Questionable Choices

Party of Five?

January 5, 2013 by amushro

Is anyone else starting to feel like everyone is pregnant? Look around, everyone is pregnant. Everyone! Well, not me. I’m not pregnant, but I feel like everyone from my friends, to people on Facebook, to every celebrity now has a bun in the oven.

Seeing so many pregnant women can be dangerous for a girl like me. The reason why: I have a biological clock that is shouting “tick, tick tick, BOOM dynamite.” Yes I have two healthy and beautiful children, and according to my mom, “You have a boy and a girl. That is all they come in!” But I can’t help but look at our dinner table and wonder if someone is missing?

When I was young and newly married, I wanted four kids. You may say I’m a dreamer; then reality (age, $$$, sanity) hit and I realized four is not in the cards for us.

I even visited a psychic a few months ago and asked if she saw more children in my future. The woman actually had the nerve to tell me yes and it would be twins! I have heard the urban legend about these mothers that wanted to add just one more kid to the mix and BOOM twins! Here is my PC mom statement: yes it would be a blessing, and here is reality: HOLY HELL! What would I do with twins in addition to Monkey and Mimi? Sign me up for the nuthouse right now. Anyone have a good psychic that can give me another reading? I feel like I need a second opinion. If the second psychic says she sees twins, then my uterus is headed into early retirement.

In spite of the psychic spewing her twin nonsense, I have turned to my friends for advice. Have you ever met a friend as an adult and knew instantly that if you were eight you would totally buy them a friendship bracelet? That is how I feel about my friend, Coco. She is funny, brutally honest,talks me off of my crazy ledge when things get rough, and has changed my kids poopy diapers— that is a real friend. She has also been my sounding board for the “should we have another baby” discussion. A few months ago I felt like everywhere I looked someone was having another baby with a horrible disease or disfigurement. Then I read about Tori Spelling being on bed rest for months with her fourth pregnancy and all of the awful complications she had after the baby was born. I swore it was a sign from God that our clan was meant to be four and no more. So I begin my texting rant to Coco about why both of us should NEVER have a third and just stop at two. It was descriptive and detailed. I pulled out every argument I could think of. She is a lawyer so I felt like I needed to use big words to prove my case “amniocentesis” “Apgar Scoring System” “college tuition.” The next day, she told me she was pregnant. Insert foot into my big, stupid, overreacting mouth. Luckily, my beloved Coco said she wouldn’t judge me because she still questions if she is sane for having a third baby.

Ever the problem solver, I even created a pros/cons list. I will not bore you with the contents of this list, and to be quite honest, some of the reasons to or not to have a third child are embarrassing, selfish, and you may think I am even crazier then you already suspected. However, ever the optimist, Coco told me “the fact that you’re even making a list means you’ve got one foot in the delivery stirrups.”

To be honest, I change my mind based on the day.

If the kids are being good and one of them does something particularly sweet or adorable—it’s a three kid kind of day.
If someone doesn’t nap, throws a temper tantrum or my husband works late—two kid day

The good thing is that at the ripe old age of 32 and ¾, I still have a lot of time to pop out another kid. Maybe we will have a third. I could see myself with a straggler. Someone to hang out with me once Monkey and Mimi leave me for elementary school sniff…sniff. As my Coco would say “Love is multiplied and not divided,” and with that I will drink some more wine because I can and she can’t. Cheers!

Back That Thing Up

January 1, 2013 by amushro

Sex and the City is one of my all-time favorite shows. While I love Carrie Bradshaw, she and I only have a few things in common: we both have big, curly hair, we both think Mr. Big is a dreamboat and that Aiden is a hotty, and we don’t back up our stuff. Do you remember this scene?

While she was mourning her computer, I was mourning the loss of my iPhone. This all started with potty training. So in reality, it is potty training’s fault….not mine.

Potty training can be really difficult for some kids; however, Monkey was the easiest kid to potty train, and it had nothing to do with me or my amazing parenting expertise. One day he marched his little tush into the bathroom, grabbed my iPhone, sat down and the diapers were history.

Monkey would take the phone into the bathroom to do “his business”, but would sit there playing games until I forced him to come out. Sometimes I would let him stay in the bathroom while I did the dishes, drank a cup of coffee, or read one of my smutty books. He was happy, I was happy and Mimi was so little at the time she was easily entertained with some random flashing toy. Life was good.

