And not on purpose...although some days that feels like a completely viable alternative. Yesterday, I committed the ultimate parenting folly and locked my keys AND my kids (the power of "and" is also applicable in my personal life, apparently) in the car in a grocery store parking lot...in the middle of a rain band from Tropical Storm Debby.
This whole comedy of errors began because I needed a gallon of milk. Not just a regular gallon of milk that I could swing in and get at a gas station, but a gallon of organic milk. If I hadn't gone all crunchy granola mom lately, I could have pulled into the gas station at the corner, locked my kids in the car PURPOSEFULLY (I know, I know...another award-winning move) and ran in to get a gallon of milk. We would have drove home, most likely unharmed and rather dry (barring there wasn't anyone waiting to steal a car in the pouring rain at Enmark) and sweet L&Ms thirst would have been quenched without wreaking havoc in our (my) life.
But when I weighed the risks of giving L&M regular milk versus making the trek for organic milk, it just sounded too tragic (please read my sarcasm here...these children were consuming regular milk from Hogly Wogly's and Piggly Wiggly's all over the state of Georgia from months 12-24.)
So, I decided to huff it to the closest grocery store and put myself through the hell of taking two toddlers out in the rain, in order to get my beloved organic milk. Like Tom Brady on a Sunday morning, I ran the play in my head over and over again. Once I pulled into the parking lot and was mentally prepared (I know this is a dramatic term for "ready," but if you've ever carried two 28 pound children in the pouring rain, while sprinting, you'd feel me here.) I hustled out of the driver's side, scooped up Maisen and the umbrella, and then dodged over to the other side of the car to pick up Laiten and haul rear to the front of the store. I'm no Lolo Jones, but we made it unscathed and somewhat dry.
The journey to the milk cooler went unbelievably smooth; the girls held hands and we marched through the store like we were the most well-behaved family in the neighborhood. On the way out, I noticed that the rain was really coming down, like those ridiculous sidewinding sheets of rain. So, I put the girls and the milk in a cart and wheeled everyone out to the car under the umbrella. The thought even crossed my mind as I ran in the rain, that I was really proud of myself for pulling this off. (Insert: devil laugh.) I quickly opened the back hatch of our SUV, throwing L&M in the back, along with the milk...and my keys. By the time I shut the hatch and made it to the driver's side, my stomach sunk to my kneecaps. I did a loop of the car just to confirm my fear - all. doors. locked.
As the rain pelted me in the face (I had abandoned the umbrella in a panic), I calmly yelled to the girls to get mommy's keys and press the buttons. It actually sounded more like, "Yey - press the buttons! Let Mommy in the car! Whoa boy...it sure is raining hard out here and Mommy wants to be inside with you!!" Laiten grabbed the keys and pressed the lock button at least 250 times. Each time the horn blasted as her sweet little fingers smashed the button, I could feel my famous nervous laughter creeping up through my chest. Most passersby were giving me the "Lord-Knows-We've-All-Been-There" sympathy glance...with the exception of one woman who felt compelled to give me the look of death. Old hag.
Trying to shut out the other shoppers in the parking lot, I continued begging the girls to unlock the car, to no avail. By this time, they had moved to the driver and passenger seats, figured out how to put their seat belts on (riddle me that...figured out seat belts, but not the door locks?) and were putting a hurtin' on two packs of chewing gum and a tube of Chapstick they uncovered in my console. I had to turn my back after Maisen popped the fifth piece of gum into her mouth so that I could laugh until I cried. It was time to throw in the towel and call Eddie.
I said a prayer while I darted into the store to call Eddie (yes, my cell phone - also in said locked car) and tell him what I had gotten myself into. He did his best to not laugh me off the phone and said he'd be right there. By the time I got back out to the car, the girls had the hazard lights on (how appropriate) and I decided I would just grin and bear it until Eddie arrived with my spare keys.
