I went out shopping with my mom the other day and I felt guilty, not because I was breaking my necessary self-imposed shopping ban, but because I had left my kids. I had left them not with a babysitter, but with my husband. They were not doing child labor; they were simply going to a movie.
I couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the feeling I was having. Maybe it was guilt brought on by the fear of sending them off alone with their dad. Would something happen without my guidance? Continue reading
Tag Archives: motherhood
Have you Heard of this Childhood Epidemic: IDWS
Please take a moment to read and forward this warning about an epidemic affecting 7-18 year olds across the country.
They call it IDWS (I Dun Wannagoda Skool). My son has a chronic case of it and it appears to be going around. Apparently, it affects the tummy leg and in rare cases, the elbow.
My son hates dislikes elementary school, as did his mother before him and her father before her. It may be genetic. Plus, I was the kid who complained of tummy aches on a daily basis and spent more time in the nurse’s office than in reading group, which makes it hard not to overtly empathize with him. My vain attempts to make the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th grade, which he’s currently in, sound fun are thin veils over my bitter repressed memories.
Let’s be honest, unless you’re one of those nerdy kids who likes to stay quiet and screams “yippee” when the teacher give extra homework, elementary school does kinda suck. Preschool was fun; you played and then you played, and then you ate (while playing with your food) and then you napped, and then you played some more. Then you went on a play-date, and then you went to sleep and started again on Tuesday.
In elementary school you have to be quiet and sit still. You must control your shaking leg, your yapping mouth, your tapping finger, your automatic pencil clicking, and your wandering mind. And that’s all before you’ve done a lick of work. It’s a tough gig.
Many mornings my boy is overcome with “IDWS.” His tummy hurts, his head hurts, his heart hurts. Being a neurotic hypochondriac, I’m usually somewhere between, “give me a break,” and “call 911!”
Well, this morning he had it bad. I knew last night I was going to give him a break, but to watch him work for it was half the fun.
“Ouch, my tummy! My leg. Oww, cry cry, my leg, oh my leg.” fall to ground grab leg and writhe in pain. “I can’t walk.”
“Sweetie, what’s the matter?”
“My leg hurts and also my elbow.. oww my elbow. My elbow.”
Ah, the ever popular elbow pain, always adds a layer of truism. Who is teaching him this, his father? Definitely not me, a few lessons from a seasoned pro like myself and he would never pull this elbow pain crap.
“This tummy-leg-elbow thing sounds bad! What hurts the most?”
“My elbow. No, now it’s my leg… and tummy. Oh, they all hurt.” He whined, as he pulled the thermometer from his mouth for the 10th time.
“Still no temperature?”
“Oh, there’s temperature Mom. It said 95 that’s high. That’s like boiling. Whoa, this time it said 98, Oh G-d, I’m getting worse. Ow… my elbow.”
“Well, that is a temperature.”
I can’t wait to put in his absence excuse. Please excuse Jake, he had a 98 degree temperature, which as you know is almost boiling. Oh, and he had distinct, chronic elbow pain.
“It really hurts, I think need to lie down.” He said with the back of his hand to his forehead in a pretty good Scarlet O’Hara imitation.
“I know it hurts, but it’s probably growing pains. You’re getting taller and apparently you’re going to have one huge monster elbow.”
“That’s not funny, I’m sick. My heart hurts… and my throat.”
I know, it was probably insensitive of me to joke at a time like that.
Soon, he’ll discover the old thermometer under hot water trick and when the display reads 107, I’ll gush at how high his fever is, like my parents, before me did. Well, before they inevitably snickered amongst themselves.
Look, in my house you get points for creativity. Once, I got away with wrapping a strawberry fruit rollup around my finger and chewing it off leaving a yucky red rash looking residue, which either fooled the nurse or I impressed her with my resourcefulness. I know this because I got picked up that day after putting an ice pack on it.
Or was it a hot water bottle? Back then they treated everything with one or the other. Headache… icepack. Tummy ache… hot water bottle. Stubbed toe… icepack followed by a hot water bottle. My son rarely sees the hot water bottle, but we do use a lot of icepacks. Yep, that elbow-itis isn’t going to cure itself.