One of the worst sounds I ever heard was a splash followed by “Uh oh!” The phone was swimming in the toilet.

I quickly scooped the phone out of the water and did everything you are not supposed to do: panic, turn the phone on and off, cry, turn it on again, curse, and cry more. Just to throw salt on my iPhone wound, everyone I came in contact with asked me the same stupid question:

“Didn’t you back up your stuff?”

Uhhhh no, I don’t do that.

What the hell is this iCloud? How does everyone know about this mysterious cloud but me? Am I really that deep in the child rearing trenches that I don’t know about this technology? Really, if one more person asked me about backing up my stuff, they were getting a punch in the throat. I’m looking at you, snarky salesman at the cellphone store.

I really didn’t care that the phone was a goner, or that I was going to shell out $$$ to get a new phone. What devastated me was the fact that all of the photos and videos were gone. Never mind the fact that we have an expensive camera and video camera sitting somewhere in this house; I was literally documenting the kids’ life on that phone. Well mostly just little Mimi (you know, second kid and all).

I wept over that stupid phone. Losing videos of my sweet Mimi and her first few months of life just so I could get a few minutes of peace while my kid sat on the john made me feel like the Worst. Mother. Ever.

Actually here is another thing that Carrie Bradshaw and I have in common: we have super, amazing friends that help us out in our time of need.

I passed the phone on to my bestie, a genius in computer forensics. If she could find obscure pieces of information on cell phones of bad guys, surely she could find my videos of Mimi cooing. Apparently things didn’t look good, but she would keep trying.

This phone disaster actually happened about a year ago, so all hope had been lost, but sometimes you get super lucky and pick friends that not only have amazing shoe collections, a totally awesome dance to “Push It”, but also useful skills. This week my BFF handed me a DVD with everything she recovered from my phone! She explained how she did it, but I was too stunned that I blocked out all of her CSI type jargon in order to look at what once was lost.

There were gems like this:

So what did I learn from these Questionable Choices in Parenting?

Back up your stuff, Y’all!
Get a BFF with cellphone superpowers STAT
Take some time for yourself to drink that coffee and read that smut. Just make sure your kid isn’t near water
Watching the edited version of Sex and the City on stations like TBS is just wrong. This has nothing to do with the cellphone mess, but it is an important lesson none the less

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

December 30, 2012 by amushro

This may seem like an ordinary Disney Princess Castle, but I am telling you, this one has magic powers.

This castle was one of the 102,383 presents that Mimi received this Christmas. Considering this girl has glitter in her veins and has recently discovered the money maker amazing wonder that is all things Disney Princess, this little house and it princess inhabitants is one of her favorites. Although, she has taken a shining to Snow White and refuses to understand that Ariel is far superior, but whatever, we can work on that.

This morning I caught my hubby playing with Miss Mimi and her magic castle. If you put a princess on the dance floor she will introduce herself and sing a little song. Apparently my rendition of “Someday My Prince Will Come” was subpar because Monkey told me to stop singing because I was hurting his ears (creep). Anywho, as each princess sings her little song, Mimi breaks into a full on song and dance. It is freaking adorable and the gal can move. As her momager (watch out Kris Jenner), I can see big things in her future, or she will be that kid on American Idol that is shocked that the judges think she can’t sing because her mother always tells her she is amazing. Oh dear God, please don’t let her grow up to be that kid.

After witnessing this song and dance a few times, I literally watched my husband melt into a big ball of daddy induced goo. His eyes got all glassy and he had this silly smile plastered on his face. Oh yeah, this guy has got it bad and Mimi pulled out her best moves to impress her Daddy-O. A few minutes later, hubby calls me into the room to discuss something that he was thinking about. This is how the convo went down:

Hubby: Sooooo, what do you think about taking the kids to Disney?

Me: Ummm, yes! I have been saying that for months. I’ve done a ton of research and could plan the trip in minutes.

Hubby: Yeah, yeah, yeah it’s just that she really likes these princesses and maybe she would want to see them. I really think we should take the kids. Monkey would LOVE Disney, especially the rides. It would be great.