Five minutes later, we were unlocked...I was soaked to the bone, the girls were covered in gum and Chapstick, and Eddie was laughing at me like he'd waited his whole life to witness such debauchery on my part. And while I've taken a rather humorous approach to looking at this entire incident, I realize it could have been tragic. Had it been a normal June afternoon in Savannah, the temperatures would have been sweltering and I would have been in straight meltdown panic mode (and yes, mom...I would have called the Fire Department.) Thankfully, the Lord must have felt like teaching me a lesson without making me suffer too badly.
So, all of that to say, when you see me strutting around Savannah in my new phone/key-holding fanny pack - don't hate.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Will Poo For M&Ms
Potty training (or at least a very noble attempt) is in full swing at our house and I'm quite certain that if having twin newborns didn't kill me, getting them to go on the potty will. When we started, I kept comparing it to being at the bottom of Stone Mountain and knowing it was going to take me 104,583 steps to get to the top in the hot Georgia sun. But, after some initial potty shenanigans a few weeks ago, I'm pretty sure it's more akin to being at the bottom of Mount Kilimanjaro in the freezing cold and climbing it naked only using your hands.
Here's a little snippet of my first whack at L&Ms "potty boot camp" from a few weeks ago:
- Woke up and put on big girl panties. Total score. L&M love Dora and Minnie, and wearing them on their bootie is apparently, totally boss. Throw in a teaser of the Dora stickers that can be earned for one's and two's in the potty, and we're full speed ahead. They're excited, I'm excited...you get it.
- Set my iPhone timer to go off every 15 minutes. This is when I planned to lead everyone to the potty like a drum major in the marching band. You laugh, but it's not easy to corral two kids into the bathroom when they'd rather [insert random activity here, i.e. ride the dog, color on the walls, eat popcorn from in between the couch cushions.] And plus, they love playing Marching Chiefs, so what the heck.
- Reminded myself of the only rule I'm following, which is to never take my eyeballs off of two said potty trainers. This is what the proclaimed "Potty Training Queen" says in her book 3 Day Potty Training. I'm not following the book exactly (at least, not yet) but I did take away some tips that sounded useful...and this seemed like a solid Golden Rule.
- Spent the next 15 minutes exhausting myself by asking potty trainers on repeat, "Are your panties dry? Do you need to potty?" And by the grace of God, L&M stayed dry for the first 15 minutes. I literally broke into a victory dance in the living room, getting the girls on the bandwagon of celebrating being dry. In fact, we may have even burst into a round of the Hallelujah Chorus. (In hindsight, this is probably where Satin himself heard my boisterous exclamations and decided to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day to intervene.)
- iPhone alarm rings for our first true test - the 15 minute potty break. L&M sat on the potty and I crouched on their potty stool, and we all stared at each other, waiting for the first tinkle. Then, in a random occurrence from hell, our dog scuttles in, gives us all a glance, and pees all over the bathroom floor. Apparently, he was feeling left out of the potty pomp and circumstance, and wanted to remind me that he's a big man on campus, too. @#$%&*!
- This is where I basically lose all known control of the situation. The girls panic and run out of the bathroom, and I make a dive for the kitchen to swipe some paper towels. At this moment (and it literally happened in a split second), everything has officially gone southbound. I had broken the Bishop of Potty's cardinal rule (thou shalt never taketh eyeballs of potty trainers), and I may as well stepped on a live grenade.
- In the time I was gone to the kitchen, both potty trainers evacuated the bathroom to the bedroom where they both peed on the carpet, and of course, all over their shorts, which they didn't have time to abandon from around their ankles. The dog was in disarray, (probably because I was screaming, "No pottying in the house! Bad boy! NO POTTYING IN THE HOUSE!") which led him to commit yet another crime of insanity. He went right into the bedroom where the girls were scurrying and did the deed. Yes, what you're thinking is correct. He pooped on the floor, thus scaring my children for life. Apparently, because of my laser-like focus on the girls all morning, I had forgotten to take the dog outside...argggggghhhhh.
So, for the rest of the day and those thereafter, the girls decided going on the potty was risky business. Laiten, who's been using the potty off and on since she was 18 months old, decided she was more content going in her pull-up. No harm, no foul. Maisen begged for a diaper ("I'm a baby, mommy, I don't care! Give me a diaperrrrr!") and decided the reward of a Dora sticker was no longer worth the valiant effort.
