Category Archives: Mommy Musings

You know you’ve reached Mid-life Mommyhood when…

28 Saturday Jun 2014

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  • As soon as you spot a public Ladies Room, you go…just in case.
  • 9 p.m. used to be the time you’d go out with friends. Now it’s the time you head to bed.
  • When a friend has to cancel plans because her child is sick, you secretly look forward to putting on your PJ pants and watching Netflix.
  • You no longer work out so you can eat more, you work out so you will not feel like cow dung the next day.
  • When you don’t eat right, you pay for it. All. Week. Long.
  • You used to walk into a room of strangers and care what they thought of you, and now you wonder to yourself, “Do I really care about any of these people?”.
  • When you don’t get enough sleep, you wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a frying pan, your eyes turn into slits and you secretly wish you could stay in bed. All. Day. Long.
  • About the time you finally get used to Facebook, you realize “kids these days” are using Twitter more often than FB.
  • You use the term “kids these days” without even realizing it.

Courtesy of http://www.cemcor.ubc.ca/

  • Nursing a hangover takes more than a nap and a cheeseburger.
  • Your new mid-life hangover remedy: Multiply the number of drinks you have by .5 to find out how many days you need to feel normal again. (If tequila is involved, count on doubling that formula.)
  • You wake up in a pool of sweat almost every day.
  • Five hours of continuous sleep is like a God-send.
  • Your neck is sore not because you went hang-gliding but because you “slept on it wrong”.
  • Random injuries keep getting lamer and lamer, and more frequent than you care to admit.
  • You have come to terms with the fact that you can never do jumping jacks again without peeing a little.
  • You wear a panty liner just in case you sneeze.
  • And last but not least: You sneeze loudly just in case you pass gas simultaneously.

 

Saved by Ferris

14 Monday Apr 2014

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Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is one of my favorite John Hughes’ movies and I was tickled pretty in pink when my kids wanted to watch it on a recent family movie night. We had one of those weekends packed with so many activities (including celebrating my first born’s 13th birthday), we actually needed a touch of “Bueller, Bueller” to help balance things out. And yes, I did break down when I looked through my son’s baby pictures and turned to see a man-child of 13 years standing before me. Oh boy, it’s starting. Thankfully, he’s a good kid. Very sweet. But the fact that he didn’t want to blow out 13 candles in front of his friends made me feel like he’s already 16! My baby! It’s going fast. It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be shopping for college dorm supplies. And I digress. (I’m still in shock that I’m officially a mother of a teen, so thank you for allowing me to keep rambling so I can stay in this state of perpetual mommy denial a little longer.) So anyhoo, I thoroughly enjoyed the fact that my kids “get” Ferris. The “righteous dude” is a witty, playful, grab-high-school-by-the-car-horns genius. We fear him and adore him simultaneously. That unsung hero that none of us, even in our totally-on-sale Forenza jeans and 1980’s bi-level hair-cut, were brave enough to even try to be.

Granted, there are some bad words in the movie. So, being the Mrs. Goldberg momma-bear that I am, I simply pretended to cough or sneeze every time I heard a swear word in the movie. There were a few “Ahh sh**t –COUGH COUGH, and a$$– A-aaaa-chews” moments coming from my side of the couch. At least it’s not a show where zombies rip people’s heads off. (Something my soon-to-be-10-year-old will not be allowed to watch until she’s in college!) There’s nothing horrible. Just a few bad words that seem to automatically come with any 1980’s-something PG 13-rated movie. Aside from that, it was perfect. My kids giggled along to Ferris’s computer-generated “sick” stereo, his hilarious antics, his sister, Mr. Rooney, and Cameron. And they actually learned a few things from Ferris too.

When my daughter woke up the next morning, all I could hear was a faint noise down the hall.

“Mommy. Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmy.”

Her voice started to get a little louder. I was very concerned, so I ran as fast as I could. I found her, face down, lying in bed, wimpering. “Mom, I feel queasy. My stomach hurts.”

“Oh no, honey, are you OK?”

“I don’t feel so good. I feel really faint.”

“Oh no, honey. Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

My daughter then lifts her head, turns to me, and with a shhhhhugar-eating grin, says, “Gotcha, mom!”

Son of a!!!!!!

 

 

43 Candles: On Samantha Baker, Farmer Ted and truths on turning 40-something

31 Monday Mar 2014

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You’ve probably seen it circulating on Facebook already. A friend recently sent me the time-wasting-but-I-so-have-to-see-what-this-is survey, “Which John Hughes classic are you?”. Like any curious 40-something raised on John Hughes (R.I.P.) classics, I knew I HAD to open the link and take the survey. I got 16 Candles, one of my favorite movies. I remember seeing Samantha Baker hash it out with her big sister (and Farmer Ted played by the always hilarious Anthony Michael Hall) on the big screen when I was 13. Wow, to think I was as old as my son is now when I celebrated Molly Ringwald’s entire wardrobe and began reciting “Dong, where is my automobile?” “Jake, he’s my boy,” and “I can’t believe my parents forgot my &*^^ birthday,” on a daily basis. Scenes from John Hughes’ classics, from The Breakfast Club to Planes, Trains and Automobiles, became permanently locked in my brain, helping me become the person I am now. (Minus the laugh lines and back fat.)