New Parenting Trend: Distracted Parenting
Not that long ago, helicopter parenting was all the rage; whether you hovered over your own kids or moaned about others doing so, the tendency definitely garnered some attention. It seems the newest parenting trend to receive national attention is about a lack of attention…“Not now, Mommy’s on the phone.” “In a minute, Mommy’s has to just send this quick email.” “One sec, Mommy’s working.” “Hey kids, how about we watch Big Brother… American Idol…Jersey Shore… insert somewhat inappropriate reality show here_________, together?” . Read the iVillage article here.
Dont’ for get to read yesterday’s epiphany: Ashton Kutcher has dashed all my hopes of becoming a cougar
Katy Perry’s Boobies Look Good to me: Baby Ryan’s Rant
I don’t really understand what all the hype is about. So, Katy jiggled her milk feeders on Sesame Street? Elmo didn’t seem to mind and I know why.
Why is it so Hard to Cancel a Gym Membership
Why is it so hard to cancel a gym membership when it’s so easy not to use it?
In light of the recent findings that say women must workout 1 hour per day, I’ve decided to revamp my workout schedule. First on the list… Leave the Athletic Club, which I have not used in a year…then use the money I’m saving to buy bigger clothes.
License to Procreate – A Little Mom Humor From the Suburban Jungle
You need special credentials to drive a car, take out a book and get a credit card, but there are no prerequisites to raise a child?
As a fairly normal adult with the means to raise a child, I admittedly had no clue what I was doing with my first child. I remember leaving the hospital thinking, He’s mine? I own him? You guys trust me to walk out that door and raise a child because I made the obligatory poop and demonstrated my ability to put him in a car seat?
Isn’t it baffling that everyday people like us are allowed to procreate without first passing a test or getting some kind of license? Think about it. You need a library card to take out a five-dollar paperback, because you can’t be trusted to return it in a period long enough to read it four times over. You’re also required to pass a test to drive a car, sell a house or be a lifeguard. You can take a class to learn how to give birth, but once that baby’s out, you’re on your own.
There wasn’t even a test at my OB’s pre-pregnancy interview. All he asked was, “Do you have insurance and are you taking folic acid?”
“Of course, I’d never think about bringing life to this Earth without the recommended 3 gagillion mgs of folic acid per day… I’m also shooting heroin, but you didn’t ask me that.”
What if I don’t feed him, bathe him or water him? I could let him swim after lunch without waiting the mandatory 30 minutes, or dress him in generic clothes from the supermarket. I could drop him off on the first day of middle school, roll down the window and scream, “Mama loves her Snuggle Buggle!”
At the very least, there should be some kind of “Mommy Aptitude” screening. During your interview, they could call your mom. Mine would say,
“Jenny always dreamed of being a mother and loved playing house. Her dolls were mostly naked, and she liked to cut their hair down to the hair transplant plug scalps. Sometimes she would detach their limbs and try to put them back in the wrong sockets, possibly to amuse herself, though I found it rather disturbing. Have I said too much? No, really, she would be wonderful. They would be so clean; I recall how much she liked bathing her naked Barbies.”
Doctor’s response: “Put in a 10-year IUD, give her supervised visitation with a hermit crab, and make sure someone counts the legs.”
Not only do gynecologists promote the concept of “Motherhood” to anyone donning a wedding ring with reckless abandon, they encourage us to have more. Otherwise known as repeat business. The second my daughter arrived, my OB said, “So, when am I gonna see you back in the saddle?”
Great, a stirrup joke. “Take it easy Doc, the placenta’s not even cold yet.”
Well, a month and a half later, I ran into my OB again. Actually, I had an appointment, so it wasn’t as random as I’m making it sound. He said, “At six weeks you are extremely fertile, so now is the time for another romp in the stable.” I immediately went home to tell my husband the doctor said, “Now is the time I am extremely unstable, so no romps for at least six more weeks.”
How about a probationary period to see if you’re any good at this parenting thing? When you get a new job, they evaluate you every six months. They certainly don’t give you more responsibility until you’ve proven you can handle your current load, unless you work at McDonald’s.