So, we took a week off while they went to Gigi and Pappy's in Atlanta, and started again yesterday with a new strategy. One's and two's in the potty get M&Ms. Simple and straightforward - if you pee or poo in the potty, you get an M&M. (Oh, and the dog goes in the crate for all potty breaks.) This ludicrous strategy has been met with only three human accidents (one accident was a "I can't get my shorts off fast enough" accident, so I probably shouldn't count that one) and zero doggy accidents all day. Of course, the downside is that Laiten is now doing all but walking across hot coals for an M&M, ripping her pull-up off at any opportunity to try and score one. And sweet Maisen, well...she's going to require a higher bounty. M&Ms are still not enough to will her to the potty. (I think she may be high-maintenance, although I'm not sure where she got that from.)
At this rate, I'll need to move to mini M&Ms by tomorrow to avoid pre-diabetes at two years old for Laiten, and stock up on extra fluoride toothpaste. I think I'll also run by the ATM to get a couple of 20 dollar bills...that may be more Maisen's speed.
Help a sister out. What are your tried and true potty pointers???
Here's a little snippet of my first whack at L&Ms "potty boot camp" from a few weeks ago:
- Woke up and put on big girl panties. Total score. L&M love Dora and Minnie, and wearing them on their bootie is apparently, totally boss. Throw in a teaser of the Dora stickers that can be earned for one's and two's in the potty, and we're full speed ahead. They're excited, I'm excited...you get it.
- Set my iPhone timer to go off every 15 minutes. This is when I planned to lead everyone to the potty like a drum major in the marching band. You laugh, but it's not easy to corral two kids into the bathroom when they'd rather [insert random activity here, i.e. ride the dog, color on the walls, eat popcorn from in between the couch cushions.] And plus, they love playing Marching Chiefs, so what the heck.
- Reminded myself of the only rule I'm following, which is to never take my eyeballs off of two said potty trainers. This is what the proclaimed "Potty Training Queen" says in her book 3 Day Potty Training. I'm not following the book exactly (at least, not yet) but I did take away some tips that sounded useful...and this seemed like a solid Golden Rule.
- Spent the next 15 minutes exhausting myself by asking potty trainers on repeat, "Are your panties dry? Do you need to potty?" And by the grace of God, L&M stayed dry for the first 15 minutes. I literally broke into a victory dance in the living room, getting the girls on the bandwagon of celebrating being dry. In fact, we may have even burst into a round of the Hallelujah Chorus. (In hindsight, this is probably where Satin himself heard my boisterous exclamations and decided to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day to intervene.)
- iPhone alarm rings for our first true test - the 15 minute potty break. L&M sat on the potty and I crouched on their potty stool, and we all stared at each other, waiting for the first tinkle. Then, in a random occurrence from hell, our dog scuttles in, gives us all a glance, and pees all over the bathroom floor. Apparently, he was feeling left out of the potty pomp and circumstance, and wanted to remind me that he's a big man on campus, too. @#$%&*!
- This is where I basically lose all known control of the situation. The girls panic and run out of the bathroom, and I make a dive for the kitchen to swipe some paper towels. At this moment (and it literally happened in a split second), everything has officially gone southbound. I had broken the Bishop of Potty's cardinal rule (thou shalt never taketh eyeballs of potty trainers), and I may as well stepped on a live grenade.
- In the time I was gone to the kitchen, both potty trainers evacuated the bathroom to the bedroom where they both peed on the carpet, and of course, all over their shorts, which they didn't have time to abandon from around their ankles. The dog was in disarray, (probably because I was screaming, "No pottying in the house! Bad boy! NO POTTYING IN THE HOUSE!") which led him to commit yet another crime of insanity. He went right into the bedroom where the girls were scurrying and did the deed. Yes, what you're thinking is correct. He pooped on the floor, thus scaring my children for life. Apparently, because of my laser-like focus on the girls all morning, I had forgotten to take the dog outside...argggggghhhhh.
