I hate forwards. I think I hear "Amen to that, sister" coming at me through the computer lines that cross our fair nation. (That's how email works, right?) Yes, I'm pretty sure that most of you hate forwards too, unless you are my father-in-law, the most notorious forwarder in the Northeast. I can say that because he won't read this; he's too busy reading and then forwarding on whatever emails he has gotten today. He's probably throwing caution to the wind again, completely ignoring his intended forward audience, or, as other people call it, "the world." That being said, my complete abhorrence of forwards is not the subject of this blog. However, if it was, it would be a long, bitter one.
Anyway, the subject of this blog reminds me of one of the ten forwards I have read over the last few years. I'm sure each of you has received it; you know, the one about friendship. We have different friends for different times in our lives, they come in and out, etc, etc. Most of us probably don't need to read the email to understand this concept, we probably just need to look through our address books. Here's how I know this: I have a lot of friends. I am allowed to say that, I think, right? I try as hard as I can not to take this for granted and I am so happy to have found so many kindred spirits. I am so lucky to have one of each of those friends that other forward about female friendship recommends. For instance, I have a Martha Stewart friend. Among many other feats of domesticity, she papier maiche'd her son's pinata. (oooh la la, french and spanish in one sentence-tres bueno!!) Her house is amazing, her parties talked about for weeks afterward and she does it all serenely, somehow. She is awesome and she knows who she is, although she might not finish this email because she has to go buff the fall leaves she just waxed for her new table arrangement. (Clearly, I have no idea what it takes to be a Martha Stewart friend. No offense to any Martha Stewarts out there who might be scoffing at the idea that you buff waxed leaves when it's clear that they just need a coat of organic, homemade polyurethane instead.)
In addition to my Martha Stewart friend, I also have my kvetch on the playground friend, my friend who always gives me good stories to tell, despite the fact that I didn't actually live them, my friend who's following her dream and her heart in a far off place (actually I have a few of those), and many others. Some of them even possess multiple qualities from the "necessary friends" list. I even have a BFF. I have no qualms saying this, despite the fact that I'm not 12 and/or Paris Hilton. She rocks my world and I hope she knows it (my BFF, not Paris Hilton.) So, I'm a lucky girl. No joke.
But, back to the point (which got lost somewhere around paragraph 2). While forwards can tell us generalities about our lives, we should already know them from living it. We should know what friends we need and how lucky we are to have them. We should know that people can do amazing things when they put their heads and hearts together. And, lastly, we should know that Irish yoga is going to involve some sort of drunk person passed out in an odd position. (the subject of many a fine and informative forward.)
So let's all agree to stop sending those forwards and go live them. Plus, then we don't have to worry about all those email lines becoming overloaded and crashing down to earth and smoting us all.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Blog #3 (where writer exhorts herself for having written 3 kid-free blogs and then goes on, shamelessly, to use their lives for fodder)
Due to the giant public outcry (Mom), I sit down at the computer during naptime once again...
After reflecting back on my first two blogs, I realize I have managed to get a lot of words down with very few references to my kiddos. I find this amazing. Even my screen name alludes to the fact that I thought these blogs would be all about them. I assumed they would include the topics of poop, messes, embarassing public statements and funny things that happen while driving a minivan (of which there are many.) However, it has become clear to me that I do have other things to write about. Or, at least, sometimes I do. Today, however is not one of those days. So, I will resort to the always entertaining anecdotes about poop, messes, embarassing public statements and funny things that happen while driving a minivan (but not necessarily in that order.) Also, as a disclaimer, some of these topics occur within the same story. For instance, there are some funny bits about embarassing public statements regarding the subject of poop. Read on, dear friends, read on...
Top Ten (originally ten, now due to looming school pick-up time, just four) things my kids have done to make me laugh hysterically
1.) Character: my oldest son (who, at the time, is 3) and a really old lady who is changing into her bathing suit across the bench from him
Setting: a community center locker room
(Really old lady bends down to pull on her bathing suit, exposing her naked back to my son.)
My 3 year old son: (said with gusto, loudly) "Wow, that's a really big hiney!" (pause, for effect) "And it looks like there's a poop coming out!"
2.) Character: my two year old daughter (who is quite a character!!) and was potty training at the time
Setting: our living room, where my husband and I are trying to have a conversation
Daughter: "I'm gonna' take my pants off and pee on the rug!"
(Husband and I look at each other trying not to laugh hysterically and look very sternly at daughter in way the parenting books recommend)
Daughter: "Just kidding!"(She exits stage left really fast among fits of laughter coming from parental figures on couch.)
3.) Character: my then-3 year old son and me (Mommy)
Setting: our living room rug, where he is playing blocks quietly
Son: "Mommy, will you come play blocks with me?"
Mommy: (politely)"No, not right now, Mommy's trying to clean the kitchen."
Son: (politely) "Okay, Mommy, I'll punch you in the face then."
