: His name is Nesperennub. Pronounced Nes-per-en-nub.
Alex: People think they can pronounce Iwashyna, too, but no one comes up with Ee-vah-shen-ah.
Nicole: My husband’s Russian ancestors were smart enough to cut their name to Unice. It used to have lots of extra letters in it, too, but most people still say YOU-NICE.
Alex: But you aren’t.
Nicole: Shut up.
Meet Nesperennub.
As the lights come up, we are ushered into the Egyptian exhibit.
Alex: Awesome. My kids could come with me next time and destroy a pot that survived 3000 years. That would be a new record for them.
Nicole: Well, for older kids, this could make the SOL’s more tolerable. Is there a hieroglyphic for SOL?
We ooh and ah over the real Nesperennub until Alex runs over to a giant Ankh, the symbol of life, and also of Alex’s adolescence.
Alex's was silver.
Alex: I wore those.
Nicole: Really? It’s a little big.
Alex: Not that one. But close. I also wore lots of eyeliner and didn’t shower much.
Nicole: How very Egyptian of you.
Alex: Shut up.
Nicole: You could try to bring the trend back. This statue could double as an amulet, if you got a big chain for it. Do they sell those here?
Yes, VMFA does. hinthint
Although you won’t get our intrepid naration, we definitely recommend going to the Mummy: Secrets of the Tombexhibit, which runs from November 19th through March 11th, 2012. Anyone from upper elementary age to adult will enjoy it. Virginia Museum of Fine Arts is open daily from 10-5 and until 9 p.m. on Thursdays and Fridays. As always, admission is Free for VMFA members, children 6 and under, and active-duty military personnel and their immediate families.
Tickets are $15 for adults, $12 for seniors 65+, students with ID, adult groups of 10+ (after noon only), and youth ages 7–17 .Tickets can also be purchased by calling 804.340.1405.
Editor’s note: There are super-cool programs for teachers, teens and more related to Mummy: Secrets of the Tomb.
Thanksgiving is almost upon us and as anyone who reads Late Enough knows, I’m not a fan. However, I am a fan of survival. And mashed potatoes. And not making things worse than they already are.
So I’ve put together my top 10 ways to survive Thanksgiving because I want us to all make it to New Years Eve alive and with presents.
1. Do not agree to make pie unless you actually know how to make pie. Otherwise, you will have to make a 3 practice pies that aren’t edible and spend the morning of Thanksgiving praying that 7-11 carries pumpkin pies.
2. Do agree to eat a pie.
3. Do not leave your sad, slow iPhone at home because you want to have lots of deep conversations.
4. Do use your sad, slow iPhone as a light saber or a mustache when the deep conversation goes south.
I'm yelling: WOOAHN (not to be outdone but it does come with its own sound effects)
5. Do not bring a list of “safe topics” and pass them out as everyone enters the house. There will be a riot when your brother-in-law is not including on the list.
6. Do bring a list of presents you want for the holidays and pass them out as everyone leaves the dinner table because people are most vulnerable to saying yes to the iPhone 4S when woozy with tryptophan.
7. Do not decide your niece is no longer allergic to nuts because the Sweet Potato and Walnut Casserole is too good for her to pass up.
8. Do decide to wear elastic waist pants so you can eat her serving of the Sweet Potato and Walnut Casserole.
9. Do not blog about Thanksgiving before Thanksgiving.
10. Do threaten to blog about New Years if #6 remains unfulfilled.
Happy Thanksgiving from me and my slightly irritating but mostly loving family to you and your slightly irritating but mostly loving family. Also, I’m looking forward to my brand new iPhone!
This isn’t my usual funny family article, but I felt moved to have this conversation.
Our community received happy news on Friday afternoon that Robbie Wood, Jr, an 8 year old boy with autism who had been missing since Sunday, was found alive and in “serious but good” condition.
