Emeril, Bobby, Wolfgagng,Thomas Keller - is this how it starts?

About six weeks ago, the kid's school decided to upgrade their kitchen toys and offered the old ones to any parents who could haul it away. Luckily I was one of the first to respond and so I scored a very nice wooden kitchen. You remember what I am talking about, right? It has a little sink and two faux burners and some knobs and some shelves. A faux little kitchen.

So I get it home and realize that, although we have some wooden faux food, we don't have much and we don't have any toy utensils or pots or kitchen stuff. I thought for a few minutes about going to buy some but decided that it would induce creativity if they didn't have these things and had to really pretend.

What it actually did was induce them to play elsewhere.

Sooooo, I started looking, just barely, when I was at various stores for kitchen-y things. By this I mean, if I remembered as I was in Target, I would keep an eye out. But I NEVER saw any kitchen toys. After a while I started to think it really odd.

Then, two weeks ago, I went down the toy aisle with all the dolls because I was trying to short cut to another department and there, there with all the dolls was kitchen stuff. Kitchen sets even! Whole boxed sets of pots and pans and spatulas and egg beaters and cookie cutters. These were right next to the sets of hair curlers and most of it was PINK!

Now, I grew up in house where my Dad did most of the cooking, and so many famous chefs are men, and all kids play in the kitchen center so it never occurred to me that kitchen toys had a gender bias. I wonder, if Wolfgang, Emeril, Thomas Keller, Bobby Flay and John Besh all started with a little pink sauce pan?

Rants from Mommyland Again!

Another brilliant nugget from the ladies at Rants from Mommyland. How is it that they seem to talk to me, or maybe for me. Either way, they are always on point


Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Letter to My Kids Because I'm 40 and That's Old
Not wiser. Just a bigger ass. Literally.

Hello my very beloved offspring,
Someday when you read this, I will be even more ancient than I am right now. Someday I hope very much to be a crotchety old lady who says wildly inappropriate things and embarrasses you by grabbing your father's keister in the retirement community where we live. But for now, I'm only 40.

Everyone says turning 40 is a really big deal but I have not found that to be so. But upon this occasion (and just in case I drop dead tomorrow), I thought I'd tell you what my perspective on life is at this particular moment. Then when you turn 40 and start wondering "Why don't I feel like a real grown up yet?" you can read this and feel better. Because at least you will realize that your immaturity is in part hereditary. Sorry about that.

Relax, we're all faking it.

This is kind of a big deal, you guys. Because your whole life - there will always be someone. Someone who you look at and think, did I miss something? How come that person gets to be like that and I have to be like this? Sometimes it's not just a person, sometimes its a whole group of people. I wasted a lot of time thinking that at any moment, those folks would figure out that I was a big fraud and then they would shun me. It's actually a thing. It's called Imposter Syndrome and lots of people experience at different points in their lives. So guess what? Turns out it's totally normal to feel like you're faking it. Just do it with good manners and you'll be fine.



Know what makes you happy. Here's what makes me happy: the three of you. What the tops of your heads smell like. What it sounds like when you laugh so hard you might pee yourself. What you're like right now, what you were, and all the things you're going to be. Your father - all parts. The rest of our family. Friends who are kind and who don't get mad at me if I forget to call them back right away. Having a big, silly dog. Also Korean barbeque, aged Gouda, and pretty much any kind of dumpling. I know what makes me happy and as a result, I know what's important to me. It's called having priorities and thanks to you, I finally have some.

Don't invite poison into your life. Did you ever read something and you were like "holy crap - THAT IS A MOTHERFUNKING TRUTH BOMB"? Terry Pratchett is my favorite writer and he wrote that: "poison goes where poison's welcome". You know that's right. And guess what else? Drama goes where drama's welcome. Pain goes where pain's welcome. Betrayal goes where betrayal's welcome. All these things are going to find you anyway, so for the love of GOD, don't make them welcome. But you know what else? This thought has a bossy older sister and that sister says "light and love go where they're welcome, too. SO MAKE THEM WELCOME." Even when you feel like you don't deserve them, you really do. And so does everyone else.