As I face my 43rd birthday in April, I wish I could wipe the day from the calendar and just carry on as Samantha Baker did on that infamous day. I’m glad I’m alive and I’m thankful for my family and friends and all, but 43? It’s not exactly the most thrilling number. To quote Jake Ryan’s friend, “It’s…void.”

Things to keep in mind when you face 43:

• Teenagers will be calling you “Ma’am” until you’re 93.
• If your family forgets your birthday (like Samantha Baker’s), but remembers to pack carrot sticks, it’ll be a good thing.
• You may have reached total happiness and self-acceptance by age 43, but you will forever be immune to the fact that you’re viewed as an old dorky person in the eyes of every middle schooler in America.
•

With each passing year, you’ll look more and more like Elaine from Seinfeld when you dance in front of your kids

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• In your mind, you’re still a teenager, which means you’ll mentally be 40-something when you’re in your 80s.
• You are as old as your parents were when you were a tween.
• Wearing floral pants is a big no-no at 43 because no matter how cute they look on the mannequin, you know the minute you try them on, you’ll end up looking like Mrs. Roper.
• Your 40th birthday is just as memorable as your 21st birthday, but your 40th is probably the last birthday you will care to celebrate by partying after midnight.
• Going to bed by 10:30 p.m. is no longer a social embarrassment but a celebrated accomplishment.
• They don’t make candles, balloons or cards with the number 43.
• During your annual doctor’s visit, remember to remove all jewelry, shoes and socks before stepping on the scale. Then blame the **&&%$# glass of water you drank before the appointment on the shocking number.
• When you turn 43, your metabolism will slow to a screeching halt unless you exercise every day.
• After skipping a day or two of exercise, you’ll feel like your mind and body are turning to mush.
• Just Googling “heart health at 43” is enough to scare you back into jogging.
• For every sprinkle of salt you add to your plate, you can count on an inch of bloat that lasts for days.

You know you’re struggling to get back into running when…

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

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I see many moms and dads running around my neighborhood. It’s very inspiring as I begin, very gradually, to train for a 5K in April with some great gals. It’s a 5K race that’s close to my heart, in support of a dear friend who works for an amazing organization called Day One. I’m thrilled to participate in the 5K. But I hope, for the love of Sarah Jessica Parker’s new stationary collection (yes, she has a new line of cute cards and notepads at Hallmark and Paper Store and it’s adorable), that I can get in shape by race day! Getting back into running is so bizarre for me. I used to run a lot, participated in a couple triathlons a few years ago and even worked as the PR and Communications Manager for Brooks Sports (running company) when I lived in Seattle. I loved that job so much – I could run nearby trails during my lunch hour. The good news is I’ve been trying to maintain a girlie figure by walking and doing Pilates. But I have taken a long break from running. As I try to get back into it to support my friend and her cause, I’ve been pondering a few things. (Some things you might relate to.)

2014-03-08 09.05.17

This is me after a training session at the track with the girls recently.

You know you’re struggling to get back into running when:

1)      You realize your body is not the same as it was when you were in your 20s. (When you could go for a six-mile run in 95-degree Texas weather and not pass out from heat exhaustion);

2)      It takes you more time to squeeze into your old sports bra than it does to go for the actual run;

3)      Your sports bra is older than your daughter;

4)      Your running socks are older than your son;

5)      You jog with your dog and as soon as you start to feel that runner’s high, he decides to stop, sniff around, and relieve himself. (When this happens, which is often, I have to run in place until he’s done and then pick up his mess (which I’m happy to do in the privacy of my own yard, but not in front of sleep-deprived high school students waiting at the bus stop who shoot you looks that could frighten a hawk into hibernation);

6)      You enjoy jogging when it’s pitch black outside so you don’t have to worry about what you’re wearing. This is a great thing, until the sun starts piercing through the darkness, showing off my Fartlek-meets-Flashdance ensemble and pillow hair. Then I know I have to pick up the pace!

7)      You contemplate running in your ski parka when it’s 23 degrees, and end up tying it around your waist, adding to your Meet the Goldbergs 1980’s look;

8)      You pee a little every time you jog;

9)      You run hills when cars pass by but take a 60-second sanity walk-jog when there are no cars around. (Stop denying it, you know you’ve done it);

10)   You can’t pig out when you come back from a run like you did in your 20s, when you could eat all the chips, salsa, guacamole and fajitas you wanted and burn everything off before going out for margaritas with the girls;

11)   You purposely juice after a run to feel better because you’re still paying for that *&&^^&^$ donut you inhaled five days ago.