Me: Sure, honey great idea???

This is what I said, although I was thinking—what the hell just happened in here? What sort of magic spell has this castle put on you? Is it laced with Disney fairy dust that comes straight from the Magic Kingdom? I literally have been trying to get him to agree to a Disney trip for months and all of the sudden he has the idea to take the kids. Whatever, sign me up!

Maybe it wasn’t the castle at all. Maybe it was the magic of Mimi. If it was Mimi, I need to learn her secret. I mean, my dad thinks I’m great and all, but he is pretty smitten with my kids, so I am old news in his book. What else could Mimi talk her father into? A few bats of her eyelashes, a jig, and a little tune and he is loading the whole family on a plane for a trip to see Mickey and Friends.

How could I use this to my advantage?

Well, I really HATE to do the dishes. Could I bust a move and sing a song to my hubby and hope I never have to touch a dish again? Highly unlikely.

I need to watch this gal and study her technique closely. I could learn a thing or two from her. Until her magic powers are used for evil, “Please Daddy, mean Mommy said I couldn’t use the car tonight. Can I please (bat eyelashes), please (insert sweet smile), please (give ol’ dad a hug) use the car?” I need to get her on my team and sit back and enjoy the spoils of her magic.

Oh Christmas Card, Oh Christmas Card

December 21, 2012 by amushro

Stop complaining about how much you hate sending out Christmas cards. I know you are lying. OK, it can be a pain trying to get the entire family (kids and/or dogs) to look at the camera at the same time. Maybe you have a family member with the Chandler Bing picture smile? I do, but I refuse to reveal his identity (it may or may not be the man that I married, shhhhh….) Maybe you have one of those kids that will inevitably be dirty two seconds before you need them to say “ccchhheeessseee”? Yes, addressing the envelopes is time consuming. Just drink wine while you work. Do you fear of envelope licking poison? Stop watching Seinfeld.

And who the hell knows how much a freaking stamp is these days? All of these things combined can make the Christmas card quite the ordeal.

Well tough because everyone loves the dang cards. Especially me! Who doesn’t love to show off your adorable family in a festive card?It makes my day to get a Merry Christmas from a friend I haven’t seen all year. Those pain in the ass cards give me the warm fuzzies, but can I share a little secret with you? Sometimes when I look into the future, I get a little nervous about the card. Here’s why: I am really afraid I will have nothing to add to the card. Let me explain. One of my favorite types of cards is the family update newsletter. The entire family has a little paragraph that updates everyone on the accomplishments and goings on in their life that year. If our family had a newsletter, hubby’s paragraph would talk about his dedication to his job and the 372,384,926 football games he attended this fall. Monkey’s paragraph would discuss his love of preschool and his favorite classes, yoga and science–yoga in preschool, ridic, right? He is also taking piano lessons that his mother fears he will later use this talent to pick up chicks. Mimi’s would need to discuss her love of gym and music class and focus on her famed Mimi booty shake dance. Imagine an 18-month-old dropping it like it is hot—it’s pretty hilar. Then there is me. My paragraph would go something like this,” Ummm… well, uh. Hmmm.” What could I share with the world? I was used as a human tissue eight times today. Some days I am amazed at how long it has been since my last shower. I can name that kid’s show in three notes and I am a wiz at getting chocolate milk out of the laundry. Nothing ground breaking there. Maybe my day-to-day life isn’t paragraph worthy. I could just share what I contribute to our little world. How could that go over? Here is what I would share: I make dam cute kids that are kind and well mannered (most times) in public. I entertain my husband daily with my antics and my lack of housekeeping abilities. I am a great daughter that now worries more about her parents staying out too late and drinking too much at parties. I am an awesome sister that is always willing to call her brother out on his ridiculous need to play remote control commando during holidays. I am a good friend that is willing to drink wine with you and tell you exactly what you need to hear in your times of need. I will also judge other people on the playground harshly to make you feel better about your parenting and expect the same in return. Also, I write a pretty funny Mommy blog that is about to go viral (if it is in writing it must be true, right?) So enough of this nonsense! I don’t need a stinking Christmas card to show my worth. I will just go for the funny! Here is this year’s card:

This card was made by the amazing Alisa at Creatively Engaged check her out! http://www.creativelyengaged.com/

The Christmas Blow Off List

December 18, 2012 by amushro

Who do I speak to about adding an extra week to the month of December? Seriously, let’s just take the oddball months with 31 days and tell them they are good to go with just 30 days each year. We could even borrow a few from February. It’s already shorter and probably wouldn’t mind sparing a few more days if it meant we could all slllloooowwww things down during the holiday season.