How does my OB know how I’m gonna solve disputes? When my children are fighting over the last lollipop, who says I won’t shove them all in the closet, lock the door and say, “Last one standing gets it”?
Well, lucky for me, I’ve turned out to be an excellent mother (ask my children), regardless of not being licensed and accredited.
(Please note: this is meant to be a mom humor piece… Though I wouldn’t be opposed to some “What Do We Do Now That We Had The Baby?” classes)
9/16/13 – I just put the share buttons on this post! If you like it … Please use ’em
XO Jenny From the Blog
Other Fun Pieces: 40 Things Every Woman Should Have or Should Know by 40
Moms of Boys are Jealous Shrews, So Here’s a Contract for Your Future Daughter in Law
50 Like Totally Random Things I Remember as Like a Child of the 80s
Subscribe to The Suburban Jungle (it’ll put hair on your chest).
The Germiest Place on Earth: The Pediatrician’s Office
Today, I took my daughter to the pediatrician for her 5 year check up. I know I probably should have been concerned about how she was going to freak out about the 4 vaccines and finger prick that are required to move on to Kindergarten, but I was too preoccupied what she was touching in the waiting room. I am one of those irrational parents that is forced by serious neurosis to take my kids to the doctor over every phlegmy cough. Unfortunately, I am also one of those parents who is quite sure that bringing kids to the doctor’s office pretty much guaranties that they pick up some other snotty kid’s infection, which is far worse than their own. So, you can imagine how going in for a well-check really throws me for a loop.
As I surveyed the waiting room, I noticed that the plastic kitchen in the corner was dripping with mucus. No, I didn’t bring my black light but, a baby had just finished mouthing the oven handle and I’m quite sure his sister picked her nose and tried to cook her reward in the faux microwave. Continue reading
Minutia Mom -The World’s Awesomest Superhero
It has recently dawned on me that somewhere along the way, my sense of accomplishment became a product of my ability to be a good homemaker. The creative energies I once used to design jewelry and dress celebs are now spent trying to build intricate forts and streamline the laundry process. For instance, I’ve found that by rolling towels one can save considerable folding time, while providing the added benefit of a spa-like appearance.
When did this happen? When did I accept the job as Master of the Mundane? I remember the ad, it read: Seeking highly motivated person, who requires little sleep, to cook, clean, wipe tushies, noses, and countertops… oh, and provide occasional sex to employer. Person will be overworked and underappreciated. It is preferred that you have no prior experience or references. Always on duty. Will pay nothing. Continue reading
Dreaded Parenting Explanation: Because I Said So That’s Why
As a child, I too encountered the dreaded “Because I Said So.” It was usually yelled in frustration or hissed between clenched teeth. No matter what the method of delivery, it signified the end of the discussion. I remember wondering, what exactly does that mean and why is that a remotely valid argument? It was a parental trap; there was no way to fight it, and yet you felt unsatisfied in conceding.
Now, at 30 somethingish I know what it means. It means you’re losing the battle with a child. Yep, “Because I Said So” is the phrase used when you are being outsmarted or out-debated by an 8-year -old. The truth is, sometimes their reasoning makes sense … a lot of sense. Sometimes, I listen and think, okay, let’s do it your way. But most of the time there’s a reason I’ve made a particular choice and I have to stick by it, well that or I’m just another stubborn adult standing on ceremony.
I never imagined that I would be losing arguments to 8-year-olds or even 5-year-olds, for that matter. “They’re smart little buggers, aren’t they? Want proof? I recently partook in this exchange: Continue reading
Tip O’ the Mornin: Microdermabrasion, Do I Need it?
I have added a Tip o’ the Mornin’ to my regular repertoire of hilariously funny, thought provoking and possibly award winning articles.