(Mommy enters stage right with stern parenting-book face after taking two minutes to calm down shoulder-heaving laughter)
4.)Characters: 5 year old son and 2 year old daughter
Setting : my bedroom floor, dangerously close to 7 pm (which is mommy time)
Prologue: After much, and I do stress the word much, preparation, son is finally ready to perform the puppet show he has been setting up for what seems like hours which is good because mommy is ready to put both son and daughter in bed
(Son holds up some non-specific stuffed toy who is giving a Shakespeare-style monolog)
Daughter: “Is dat a hermit cab?”
(Son ignores daughter and continues monolog)
Daughter: (louder) “Is dat a hermit cab?"
(Son continues on while giving daughter nasty look.)
Daughter: (very loudly) “Davin, is dat a hermit cab?”
Son: (Frustratingly) “No, Claire, be quiet.”
Daughter (in a whisper to mommy) “I sink it is…”
(No answer from Gavin)
Daughter: (loudly, in voice used for proving point) “Gavin, I sink iss a hermit cab.”
Friday, September 25, 2009
If you thought the first one was good, read this...It's not as good, but is still pretty great. Or at least good. Mediocre, let's just say mediocre.
I was driving down to New Jer- I mean Tennessee (state change due to necessary anonymity clause) the other day and saw a really good bumper sticker. "You don't have to believe everything that you think." I really liked it and thought about it for the rest of the drive down, in between throwing small packages of carbohydrates, Hail Mary style, to my son in the way, way backseat of the minivan. I loved the idea that our brains are completely under our control, we can accept or deny information input from one section of our brain (thought) to the other section of our brain (belief). We can put up blockades to those neurons if we decide a thought has gone astray from our moral compass. As in, "I am totally fat and can't fit into even my "recovering- from- baby- but -not- into- my- old -size- yet jeans." Go away, thought. You are not welcome here. My brain is now only for happy thoughts. You are absolutely free to think about rainbows, butterflies, jelly bracelets, and Target shopping trips. Aaahh, feels good.
As I was enjoying the newfound clarity and peace found from the message of this meant-t0-be bumpersticker, I realized the converse is also true, or should be. I wish I could believe some of the things that I think. For instance, I absolutely think that every family has to find their own style, their own way of doing things. However, in actuality, it has become apparent to me that I don't believe that for one second. For instance, when I say to a friend, "I don't think we'll do a playdate with them because our parenting styles just don't mesh," it actually means, "I am completely right, they are completely wrong and I don't want to hang out with them because my kids might start behaving like their little terrors by osmosis." **
**Now, hopefully, I have only said this to someone in my mind, but if I have said this to someone out loud and that someone happens to be reading this blog, please know that when I said it to you, I really did mean that our styles don't mesh well, and not the thing about the little terrors. That part was for the other people I have spoken to about the non-meshing parenting styles.
Anyway, incorrect usage of footnotes aside, I think it is an important thing to consider those things that we think and then decide whether to take them on as beliefs or not. Also, it is important to take those things that we think and turn them into rock-solid beliefs. Then, maybe the next time I say to a friend, "There is a reason for everything and it might not be apparent now, but I'm sure this (here reader must take his/her pick: job loss, divorce, your favorite lipstick shade being discontinued) is happening for some reason," I might actually believe it and apply it to my own life. How cool would that be??
What a great bumper sticker, what a great message... Although, I was going 75 while tossing a package of crackers, so it also could have said, "honk if you're horny." Beep beep.
As I was enjoying the newfound clarity and peace found from the message of this meant-t0-be bumpersticker, I realized the converse is also true, or should be. I wish I could believe some of the things that I think. For instance, I absolutely think that every family has to find their own style, their own way of doing things. However, in actuality, it has become apparent to me that I don't believe that for one second. For instance, when I say to a friend, "I don't think we'll do a playdate with them because our parenting styles just don't mesh," it actually means, "I am completely right, they are completely wrong and I don't want to hang out with them because my kids might start behaving like their little terrors by osmosis." **
**Now, hopefully, I have only said this to someone in my mind, but if I have said this to someone out loud and that someone happens to be reading this blog, please know that when I said it to you, I really did mean that our styles don't mesh well, and not the thing about the little terrors. That part was for the other people I have spoken to about the non-meshing parenting styles.
Anyway, incorrect usage of footnotes aside, I think it is an important thing to consider those things that we think and then decide whether to take them on as beliefs or not. Also, it is important to take those things that we think and turn them into rock-solid beliefs. Then, maybe the next time I say to a friend, "There is a reason for everything and it might not be apparent now, but I'm sure this (here reader must take his/her pick: job loss, divorce, your favorite lipstick shade being discontinued) is happening for some reason," I might actually believe it and apply it to my own life. How cool would that be??
What a great bumper sticker, what a great message... Although, I was going 75 while tossing a package of crackers, so it also could have said, "honk if you're horny." Beep beep.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Are there Pulitzers for blogs? 'Cuz this is good. Seriously.