I’m sorta like Buddy the Elf because Christmas is my favorite holiday and I love, love, love everything that goes along with this magical time of year. I really don’t mind when stores play Christmas music before Thanksgiving, and I do a little Christmas jig when I see lights and ornaments on sale the same time as Halloween candy. It’s just that I need to start marathon training for the actual month of December. I’ve been shopping since October, the tree has been up since November, and the multiple holiday parties have been going on all December. I will even let you in on a secret, I start planning my Christmas card in August. I mean, it doesn’t go out until the week before Christmas because that would take planning in June, but I start the hunt when we are still putting our toes in the summer sand.

Even though Hanukkah is a celebration that lasts “eight crazy nights,” it seems like our Christmas is lasting just as long.

By the time we celebrate with my husband’s family, then start the trek three hours to celebrate with my family, fit in a few visits with other family and friends, it’s time to watch Ryan Secreast countdown to New Years. Oh wait, did I forget about Santa? Well lucky for us, Monkey and Mimi are so young they have no idea when Santa is supposed to slide down the chimney. So this year, the big guy is coming on Saturday so we can pace them with endless toys, wrapping paper, and stocking stuffers. Eight crazy nights, yeah we got this!

In order for this all to work, some things have to go. Here is my Christmas blow off list. Feel free to add your own:

Homemade cookies. Sorry Martha Stewart, if we were supposed to slave away in the kitchen for hours, God wouldn’t have made Pillsbury slice and bake. Add a few M&Ms and pretzels and boom—reindeer cookies!
The creepy Elf on the Shelf. So you’re telling me I have to commit to placing this little dude throughout my house for a month? You do realize my kids will still act up and I will be stuck trying to find new and funny places to put this guy? Try this site out instead http://www.portablenorthpole.com/home. You make a free, personalized video where Santa calls your kid by name, age, and where they live. You can even pick if your little elf was naughty or nice this year. Monkey was scared straight after the first view of his video. His face was a mixture of terrified and amazed—a parent’s dream.
The painful Santa picture. I am NOT forcing my kids to sit on Santa’s lap just so I can have an overpriced picture to document this occasion.We went, we waited in line, and waited, and waited. Monkey waved to Santa and after a while he said he didn’t want to talk to Santa and wanted to ride the train instead. Sounds good to me because I am sure both kids would have lost it the minute it was their turn. Later, creepy mall Santa. Maybe we will try again next year…maybe not.
Pinterest holiday crafts. I may pin and pin until my fingers go numb, but I am not feeling bad about abandoning the clay handprint Santa and the toilet paper roll reindeer. I pay good money for Monkey to go to preschool. His teachers can get all crafty there. I will however continue to pin cocktails and enjoy them this holiday season.

So Fa-la-la-la-la there it is; I highly recommend you create a list as well. You can do it (you just read that in Rob Schneider’s voice from Waterboy, right?) Now I really have to go. I have a half a dozen Christmas movies I still haven’t watched!

The War on Naps

December 13, 2012 by amushro

If you ask any good mother which of her children is her favorite, she will vehemently say, “they are all my favorite.” Ask me who is my favorite kid, and I will tell you it is the one that naps with the least resistance that day. If we are talking this week, my favorite would be neither of them.

When my brother and I were acting a fool as kids, my grandmother would threaten to “sell us to the gypsies” if we didn’t shape up. Well where is the traveling band of gypsies now because I have two little blonde babies to send their way.

Somehow I have angered the Baby Sleep Gods and they are punishing me. Was I bragging in my circle of friends about my dream sleepers a little too loudly? Were the bags under my eyes starting to fade just a little too much to their liking? Was it the fact that I watched a Giuliana and Bill marathon on the Style Network this weekend and started getting weepy over their new baby? I started whining to Hubby that I needed another baby, mine were too old and planning on leaving me soon. Was this the wakeup call or a kick to the uterus that I needed to remind me that I really need a few more years of sleep before another go round?