RealSelf.com
Well in answer to the question, Do I need microdermabrasion? Yes. yes you do. I don’t know exactly who you are but your skin is probably dull and the elasticity is probably slack. Okay, I may be projecting, but along with suffering from dull slack skin, I selfishly envy fresh faced youth. It always makes me feel good to drive by a highschool, hang my head out the window and scream at the cheerleaders. Things like. “Your pores may be small, but your such a slut and everyone knows it.” or “So what if you don’t have any wrinkles now, one day your kids will stretch your nether regions beyond recognition and your HS sweetheart will be a cheater working a dead end job, and your face will show it all. I know what your thinking, Can I come?
If you think there’s a better way, then maybe you should try microdermabrasion. First it sandblasts your skin with an abrasive material or ultrasound, then it vacuums your pores clean like a shag rug in the bathroom and last it stimulates new collagen production. I have been trying to coax my collagen into regenerate for months now, so if this works, I can stop begging! It costs $100-$200 a blast and should be done by a licensed professional –it can cause damage in the wrong hands.
Will it minimize wrinkles? Probably not, but it can help with fine lines, sun worshipers with skin damage and those who went through that awkward teen acne. Who am I kidding, I still break out at “that time of the month.” That’s when I go to an old age home, hang my head out the window and scream, “I may have a zit or two, but at least I still get my period.”
If you have an experience with microdermabrasion, please share.
I Slept With Tiger Woods
OMG, I have to tell you guys something. I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy. Here goes… I slept with Tiger Woods. You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now. Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.
Our affair was rather recent. I must confess, he was passed out when I met him. Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man. The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital. His family showed up and took me for his fiancé. I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays. Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother. Oh wait, that wasn’t me. DUH.
Anywho, with Tiger it was different. He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant. –See, it’s different already. It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred. I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore). –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.
As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant. I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life. So, I guess anything’s possible.
Tiger even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ. I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special. Other people can see it too. He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors. And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area. Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out. I ran into him wandering around the Nursery. He says looking at the babies calms him. I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.
I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.” He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.” I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute. Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.
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I Am This Month’s Celebrity Host at Nickelodeon’s ParentsConnect.com!!!
Okay, if you wanted more of me, you finally get it. I am doing a daily post for Nick’s ParentConnect.com on how to find time to do stuff for YOU. Yes, I am their Celebrity host for the month of November. Either they are seriously hard-up or I am getting “awesomer.” What a fitting turn around from my last post… Humiliation on the Roller Rink, Circa 1984! I read on Page 6 that Patrick Star was slotted to host this November, but was forced to decline after an unforeseen jellyfishing incident. Also, he is illiterate, though reading was not a prerequisite for the job. I will be toiling away at my keyboard all month, so you can get stuff done. If you have had just about enough of me at one post per week, I must warn you, you will be getting an annoying update every morning that links you to that day’s Me Time problem and solution. I hope you stick around, read some… and even comment or join the site!
Yours,
Jenny From the Blog
I don’t have time for my Hubby:
Remember when you first met your honey? That look of love in your eyes? The way you could just go to a restaurant or a movie without having to call anyone but the reservation line? Do you remember when you could “get it on” in places other than your bedroom… with the lights off… while trying to catch an episode of The Amazing Race… and praying no one wakes up hungry, wet, or scared? It seems like forever ago, right? The idea of a date seems arcane, and the thought of uninhibited sex is nostalgic. Well, you’re together now, so you need to make time to enjoy yourselves.
How to find time for your mate: MORE
I don’t have time to work out:
There used to be a time before kids and before my 30’s when I ate chicken wings, nachos and burgers freely. Now I can trace the outline of a single Cheeto in my belly. Even worse, my thighs seem to be having a love affair with one another, which makes walking in corduroys a very noisy endeavor. If you want the bod you had pre-babies, you have to work at it. So, I will help you find ways to work working out back into your schedule.
How to find time to work out: MORE
I don’t have time for a hobby:
Since I loooove writing, this is one challenge I have a lot of experience with. I can tell you that it’s not easy to find the time. Our hobbies, crafts, and other creative endeavors get left behind by feedings, diaper changes and helping with homework. But whether you like to write, draw, knit, crochet, paint, sculpt, take pictures, play an instrument, scrapbook or make crafts, you don’t have to let go of the things you enjoy. Here are some creative ideas to find time for your artistic side.
How to find time for a hobby: MORE