So, for the rest of the day and those thereafter, the girls decided going on the potty was risky business. Laiten, who's been using the potty off and on since she was 18 months old, decided she was more content going in her pull-up. No harm, no foul. Maisen begged for a diaper ("I'm a baby, mommy, I don't care! Give me a diaperrrrr!") and decided the reward of a Dora sticker was no longer worth the valiant effort.
So, we took a week off while they went to Gigi and Pappy's in Atlanta, and started again yesterday with a new strategy. One's and two's in the potty get M&Ms. Simple and straightforward - if you pee or poo in the potty, you get an M&M. (Oh, and the dog goes in the crate for all potty breaks.) This ludicrous strategy has been met with only three human accidents (one accident was a "I can't get my shorts off fast enough" accident, so I probably shouldn't count that one) and zero doggy accidents all day. Of course, the downside is that Laiten is now doing all but walking across hot coals for an M&M, ripping her pull-up off at any opportunity to try and score one. And sweet Maisen, well...she's going to require a higher bounty. M&Ms are still not enough to will her to the potty. (I think she may be high-maintenance, although I'm not sure where she got that from.)
At this rate, I'll need to move to mini M&Ms by tomorrow to avoid pre-diabetes at two years old for Laiten, and stock up on extra fluoride toothpaste. I think I'll also run by the ATM to get a couple of 20 dollar bills...that may be more Maisen's speed.
Help a sister out. What are your tried and true potty pointers???
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Why New Moms Belong in a Sorority House
I loved living in my sorority house in college, but I certainly didn't realize how lucky I was until I graduated and had to move out on my own. One night, I was holstering on my (less than desirable) hands-free pumping bra (a must have for all you new moms) and it reminded me of a far less complicated time in my life: my sorority days. I know that sounds like an awkward correlation, so let me explain.
Back in the day, my sorority used to pass around a "Support Bra" during our chapter meetings to fellow sorority sisters who were working on something important and needed a little "support" from her sisters. If you were the proud recipient of the Support Bra, you had to sign your name on the frisbee-shaped GGG-sized cups and wear the bra over your dress for the rest of the chapter meeting. It was like marking your territory in the high school yearbook, but much, much funnier.
For the record, I think my inscription read something like, "JG - Phi Director, Fall 2001 - Surviving September 11 and the House Burning Down with 60 Phis." Not funny at the time, but, that's a whole other story...
I remember drifting off to a dream (not a daydream, because daydreams happen during the day, and I'm sure the only time I dreamt at this point in my life was at 3 a.m.) as I hooked myself up to my hospital-grade Medela pump. The hum of the pump's dual engines, powerful enough to charge a small fleet of cruise boats, sent my mind wandering to what it might be like to live back at in my sorority house. Except now, with newborn twins. And I tell you what...our national office should really consider it.
Tell me if you disagree, but I'm pretty sure these are reason enough to move back to my college digs with a pair of newborns:
1. Three hot meals a day that I wouldn't have to lift one finger to make. Hell yes. Oh, and for Mr. Troy to recognize I've been up all night and whip me up a peanut butter-crushed oreo-and-apple concoction that's a "cure all" to help me get myself together for the day ahead. This reason alone is enough for me to crawl back to West Jefferson and beg for a room.
2. A pink note in my mailbox that kindly reminds me that my bills are due. Please and thank you. This would have saved me from begging Comcast to not shut off my cable when I accidentally used my monthly bill as a bottle coaster for weeks on end and forgot to pay.
3. There was always someone awake. You could count on someone studying/coming home/hanging out in the TV room, at all hours. This would be amazing when I just wanted to get one hour of sleep. Or go to the gym. Or spend the weekend at the beach. It may have taken a bit of bribery (everybody has a price), but know I could have convinced someone to watch the girls for a bit. Would there be a slight credibility issue with some of these people? Sure. But I wasn't the most stand-up parent either, after a three-day binger of no sleep.
4. Chapter meetings to help remind me what it is I'm supposed to be doing each week, along with a wall calendar downstairs that detailed my daily activities. (And sometimes even a king-sized banner that hung on the front of the house to remind me of something *really* important.) Oh, and ending every chapter meeting with "5 Minutes of Positive" would have been refreshing. My shoutout would be something like, "Jessi - you breastfeed like a crazy mother ***! You are amazing and we love you! And don't worry, you'll have your pre-baby body back in no time!!"