Confessions of a raging chocoholic

24 Thursday Nov 2011

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One of my favorite things to snack on when I’m stressed? Chocolate. Why chocolate? I don’t understand the question. I could fill a phone book with the reasons why I love the stuff. I am a chocoholic. I once discovered that a box of gourmet milk chocolate coconut clusters can replace your husband – at least for a couple of days. (This is not something I’m proud to admit, but I had to share, in case you might need this kind of advice the next time the man in your life goes on a business trip and your kids are sick and you can’t go beyond your driveway.) When I run out of real chocolate in my house, I find a way to satisfy my craving– whether in the form of chocolate syrup, micro-waved chocolate chips, powdered cocoa or dry brownie mix. You name it, I’ve tried it. My biggest shame to claim? On Halloween night, after my children go to bed, I secretly stash enough mini chocolate bars (that I hope they don’t miss) into the freezer to help aid my sanity level throughout the month of November.  By Nov. 10, my face has broken out and I go on a pseudo chocolate fast – but it doesn’t take long for me to get past this speed bump.

Worst Dressed

18 Friday Nov 2011

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What did you wear to the bus stop or pre-school drop-off today?

My friend claims she won the award for looking the least attractive at drop-off the other day. “Hotness,” was the term she used to describe her oh-so-frantic ensemble. She was running so late getting her kids to school, she pulled a dirty tee-shirt over her shower-less body and went without make-up.  I have to admit my hair was greasier, my shirt smelled of wet dog and my cords were covered in dog fur. I went right home, showered and put on a cute outfit!

Venting and Vaginas

25 Tuesday Oct 2011

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I adore my husband. He is a great dad. When we moved back to Rhode Island eight years ago, I found myself barefoot and pregnant again, venting to him about every little thing nearly every single day. Something he said to me one day really put things into perspective. “Babe, I love you, but I don’t have a vagina.”  If you’ve ever met my husband, you’d understand his dry sense of humor. At the time, he meant well. He was encouraging me (for financial and emotional reasons) to go back to work a few months after the baby came, and get back to being Jackie. Upon hearing this, I consumed enough chocolate to feed a small village. It helped a little, but not a lot. I didn’t really know anyone in the neighborhood yet. My son was two years old. Not a calm, quiet boy. But an active toddler with spikey blond hair who didn’t understand why his mommy was restless. I had been working full-time for many years and was dumped into domesticity when I found out I was pregnant (mid-way through my job search). Most of my dearest friends were childless at the time and now lived 3,000 miles away in Seattle, WA. Think Carrie Bradshaw meets Old Navy. Ovens weren’t meant for cooking for these women, they were a place to store magazines. And meeting for after-work cocktails was a norm. I didn’t have the time or the patience to bother explaining what it was like to get up every three hours to feed a baby. Now many of them are mommies.  It didn’t take long for them to realize the inevitable – motherhood is freaking hard. After each baby was born, they would call and say, “Jackie, I don’t know how you did it! I had NO idea what you were going through!”

Now we’re all in the same raft, trying to stay afloat.

Welcome to Venting Sessions

18 Tuesday Oct 2011

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Welcome to Venting Sessions

Some women train for a marathon or climb a mountain to escape the craziness of motherhood. I like to stress eat and vent with girlfriends. That’s why I’m launching this blog, Venting Sessions. To help other mothers feel like they’re not alone. Venting Sessions is a place moms can let it out and share our mommy ventings, experiences, jokes, whines, giggles and stories. (And swap fun recipes that fit into our hectic lives as opposed to unrealistic recipes that stress us out even more.)

I started this blog for mothers who aren’t afraid to admit that no matter how female relatives, friends, celebrities, talk show hosts and other women we look up to (but don’t know from Eve) make us feel, we know deep down that we aren’t perfect. And it’s OK. We are mothers. And holy schnikes, I know we didn’t start out this way. Many felt nauseous a few weeks after date night and months later ended up in the hospital wearing a maxi pad the size of Texas. (Holding a newborn that resembles ET’s little brother, of course.) God help us all. We love our kids. And they are so worth it. But for the love of Christina Applegate and Will Arnett, there’s nothing like venting with friends. From hosting a family reunion on three hours of sleep to dealing with other not-so-nice moms at the playground who have a knack for making the rest of us feel inadequate, venting to me is like a Dove Bar swimming in whipped cream. It’s how I get by. It’s how I keep going. Like free therapy, Venting Sessions is meant to be a place where moms can let it out without consequences. So swap those mommy stories, ventings, whines, giggles and easy recipes. Let your roots shine, girls. No perfect mommies allowed. (I’m psyched about launching this blog, but I can’t jump up and down too much. I haven’t been able to do this since having my second child. Please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.)