Simmer the hell down. I know that you probably think I'm an unrepentant shrieker. But here's a little nugget for your bucket: I have never regretted a single time that I kept my mouth shut, got my crazy under control, and didn't lose my schmidt. But I regret every, single time I ever yelled at someone (including you guys). I regret every time I ever unloaded on someone because "they need to hear how I REALLY feel." I regret saying things that made me feel better for about five seconds until I realized they could never be unsaid. I find myself at stoplights, cringing at things I said 20 years ago. The words that haunt me are not the angry ones people have said to me, you guys. Let's just leave it at that.

The universe doesn't give you something without taking something away. There's a million different ways to say this. Isaac Newton said "every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Bridget Jones said "When one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.” And everyone's grandfather ever said "Nothing comes for free." It's all true. You get married and have kids? You will get so much, but don't kid yourself - you will have given stuff up along the way. You want a promotion more than anything and you get it. Then suddenly your whole life is about your job. You will do anything to be with that one person or get that one thing or achieve that next gold star... But getting what you want comes with a price (and you usually won't know what it is till long after the fact), so just be prepared for that.

Everything that sucks in your life is there to teach you a lesson. Take your time, but make sure you try and figure out what that lesson is, because it's always good for you. So when you're lying prone on the floor, surrounded by dirty underpants and Pringles crumbs, maybe stop sobbing "Why is this happening to me?" long enough to ask yourself "Why is this happening to me?"

Value resiliency and not just brokenness. There was a time when I was young where I felt damaged and I pretty much only identified with people I thought were as messed up as I was. Because they would understand and not judge me. But at some point, I decided to focus on people who are trying to deal with the junk in their trunk and are trying to make things better. Sometimes it takes a really long to time to do that, I think. And notice, I didn't say succeed - I said try. That's the thing about going through shit in your life. You have to try and wade through it because the alternative is just to stand there, neck-deep in feces. There was a time when I could stand by the people who wouldn't even try to fight their way out of the dukey, but I can't now. Because I don't want to get sucked in. Now I have priorities. Besides, it's really not your job to fix people. It's your job to love them while they fix themselves.

Understand the power of an honest apology. Oh my sweet baby condor, I have screwed up so many times. But I try to admit when I'm wrong and I try to make amends for my mistakes. The thing is though - you have to really mean it. A disingenuous apology is a very bad thing. It's a lie, wrapped in bacon. But not the good bacon. The kind of bacon they serve in England, that never gets crispy. It's a lie wrapped in flaccid, probably contagious bacon. It's bad.

Gratitude is actually about respect. I'm not just talking about saying thank you (though saying please and thank you is incredibly important). What I'm talking about is the more Oprah-esque kind of gratitude for the big picture stuff. If you have a family who loves you, if you're healthy, if you have food in the fridge, a job, health insurance, clean water to drink - be genuinely grateful for that stuff. Be grateful because you are no more entitled to those things than any other human on Earth planet. And there are millions of good, hard-working people in this world who are desperate for all those things. And it's profoundly disrespectful TO THEM to take what you have for granted and throw it around like it doesn't mean anything.

When you're feeling your worst, when things seem hopeless, there is one thing that will make it better. Here's the deal: there will always be people who really need help and there will always be something you can do. So pull your head out of your haunches, get your hands dirty, and do some good for someone else. This will remind you of who you are and will help repair some of the worm-holes in your soul that come from seeing and feeling stuff.

You can always start over tomorrow. You're going to make mistakes. You may find there are stretches of your life when you don't like who you've become. You may find yourself listening to the Talking Heads and wondering "HOW DID I GET HERE?" You may forget to go the gym for about 3 years. But if you wake up tomorrow and try hard enough to wade through it, you will eventually come out on the other side.