5. And lastly, I would have liked a little pick-me-up each day, like a few friendly presents emblazoned with my name and/or monogram, waiting for me on the table in the foyer. A giant pomping mug or lap desk paint-penned in my favorite colors, or even a candy jar filled of my favorite snacks...gah. That could have really nipped those mommy blues right in the bud.
I didn't get past reason #5 because the timer on ol' Betty the Breast Pump went off, which meant I had a full 30 minutes to sleep before the feeding cycle started all. over. again...
Youth is wasted on the young, I tell ya.
Back in the day, my sorority used to pass around a "Support Bra" during our chapter meetings to fellow sorority sisters who were working on something important and needed a little "support" from her sisters. If you were the proud recipient of the Support Bra, you had to sign your name on the frisbee-shaped GGG-sized cups and wear the bra over your dress for the rest of the chapter meeting. It was like marking your territory in the high school yearbook, but much, much funnier.
For the record, I think my inscription read something like, "JG - Phi Director, Fall 2001 - Surviving September 11 and the House Burning Down with 60 Phis." Not funny at the time, but, that's a whole other story...
I remember drifting off to a dream (not a daydream, because daydreams happen during the day, and I'm sure the only time I dreamt at this point in my life was at 3 a.m.) as I hooked myself up to my hospital-grade Medela pump. The hum of the pump's dual engines, powerful enough to charge a small fleet of cruise boats, sent my mind wandering to what it might be like to live back at in my sorority house. Except now, with newborn twins. And I tell you what...our national office should really consider it.
Tell me if you disagree, but I'm pretty sure these are reason enough to move back to my college digs with a pair of newborns:
1. Three hot meals a day that I wouldn't have to lift one finger to make. Hell yes. Oh, and for Mr. Troy to recognize I've been up all night and whip me up a peanut butter-crushed oreo-and-apple concoction that's a "cure all" to help me get myself together for the day ahead. This reason alone is enough for me to crawl back to West Jefferson and beg for a room.
2. A pink note in my mailbox that kindly reminds me that my bills are due. Please and thank you. This would have saved me from begging Comcast to not shut off my cable when I accidentally used my monthly bill as a bottle coaster for weeks on end and forgot to pay.
3. There was always someone awake. You could count on someone studying/coming home/hanging out in the TV room, at all hours. This would be amazing when I just wanted to get one hour of sleep. Or go to the gym. Or spend the weekend at the beach. It may have taken a bit of bribery (everybody has a price), but know I could have convinced someone to watch the girls for a bit. Would there be a slight credibility issue with some of these people? Sure. But I wasn't the most stand-up parent either, after a three-day binger of no sleep.
4. Chapter meetings to help remind me what it is I'm supposed to be doing each week, along with a wall calendar downstairs that detailed my daily activities. (And sometimes even a king-sized banner that hung on the front of the house to remind me of something *really* important.) Oh, and ending every chapter meeting with "5 Minutes of Positive" would have been refreshing. My shoutout would be something like, "Jessi - you breastfeed like a crazy mother ***! You are amazing and we love you! And don't worry, you'll have your pre-baby body back in no time!!"
5. And lastly, I would have liked a little pick-me-up each day, like a few friendly presents emblazoned with my name and/or monogram, waiting for me on the table in the foyer. A giant pomping mug or lap desk paint-penned in my favorite colors, or even a candy jar filled of my favorite snacks...gah. That could have really nipped those mommy blues right in the bud.
I didn't get past reason #5 because the timer on ol' Betty the Breast Pump went off, which meant I had a full 30 minutes to sleep before the feeding cycle started all. over. again...
Youth is wasted on the young, I tell ya.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
50 Shades of Mommy
So I joined the craze and read 50 Shades of Gray. After weeks of daytime TV claiming it was every mom's dream read (I believe the term was "mommy porn"), I had to find out for myself. So, I packed up the girls and we took a little field trip to Barnes & Noble. (Yes, I know...I took the girls to buy this book. I'm a terrible mother...wah, wah, wah.) After acting like I was on a casual search for 15 minutes and still not finding the book, I had to throw the towel in and ask an employee where I could find it. I did a quick scan of all possible options. It was pretty slim. Middle-aged single lady who looked like she lived in a house full of cats won.