The showdowns this week have been epic and one sided, and each time I am the big loser. I have rocked the kids, sang sweet songs to them, tickled and rubbed their sweet faces and chubby arms. Then after an hour of this nonsense, my blood starts to boil, and, let me tell you, nothing says slumber like your crazed mother screaming “GO TO SLEEP BEFORE MOMMY LOSES IT.” Sorry, Mommy, it sounds like you already lost it.

Monkey is almost three and a half, and most of his friends have already dropped their naps. My mommy friends have told me that I should just be happy that I had three and a half good years of napping out of him, but I don’t want to, dammit! I need that kid to nap and his sister, who, by the way, has been a champion sleeper until this week. She has decided to get in on the action and scream like a mad woman in her crib instead of sleeping. All I can do is dive head first into a jar of peanut butter to calm my nerves and keep me from boozing mid-day. I won’t even begin to ponder the age old question of why do kids fight naps when as a grown ups, we would love for someone to tell us to nap.

I have lost all control this week without the kids napping, and I fear for my own sanity if I don’t get the sweet relief of naptime tomorrow. I even have a song that I sing once both kids are asleep. It goes like this :

Naptime is my favorite time. Yes, naptime is my favorite time.

OK, so it isn’t original, but it is the truth. I could be wrong, but I think I heard Monkey and Mimi singing in unison from their rooms:

“You got bags under your eyes and I feel bad for you son. I got 99 problems but a nap ain’t one.”

Again, I’m really exhausted and I could be hearing things.

The only concession to these non nappers is that tomorrow is another day. I promise to be a better mother. A more kind and patient mother. Oh forget that, the only concession to the non nappers is the fact they go to bed at 6:30.

These Shoes Aren’t Made For Walking

December 10, 2012 by amushro

It’s that time of year: the office holiday party! Since my office is the toy room, I rely on Hubby to take me as his date to this annual celebration. We get a babysitter (actually my mom because she is free), I get a fancy dress, and we get our holiday cheer on with his colleagues.

While there were no real holiday party antics, like people making photocopies of their butt, I did learn a few things:

Apparently bowties are in style. Who knew?
I fear I will never be able to bear children again after wearing Spanx and control top pantyhose all night. Ouch!
I have lost the ability to walk in high heeled shoes.

Everyone has a God given talent, and mine was my ability to saunter down the street in amazingly high stilettos. I could make Ru Paul cry because of my grace while working those shoes. Sashay Shante! I was the girl that could run across town in killer heels and not stumble once.

Flats for this gal? Are you kidding me? For years I was a firm believer in the higher the shoes, the closer you are to God. I think I learned that in CCD.

In college I broke my foot on the first night of spring break in Mexico. Did that stop me? No way! I strapped that broken foot into the highest spike sandal I owned and rocked it through every club and cantina in Cancun. What does that mean? Well that means I was a friggin idiot. It also means that Monkey and Mimi will NEVER be allowed to go to Cancun on spring break unless they want their Mamma breaking up the par-tay. Finally it means that somehow having children has ruined my shoe strutting ability.

What happened? Is my equilibrium off? Did having children suddenly turn my feet into bricks? Shouldn’t wearing high heels be like riding a bike? When I strap a pair on, shouldn’t it all come back to me? Are there training wheels for high heels? Is that what wedges are for?

At a mere 5’5”, I sometimes feel like I am going to hit my head on the coffee table when I have to take off my shoes. The extra height wasn’t just a fashion statement but a necessity. How did this all go so wrong?

This weekend I was shaky on my heels from the first few steps. Then I had to ride the metro, hop on a few escalators, and finally walk a few blocks to the swanky hotel that was hosting the party. I stumbled most of way and had my heel stuck in on one too many cracks in the sidewalk. Then I added cocktails to the mix and I was a hot mess, but I had a super cute date that was willing to pick my sorry arse up every time I fell.

Luckily I don’t plan on wearing ridiculously high shoes until, ummmmm, his next holiday party. So I have time to practice. Until then it’s Converse and flip-flops for me. Don’t worry, Ru, I make these look good too.