And, God willing, I'll be there waiting for you on the veranda at the retirement community. With one hand holding a refreshing cocktail and with the other, squeezing your father.



Love,

your mom

The Dangers of Co-sleeping

I bet you read the title and thought this post was going to be some rant against co-sleeping with me spouting statistics about mothers rolling over and smothering their babies, or something. Truth is, I know many a mother who co-sleep. None have rolled over and smothered their baby and all are quite happy and healthy.

In fact, if anything, this post is the opposite. I have been quite careful about not sleeping with my babies. Mostly because I would like it. A lot. I would like it a lot until I wanted to sleep with my husband again and at which point I am certain the babies would not appreciate my departure. As much as I want to sleep with my babies, I am not willing to deal with the consequences of breaking that habit.

But this weekend, all the babies (and one husband) fell a little ill. And for one short, little half hour, my lil ASA fell asleep on me while we were playing on my bed. It was the sweetest, most delicious half hour in the history of ever. I got to lay there and smell his baby head and listen to him breathe and think how wonderful the feeling was.

Then my arm fell asleep and we both got really hot and a little sweating. At which point his head didn't smell quite as sweet and I thought I am ok not sleeping with my babies.

But the 30 minute nap sure was divine!

Put that in your pan and bake it!

Hahaha! My dear friend Kim has passed along this article. Its actually less of an article and more a call for information to become an article later BUT it is geared at us who don't like cake.

For years I have withstood the ridicule because I do not like cake. I have never really liked the cake. And, although my closest friends have accepted this (thank you all - there are reasons why I call you my closest friends). There are many who continue to try to get me to eat cake year in and year out, there are those who continue to buy me cakes for celebratory events, there are thpose who feign that they have forgotten this fact when I "surprise" them by declining a piece for dessert. This is not new information in  my world.

And, I suspect, there are others out there who don't care for cake as well. Finally there is some recognition. Cakecentral.com is asking all those non-cake-eaters to speak out, reveal themselves, and offer what they like to eat instead. My awesome and always supportive friend Kim sent me the link and although it is too late to add my comments (it would have been oh-I-dunno-breadpudding-or-darkchocolate-or-krispykremedonughts-maybe), I am looking forward to seeing the responses come in.

So, to all my cake-eating critics, put that in your pan and bake it!

MRA's Law

Its a little bit like Murphy's Law but a lot more painful and most likely to be applied in situations where I need sleep.

MRA's Law states that if you go out on the town, be it a date or ladies night or some other random event, you WILL pay for it. Any relaxation or stress relief that was garnered from your time away will be negated within hours of you returning home and going to sleep.

And this makes me angry. So then, I am just tired and angry and no one should talk to me, especially MRA. I should probably carry around some sort of warning sign or just not ever go out again.

And to think, when I came home and checked in on him, I thought "He's such a sweet child." Haha - MRA's Law.

Slipper---less in Sarasota

You may remember my rant about the dishwasher during which I mentioned that I frequently walk around with one slipper because Cooper takes and then taunts me with the other one.

Well, it seems that MRA has taken notice and begun to copy Cooper thus leaving me slipper-less. And, yes, I mean copying Cooper exactly. I have a photo depicting this. Cooper sitting with one slipper hanging out of his mouth and MRA sitting next to him with the other slipper, you guessed, hanging out of his mouth. But, the camera has disappeared (insert loud sigh here).

The camera, also held this Wordless Wednesday's photo. I am sure it will turn up but probably not in any timely fashion and as soon as it does, something else I need will disappear.

The good news is I did find the spare keys under the sofa cushions this morning. I found them while looking for my slippers.

The limits of my maternal sacrifice

I have a pet peeve. It is a fairly recent peeve. One that arrived shortly after the onset of motherhood. I have told no one of this peeve because it seems so trivial but today... today, I have reached my limits.