Me (choking out words in something slightly above a whisper, and in an accent I was unfamiliar with): "Excuse me? Um..can you tell me where I can find (whisper goes down an entire register) Fiftyshadesofgray?
Cat Lady (loud enough for everyone in the store, parking lot and nearby bank to hear, and with a southern drawl that would have made Dolly Parton cry): "Did you say FIFTYYY SHADEZZZ OF GRAYYY?"
Me (eyeballs as big as softballs, temperature rising to about 101 degrees, and dozens of choice words ping-ponging in my head): "Uh, yes."
Cat Lady: " Well, you can find FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY and the entire trilogy, for that matter, in our EROTIC FICTION section."
At this moment, I'm pretty sure everyone from here to Statesboro is now staring at me, waiting to see what my next move will be. And with that, I tandem-strolled right into the Erotic Fiction (who knew?) and scooped up my copy in about 1.5 seconds. On the way out of the EF section, I passed a young college girl whose eyes cut me with what I'm sure said, "It looks like you've already had enough erotica at your house, lady."
I finally reach the B&N cash wrap, and of course, there's a ginormous table with what must have been 20 million copies of 50 Shades. At that point, all I could do was laugh (and continue to sweat) and throw my copy up on the counter. The only person working the register was a thirtysomething guy who looks like he might have a calendar countdown to the Avengers theatre release. He rang it up without making small talk (thank gah) but didn't let me get too far away before he winked at me and said, "Enjoy!" It gives me the heeby jeebies just to type that.
So...was 50 Shades of Gray worth it? Sort of.
Was it beyond entertaining? Yes. Was it mommy porn? Not really. I was more scared (and scarred) than anything. I was a college girl once, too...and I did lots of ridiculous stuff to get the attention of cute guys. I even wore a garter to homecoming and prom in high school...scandy, I know! (That story used to always bring my co-workers to tears. Apparently, only hookers wear garters to high school dances.) But either way, I'm here to tell you that the "red room of pain" would have been a dealbreaker for this gal.
Maybe I'm old and jaded, but I think my 50 Shades of Gray have been replaced by the 50 Shades of Mommy. I cheer when my kids play together without punching each other in the face. Eddie & I high-five when we take the girls in public and they act like decent human beings. We dance in the kitchen when L or M pees in the potty or goes all day without an accident in their Dora drawers.
Maybe we're just too simple for anything more. :)
Me (choking out words in something slightly above a whisper, and in an accent I was unfamiliar with): "Excuse me? Um..can you tell me where I can find (whisper goes down an entire register) Fiftyshadesofgray?
Cat Lady (loud enough for everyone in the store, parking lot and nearby bank to hear, and with a southern drawl that would have made Dolly Parton cry): "Did you say FIFTYYY SHADEZZZ OF GRAYYY?"
Me (eyeballs as big as softballs, temperature rising to about 101 degrees, and dozens of choice words ping-ponging in my head): "Uh, yes."
Cat Lady: " Well, you can find FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY and the entire trilogy, for that matter, in our EROTIC FICTION section."
At this moment, I'm pretty sure everyone from here to Statesboro is now staring at me, waiting to see what my next move will be. And with that, I tandem-strolled right into the Erotic Fiction (who knew?) and scooped up my copy in about 1.5 seconds. On the way out of the EF section, I passed a young college girl whose eyes cut me with what I'm sure said, "It looks like you've already had enough erotica at your house, lady."
I finally reach the B&N cash wrap, and of course, there's a ginormous table with what must have been 20 million copies of 50 Shades. At that point, all I could do was laugh (and continue to sweat) and throw my copy up on the counter. The only person working the register was a thirtysomething guy who looks like he might have a calendar countdown to the Avengers theatre release. He rang it up without making small talk (thank gah) but didn't let me get too far away before he winked at me and said, "Enjoy!" It gives me the heeby jeebies just to type that.