Privacy Please!

December 5, 2012 by amushro

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So what is this one saying to you?

These kiddos sure are cute!

Look at them munching on those apples!

Just precious!

Why doesn’t that kid have pants on?

What you don’t realize is that this picture wasn’t just any adorable moment captured in time. No, this particular photo was taken in my bathroom when I was trying to pee. A little privacy for mom? No way. These two creeps followed me into the potty, snacks in hand, and sat down ready for bonding time. Grossed out? You must not be a parent because if you were, you would say, “Yup, happens here every day.”

Do I often take photos from the loo? Uhhh, no, but I think it helped illustrate my point.

When we first potty trained Monkey he would scream “Get OUUUUUTTTTT, Mooommmmyyy.” We have since adjusted his rants to “privacy, please,” but the effect is still the same. He asks and we beat it out of the john so the little dude can take care of business without an audience. So why can’t Mommy get the same respect?

In all seriousness, when can I escape to the ladies room without a parade of kids? I have actually had arguments with my husband where I tell him, “At least you can go to the bathroom any time of day and not have kids and a dog follow you in.” Of course this is ridiculous, and of course he has no come back… because it is true.

Now when I signed up to be a stay-at-home mom, no just a mom in general, I had no idea that I would have such little privacy. During one bathroom break, Mimi actually rested her chin on my knee, gazed up to me with a sweet angelic face and said “Hi, Mamma.” Adorable, right? No! Disgusting and wrong! Enough already! Move it along, kids.

As Monkey and Mimi grow and become more independent, I get that they will want to spend less and less time with me. However, I can assure you taking back the bathroom and a little “me” time while in there will not be an event I shed a tear over. I may cry when they don’t want to walk next to me at the mall. I will surely cry when they don’t want to hold my hand in public. I WILL NOT cry when they stop following me into the bathroom. Because we all deserve a little peace in our pee.

Babba Booey!

December 3, 2012 by amushro

When my dear friend told me she was expecting her first baby I was filled with joy and slightly amused when she said, “I just don’t want to be one of those moms that entire life changes when they have a baby.”

I sorta wanted to say “Awww, that’s cute, but it ain’t happening, sista.” Instead, I was a good friend and decided to let her stay in the dark for a few months. She will see soon enough, soon enough

You know those commercials that say “everything changes when you have a baby.” That isn’t just marketing geniuses tugging at your heartstrings sending you out to buy some random baby product. Nope, that is the stone cold truth. Even if someone told me before Monkey and Mimi came along how different life would be, I would have punched them in the neck and told them they were crazy.

So I got to thinking about the things that really changed. Of course the obvi: no sleeping in, stretch marks, my inability to run up the stairs without peeing myself, but then I thought of what I was really missing: Howard Stern.

My love for Howard Stern started when I was sixteen and my guy friend that took me to school would take the long way through town just so we could catch a few extra minutes of Stern in the mornings. In college, I awoke every day to the sounds of his voice on my alarm clock, and when he made the move to satellite radio, I signed up immediately.

The rauch, antics, and laughs were a huge part of my life for so long, but pretty soon little ears that took in EVERYTHING were perched in a car seat in my vehicle. Rather than singing Zippity do da, I was LOLing at Robin’s news or Howard’s rants. It became evident to me (OK it became evident when hubby put his foot down—hater) that this was not appropriate easy listening with kids in the car. Our new swagger wagon came with XM, and adding Howard‘s channel was an extra cost. It was a perfect time to break things off with Howard.

It’s me, Howard. It’s not you. I’ve changed. I’ve grown. I will always look fondly on our time together. Beetlejuice, Jeff the Drunk, and Eric the Midget are all important to me. It’s just that I am worried my kids will start saying things like “Who’s High Pitch?” and ask their grandma about porn and breast implants. So sadly, it is time for me to move on. Can we still be friends?

It hasn’t been a clean break from Howard and the gang. I still listen to clips online from time to time and my gal pal keeps me in the loop on all things Stern news worthy, but it just isn’t the same, sigh. However, if I ever pass a news truck and the reporter is standing in front of a camera, I’m still tempted to shout “Babba Booey Babba Booey!” And in the end, I think that is what Howard would want too.