For those of you that are moms, you know that there are numerous things that you give up after becoming a mother. And, I feel that I have handled many of these things fairly well.

1. I cannot remember what it is like to eat without a person sitting on me.

2. I have taken the attitude that my clothes are much more interesting with cheese, pudding, and/or ketchup all over them. This a direct result of #1 above.

3. I don't need styling products for my hair anymore as I only get to wash it two or three times a week and inevitably those are the days that ASA spits up, almost always in my hair. Who knew that spit up was better than Bumble and Bumble and FREE, no less.

4. I regularly walk around wearing only one slipper because Cooper, in an effort for more attention, takes the other slipper and usually sits on the stairs with it hanging out of his mouth, taunting me, as if to say, "Come and get it - I dare you - and as soon as you make a move toward me, I'm gonna bolt." Its easier just to walk around with one slipper.

5. My house used to be clean, no, actually immaculate. Now, hahahaha.

6. These days, any reference to being dirty in the bedroom refers to the fact that there are usually several dirty diapers on the bed or dresser (and not because I left them there) as well as chocolate milk stains on the pillows and maybe some muffin crumbs in between the sheets -thank you MRA. But all this is ok because now clean sheet night is so exciting it is almost a reason to open a bottle of wine.

But I have my limits and they start with the dishwasher.

You see, there is a little shelf on the top rack that folds up and down. Before having children, I did not know what to do with the rack. But, then again, before children we probably ran the dishwasher one a week - tops.

After said children arrived, I discovered that the little shelf was perfect for holding bottle parts, random toys, little bowls and all those little things that we now wash. The problem is that no one else has figured out that if you put short things on that side of the dishwasher you can use the shelf. So I find myself re-organizing the dirty dishes in the dishwasher - moving the little pieces and parts and short things from one side to the other to maximize space.

Why am I the only one that gets this?

It may be trivial but it sure is annoying.

RANTS FROM MOMMYLAND: A Few More Things No One Told Me About Parenting

I just love Lydia and Kate who blog for Rants from Mommyland! They, so often, capture just what I am thinking but not talented enough to pen.


A Few More Things No One Told Me About ParentingBefore you become a parent, people just love to offer you unsolicited advice. They want to help prepare you for what’s to come. They want to share their wisdom. A lot of what they said to me was pretty valuable and important stuff, but I just wasn’t ready to hear it. Mostly, I was like “Yeah, I totally appreciate that. Thank you for sharing.” Inwardly, I was thinking: "I already read a whole entire book about that. That a doctor wrote. So thanks for nothing." And then I would stifle a yawn and go about the business of being clueless.

But here's the thing: I should have listened. And I should have asked questions. But I would've asked the wrong ones. And then there's the BIG issue. The fact that there’s a lot about becoming a parent that people don’t tell you. Here’s five things no one told me and I sort of wish they had.

That smug feeling? Enjoy it while you can, hotshot.

Every time you start to think you have things figured out, savor the flavor. Because it usually lasts about five seconds. Baby sleeping through the night? Congratulating yourself and possibly bragging that you don’t understand why it's so hard for other people? That maybe they just need to try a schedule? Well here come some new teeth, Gwyneth. Plan the perfect family vacation? The stomach flu is really fun in a hotel. Did your kid test off the charts awesome? That’ll be the same one who can’t stop eating his boogers in public.



The Guilt is terrible but The Shame is worse.

Everyone talks about maternal guilt. Everyone knows moms both inflict it and suffer from it in equal measure. But you know what? When you really have a major parenting fail? The Shame is the worse. The knowledge that your mistake has possibly hurt or saddened or contributed to another future therapy issue for your precious offspring... It feels worse than anything in the history of ever. Don’t believe me? Just wait until the baby rolls off the changing table and is totally fine two minutes later but you’re a shaking, sobbing mess who’s now scarred for life.


They’re born and you think you have all this time to fix all the things about yourself that are effed up.