So...was 50 Shades of Gray worth it? Sort of.
Was it beyond entertaining? Yes. Was it mommy porn? Not really. I was more scared (and scarred) than anything. I was a college girl once, too...and I did lots of ridiculous stuff to get the attention of cute guys. I even wore a garter to homecoming and prom in high school...scandy, I know! (That story used to always bring my co-workers to tears. Apparently, only hookers wear garters to high school dances.) But either way, I'm here to tell you that the "red room of pain" would have been a dealbreaker for this gal.
Maybe I'm old and jaded, but I think my 50 Shades of Gray have been replaced by the 50 Shades of Mommy. I cheer when my kids play together without punching each other in the face. Eddie & I high-five when we take the girls in public and they act like decent human beings. We dance in the kitchen when L or M pees in the potty or goes all day without an accident in their Dora drawers.
Maybe we're just too simple for anything more. :)
Thursday, May 24, 2012
The Devil Wears Prada (or Banana, if we're being literal)
There's a part of my former self that nags at me from time to time. It's like the little devil on your shoulder. Only this devil is wearing a suit and heels, and emphatically checking her BlackBerry. She only rears her perfectly-coifed head when I'm checking Facebook and see a friend talking about a business trip to a cool, new city...or when I meet someone in Savannah for the first time...or when I hear the generic ring of a BlackBerry (which for the record, I think still causes me to grind my teeth in my sleep.)
This former self creeps into my head and wants me scream out loud, "Hey - I'm not *just* a stay at home mom! I used to have an AMAZING CAREER! I'm smart! Ask me about ME!!" It can be so distracting. And from time to time, I let her slip out of the dungeon and all of the sudden, I'm saying ridiculous things in menial conversation with people I hardly know, like:
"Well, I mean, I *did* work in communications at the Big Red Machine for eight years, so I know great writing when I see it."
"Of course I'm on Twitter. I've been on Twitter since before it was considered mainstream media." (I believe there's also an eye roll included with this one...and everyone knows I was late to the Twitter game.)
"Sure, I don't mind leading the public relations/communications workgroup for (insert any random community or church project I'm signing up for these days.) I don't know if I've told you, but *ahem* I used to work in communications. For eight years. In a few different capacities."
Self-validation for a working-mom-gone-stay-at-home mom is exhausting.
And the irony of all of this is, I rather enjoy the obscurity of being home with my girls. I like not having to go to the bathroom with my phone. I enjoy forgetting what day of the week it is, and being able to cook dinner for my family every night. And the most awesome-wonderful-amazing-terrific feeling is not having the Sunday night demons before a week I know will grind me up and spit me out.
Actually, the most awesome-wonderful-amazing-terrific feeling is sleeping in with L&M and watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on any random day of the week ;)
This former self creeps into my head and wants me scream out loud, "Hey - I'm not *just* a stay at home mom! I used to have an AMAZING CAREER! I'm smart! Ask me about ME!!" It can be so distracting. And from time to time, I let her slip out of the dungeon and all of the sudden, I'm saying ridiculous things in menial conversation with people I hardly know, like:
"Well, I mean, I *did* work in communications at the Big Red Machine for eight years, so I know great writing when I see it."
"Of course I'm on Twitter. I've been on Twitter since before it was considered mainstream media." (I believe there's also an eye roll included with this one...and everyone knows I was late to the Twitter game.)
"Sure, I don't mind leading the public relations/communications workgroup for (insert any random community or church project I'm signing up for these days.) I don't know if I've told you, but *ahem* I used to work in communications. For eight years. In a few different capacities."
Self-validation for a working-mom-gone-stay-at-home mom is exhausting.
And the irony of all of this is, I rather enjoy the obscurity of being home with my girls. I like not having to go to the bathroom with my phone. I enjoy forgetting what day of the week it is, and being able to cook dinner for my family every night. And the most awesome-wonderful-amazing-terrific feeling is not having the Sunday night demons before a week I know will grind me up and spit me out.