Having had both my children take off at various times — one hid behind a kitchen cabinet at Lowe’s for just long enough for me to die inside and the other was found by an escalator around the corner from me at Macy’s — I over-related to this family.
I prayed and posted information. I cried when thousands of volunteers showed up to help the search. I was proud of Richmond.
When my husband heard Robbie was found alive, he called me from work. I found the NBC article confirming the good news and reposted it to Facebook and Twitter to inform and celebrate with my community.
And the joy was palpable. Until I read Facebook, Twitter and blog posts and comments proclaiming: Our prayers have been answered. Or versions of the same idea that God saved this boy through petition and prayer.
All I could think of is the almost 2,200 children who are reported missing EVERY DAY. The other kids who are not found or found dead. Did those parents not pray enough? Did those parents and children not love and follow God enough?
The same phenomenon occurs around cancer and car accidents and most acts of random tragedy. People with happy endings announce that pray cured them while the patient in the next room dies. Are we to believe those who die are greater sinners? Sloppy in their prayers? Should we watch how they lived and do the opposite? What about the non-prayers who are saved?
I’m not suggesting that those who believe don’t pray or God cannot be powerful. I believe in a powerful God. Perhaps one who can save one boy. But I didn’t pray for Robbie’s life although I believed he was alive and would have until proven wrong. I prayed for him, his family and the search and rescue team to be given strength. Endurance. Comfort.
I don’t believe God is a genie granting wishes to the more fervent. I have seen terrible outcomes for those most deserving of grace, and I have seen ease for those that seem to not have a humble bone in their bodies. I recognize miracles, but I don’t pretend to understand them or be the cause of them — even through my prayers.
I doubt most of the people meant to be cruel to those with unanswered prayers, but perhaps, they should stop giving and taking so much credit. Or should start praying that no children go missing in the first place. It’d be a heck of a lot easier on the rest of us.
We go all out for Halloween. And by “we,” I mean “me,” and my insistence on a massive theme of awesomeness.
In fact, I have only missed 2 Halloweens in my 33 years.
But to keep it from being too easy (because then it wouldn’t be PARENTING), my son always picks his costume, and I create the entire theme around it.
Like when he wanted to be a chicken so we were Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?…
WANT may be a little strong but we were given the costume and VIOLA! Pure genius
Or Superman so we were Lois Lane and Lex Luther…
Scott really did shave his head and wear his wedding tux.
Once we had two kids, I still could pull off the thematic extravaganzas because only one had opinions. I could acquiesce to the I want to be a banana of my son and make my daughter an apple, add grapes and a bowl, build a frame and we’re A Still Life Painting …
Yes, some people thought Scott was wearing a diaper. He really is a trouper.
All was going well in my Halloween extravaganzas until this year, when my children ruined Halloween.
My oldest wants to be Spider-man. I thought: Okay, my daughter could be Spider-woman or The Wasp, and we can just bend The Avengers time-space continuum. Scott and I will be super villains just like all parents are at some point in their children’s lives! Haha. This will be awesome!
Until my daughter said: I want to be Snow White.
Wha? I know I shouldn’t be shocked since my house is a small homage to Disney with a sprinkling of Marvel comic book superheroes and Star Wars, but I was dumbfounded.
Mostly because SNOW WHITE AND SPIDERMAN HAVE NEVER HUNG OUT TOGETHER. Ever. Not a single crossover movie, TV show or comic book. Those dwarfs kept her busy, and Spider-man didn’t hike much (which I admire in a superhero).
What will we do? Because I’m not the type of parent who will try to talk either of them out of their Halloween costumes. I mean, I WANT their minds to change and I’M WILLING to use Jedi mind tricks but not by using my words. I’M SUCH A MARTYR.
I see only 2 choices. We can either divide up as evil villains being only 50% awesome or fade away into parenting obscurity with all those who have not dressed up since they were 12 years old.
Great, I’m now a DEPRESSED martyr.
My only solace is buying this giant bag of candy 8 more times between now and the 31st.
It's helping.