There is no greater motivating factor for getting your schmidt together than a sweet smelling bundle of baby. And you may be under the illusion that you have until your kids are bigger or mobile or sentient or . . . something to become this whole new person that is grown up and together and really awesome. But let me tell you the truth; you have no time. All that stuff you hate about yourself? If it’s not fixed by now, it may just stay broken. Whatever your issues are, they get harder to solve – not easier. Maybe though, it can be a good time to start accepting things for what they are. Maybe you’re already really awesome.

You resolve to break the cycle.

No, not that cycle. You clearly broke it for nine months straight on your way to laboring stirrups. No, I'm talking about breaking the cycle of seasonal madness, also known as the Cycle Of Chaotic Klusterfarks (I won't add the acronym, but it sucks, well. . . you get it.). Example: it is not going to be like it was when I was growing up. The holidays will not be a gigantic mess of grouchiness, disorganization and Jerry Springer-style familial fighting. It’s going to be different! And better! And we’re going to make memories and laugh and wear festive holiday sweaters and play board games and It! Will! Be! Amazing! Then you find yourself slamming things and saying "GAHDAMNIT!" and stomping around the kitchen swearing because no one is helping you and all the pies just burned.


I love you, bedtime!

You will love their bedtime like a junkie loves smack.

I never thought I could love anything as much as I love my kids. As a stay at home mom, I'm with them all the time. Before I became a mom, I thought those parents who complained about their kids and joked about loving them best when they were sleeping were sort of douchey. Horrible really.
But now... There are nights – OK, I’ll be honest - pretty much every night, where I am counting the minutes to their bedtime like the closing minutes of a hockey game while praying for the second when they’re finally asleep. You do not want to come between me and my kids' bedtime. I will cut someone if they knock on my front door at 8:30pm. Because those few, precious moments between their bedtime and mine are the best part of the day. These are moments where I am off. Where I can do things like fold laundry or pay Verizon or sit on the couch in a stupor with the TV on.

Yet did anyone ever tell you that you would come to value twenty minutes alone, sitting slack-jawed on the couch in a quiet room, above rubies? Me neither. But since rubies are now choking hazards, maybe I'm better off sitting here zoning out in silence. Oh the sweet, sweet silen. . . . Oh schmidt, was that the baby?


http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/2011/07/few-more-things-no-one-told-me-about.html(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011 Email This

The Working Mother Rant

If you are looking for cute pictures and video, come back tomorrow. Today, I am mad.

I have actually been mad for a few days but only now, am I not-mad-enough to blog about it. You see, lately, I have been running into a couple that I know a lot more frequently. Whenever I do, she comments on me seeming so tired and stressed - which I am.

Its in a judgey way that she says these things. Her job probably equates to less than part-time hours on a weekly basis.

But, I am busier at work than I ever have been, I am 7.5 months pregnant in June in Florida, I am trying to prepare for a new baby, and I am running after a toddler. Being tired and stressed out is not that unusual for the circumstances.

I am not unhappy.

The male half of the couple, keeps asking me if I plan to work after the new baby arrives. I am not sure how many times I need to say yes but he KEEPS ASKING. And every time I say yes, he makes a different judgey comment. this last time, it was, "Well, you must really like your job."

Newsflash: I do (most of the time). I certainly did not go to grad school to get an MRS degree.

So, I end up walking away feeling as though my ability as a mother is being questioned.

Jonathan, on the other hand, gets told he is in the running for Father of the Year because, wow, he drops his kid off at daycare AND takes him to the doctor for well visits.

So he is father of the year and I am.... what?

Don't get me wrong, my husband is a fabulous father and husband but, really, we both give it our all. We both do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done. Sometimes, its 50/50. More of the time it is some unequal percentage, its80/20 or 90/10. And who is doing the 10 and who is doing the 90, that changes depending on what is going on.

We are, collectively, ok with this arrangement, but it pisses me off to have other people pass these passe judgements on our lifestyle. Its not 1890, I thought we'd moved past all this.