Actually, the most awesome-wonderful-amazing-terrific feeling is sleeping in with L&M and watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on any random day of the week ;)
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Strawberry Fields
For those of you who know me, strawberries are close to my heart. When my family moved to Florida in 1997, we landed near Plant City, Florida, which is the nation's winter strawberry capital and home of the Florida Strawberry Festival.
When Florida strawberries arrive in my grocery store, I can hardly contain myself. It's like having a little piece of home right in my kitchen. And I think they taste 100 times better than the berries from California, but that's another story. In fact, that makes me think of a funny story...
This is a total sidebar, but a few years ago, I sat next to (what I thought was) a regular ol' senior citizen at the Georgia Chamber of Commerce legislative session kick-off breakfast. I couldn't really understand much of what the old man was saying, but I did pick up that he was talking about states in the southeast and their produce (random, right?!) I dove right in to the convo and told him that being a Florida girl, I was disappointed that I couldn't find my Florida strawberries in my grocery store at the time. After the conversation went on for awhile, the old man was whisked away to another table...and a guest at the table politely told me that the old man I was talking to was the Georgia Ag Commissioner. Great. I'm sure he loved my comment about Florida produce. Glad I didn't get fired.
Anyway, all of that to say...I took L&M strawberry picking this week at the University of Georgia Co-Op Extension Farm in Savannah. While Georgia strawberries can't rival their big brother in Florida (I can say that now that I'm not chatting with the Commish), it was still a fun morning and the girls had a great time!
Now, I need to break out my Florida Strawberry Festival cookbook and figure out what to do with three pounds of berries. :)
When Florida strawberries arrive in my grocery store, I can hardly contain myself. It's like having a little piece of home right in my kitchen. And I think they taste 100 times better than the berries from California, but that's another story. In fact, that makes me think of a funny story...
This is a total sidebar, but a few years ago, I sat next to (what I thought was) a regular ol' senior citizen at the Georgia Chamber of Commerce legislative session kick-off breakfast. I couldn't really understand much of what the old man was saying, but I did pick up that he was talking about states in the southeast and their produce (random, right?!) I dove right in to the convo and told him that being a Florida girl, I was disappointed that I couldn't find my Florida strawberries in my grocery store at the time. After the conversation went on for awhile, the old man was whisked away to another table...and a guest at the table politely told me that the old man I was talking to was the Georgia Ag Commissioner. Great. I'm sure he loved my comment about Florida produce. Glad I didn't get fired.
Anyway, all of that to say...I took L&M strawberry picking this week at the University of Georgia Co-Op Extension Farm in Savannah. While Georgia strawberries can't rival their big brother in Florida (I can say that now that I'm not chatting with the Commish), it was still a fun morning and the girls had a great time!
Now, I need to break out my Florida Strawberry Festival cookbook and figure out what to do with three pounds of berries. :)
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
See Ya at the Sand Gnats Game!
A few weeks ago, we headed to Grayson Stadium to cheer on our new hometown baseball team, the Savannah Sand Gnats! It was the perfect night to take in America’s Favorite Pastime…not too hot (yes, it’s only May and we’re already faced with insufferable heat in this town) and the girls got to hang out with their new friend and neighbor, Kash. Kash's daddy plays for the Sand Gnats, so between climbing the stairs and eating french fries, the girls also had their first crack at cheering for Mr. Brandon while he was up to bat. It will be good practice for the fall, when they'll be cheering on the Seminoles.
Like almost everywhere else I've been with the girls in this town, I couldn't get over how kid-friendly the entire experience was. (I need to dedicate an entire post to how amazing I think Savannah is for children.) The girls were in love with the lower concourse where they could spy on Gnate the Gnat and run free like they were rounding the bases. L&M thought Gnate was Mickey Mouse from a
distance, and although disappointed that the Mouse wasn’t in Savannah, they were still
excited to look at Gnate from afar. I'm thinking next time, we may get close enough for a high-five. Jury's still out.
The girls loved running around Historic Grayson Stadium (the oldest working minor league ballpark in America) so much, that we actually stayed for the entire game and Eddie and I even got to watch some of it. It was a miracle evening for parents of toddlers. Amen.
And on that note, this game won't be our last!
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