Are women ever going to be able to go to work and have a child and not be judged for it?

Its a time to give thanks

and quite frankly, I am thankful that Thanksgiving is OVER.

It used to be that that Thanksgiving was my worlds-most-favoritist holiday. I have good memories of Thanksgivings past and they are all sort of wrapped up with my birthday which is sometimes on Thanksgiving.  On the years it is not, its always within a day or so.

However, over the past few years, I have started to dread Thanksgiving. It puts me in a bad mood. Which is also wrapped up with my birthday too and which makes me dread my birthday because it is all wrapped up with the Thanksgiving thing.

In the egocentric mind of a child, I guess I thought my birthday was HUGE - there was always LOTS of family around and special desserts. People traveled to get together for my birthday and it was fun in an eat, drink, and be merry sort of way.

My Aunt Lottie used to make a special cherry cake. I think she called a cajun country cake or country cajun cake or something like that. It was pink. And even though I am no fan of cake, it was pink and cherry and everyone made a big deal over it!

Then I grew up and the big deal turned out to be about Thanksgiving (oh, and by the way, Happy Birthday) but I still enjoyed the togetherness of it all and my friends and I would still go out and celebrate once we reached our thresh holds of the togetherness.

Now though, not living near family, we don't get to spend Thanksgiving with everyone anyone, which is depressing if you are used to big family Thanksgivings. Of course, even if I were to spend Thanksgiving with others, there is my birthday, which gets overlooked because everyone is preparing for, celebrating, or recovering from Thanksgiving. So, really, the birthday, not so great either.

Its depressing.

You see, if there is one day a year that things should just be a little easier, a little more convenient, maybe your loved ones make an effort to make your day a little happier, it should be on your birthday. But my birthday, for everyone, is about Thanksgiving.

So my birthday this year involved work, navigating the insane grocery store with a 12 month old hungry child and a pizza that came with the wrong toppings. This was followed by spending more time in the kitchen than I care too or actually do at any other time of the year. I am just not that domestic.

There are a few people who offer to celebrate with me on another day but that's because Thanksgiving is the priority.

I really want to love Thanksgiving again, but most of the time, I am just thankful its over.

Oh, and just so you all aren't worried about my doom and gloom attitude, I am, also, thankful for the Notorious MRA. Thanksgiving was definitely more comical because of him.

Got Milk?

My days of nursing have come to an end. Nursing was the hardest thing I have ever started and, now, the hardest thing for me to quit. I officially stopped nursing on Sunday and every day since has been a struggle. Deciding to stop nursing when you still have milk is not as easy as popping a bottle in your baby's mouth.

For one, your body does not yet know to stop the production so it keeps on the keeping on and the milk does not have anywhere to go. So the boobs fill up and sit and it hurts and then they get hard and it hurts a lot more. And then the milk ducts clogg and they get lumpy and you want to cry because now you have HUGE, hard, square boobs that hurt.

I have searched for ways to make this easier, faster, less painful and the only thing that supposedly helps with the discomfort is cabbage.

Yeah, you don't eat the cabbage - you put it in your bra. I don't know about you, but I have never been a fan of cabbage - the eating it that is. Verdict is still out on the cabbage bra but I doubt Victoria's Secret will be jumping on this idea.

And, I miss my morning time with the Notorious MRA. So, on top of the discomfort there is the sadness. On top of which you can add in a good 'ole dose of guilt because you know you could still be giving him the "good stuff" but instead you just mix some formula. Then on the morning of day 4 (today) you think you are going to break. You think, I'll just nurse him a little.

Which is when dear hubby steps in and talks you off the ledge. AAahhhh, I never would have thought there would be so much involved with the quiting. Milk, milk go away!


PS: I should probably add in here that the time in between the difficult start and now has been AMAZING. The Notorious MRA and I have shared some really special moments. If I had to do it over, I wouldn't change a thing.