Oh my God, I actually started a blog. My very first one... I spent so much time thinking about my appearance on Oprah after millions of people start reading this and I change their lives for the better that I have no idea what to say. I know exactly what I will say on Oprah. I will be pithy and self-effacing, laughing with my chin tilted up just so. My cell phone will ring immediately upon leaving the Oprah show and it will be a Hollywood producer who is looking for someone just like me, who has no acting experience, is 31 years old and has a mom haircut. Said producer will then whisk me away to a private jet, complete with nanny, and away I go to fortune and fame. Except, damnit, I lost my cell phone. Oh well, on to the actual content of the blog (which will be life-changing and a totally new art form, so prepare yourselves/self.)
All of you reading this (which means you, Mom) will wonder how exactly I am going to be funny and cute and totally readable. I'm not even the funniest one in our family. In fact, I'm probably one of the quieter ones. Except, of course, when I am leaving messages designed to incite guilt on a certain brother's voice mail, which I have gotten for the fifty-millionth time. I don't even have anything to say to you, said brother (if you are person #2 reading this), I just want to make sure you're not mad at me. "Why would he be mad," my irritatingly non-paranoid husband says. I have no idea, but I will keep calling until he picks up and then he will be totally un-mad and I will have nothing to say and will feel really bad about interrupting his super-busy life.
(Here comes the life-changing, new art form, Oprah noticing content...)
Hmmm...kind of stuck. Maybe, instead, I will let all of my reader/s know a little bit about me. Once you do, I'm sure you will think I'm awesome. Perfect, even. The kind of person you want to be just like. (If you are a woman, a mom, a wife or a person who laughs when other people get hurt-but not too hurt.) Because you will want to be like me, you will read this, follow my life, follow my kids' lives and we will laugh together (separately) about my kids falling down, or saying hysterical things, or heckling me while I read them books. For any paparazzi/o (the singular of paparazzi...or if it's not, it should be) reading this, please do not follow my life a la Gosselin style, except of course if it leads to large amounts of publicity and money. However, that being said, paparazzi/a (much more likely than o) please do not take pictures of me until I am thin again. And, please only take them of me when I am not leaning my head a certain way that makes it appear as if I have a tiny double chin (but only in pictures, not actually in life.) Just so you/you all know I have a beautifully shaped single chin in real life.
A few things about me that you should know if you don't already, but you probably do because you are, most likely, my mom.
1.) I laugh when my kids get a little hurt (but not too hurt). Like when my then three year old took a header into a giant mud puddle after he said, "you're not the boss of me." Karma, anyone?
2.) I just ate a chocolate peppermint candy cane left over from Christmas (it's September) because we have no suitable candy in the house. It was terrible but I'm probably going to have another one when I am done writing this. (which, clearly, might not ever happen)
3.) I find that prescription for inadequate eyelash length to be absolutely ridiculous. Why don't those inadequate lash length scientists start working on the problem of a tiny double chin that only appears in pictures. Now there's something worth researching!
4.) I think that my kids are amazing, unique, hysterical and generally provide excellent fodder for a blog. (Especially because you love them so much Mom, and you're my audience, lady!!)
So, there you go. Me. In a nutshell. Must go; Oprah might be calling now and I only have dial-up. Or it might be aforementioned brother, from whom I must ascertain whether he is angry or not and then, of course, be reassured that he is not angry, never was, and still thinks I'm wonderful/perfect/the best sister anyone could have.
All of you reading this (which means you, Mom) will wonder how exactly I am going to be funny and cute and totally readable. I'm not even the funniest one in our family. In fact, I'm probably one of the quieter ones. Except, of course, when I am leaving messages designed to incite guilt on a certain brother's voice mail, which I have gotten for the fifty-millionth time. I don't even have anything to say to you, said brother (if you are person #2 reading this), I just want to make sure you're not mad at me. "Why would he be mad," my irritatingly non-paranoid husband says. I have no idea, but I will keep calling until he picks up and then he will be totally un-mad and I will have nothing to say and will feel really bad about interrupting his super-busy life.
(Here comes the life-changing, new art form, Oprah noticing content...)
Hmmm...kind of stuck. Maybe, instead, I will let all of my reader/s know a little bit about me. Once you do, I'm sure you will think I'm awesome. Perfect, even. The kind of person you want to be just like. (If you are a woman, a mom, a wife or a person who laughs when other people get hurt-but not too hurt.) Because you will want to be like me, you will read this, follow my life, follow my kids' lives and we will laugh together (separately) about my kids falling down, or saying hysterical things, or heckling me while I read them books. For any paparazzi/o (the singular of paparazzi...or if it's not, it should be) reading this, please do not follow my life a la Gosselin style, except of course if it leads to large amounts of publicity and money. However, that being said, paparazzi/a (much more likely than o) please do not take pictures of me until I am thin again. And, please only take them of me when I am not leaning my head a certain way that makes it appear as if I have a tiny double chin (but only in pictures, not actually in life.) Just so you/you all know I have a beautifully shaped single chin in real life.
A few things about me that you should know if you don't already, but you probably do because you are, most likely, my mom.
1.) I laugh when my kids get a little hurt (but not too hurt). Like when my then three year old took a header into a giant mud puddle after he said, "you're not the boss of me." Karma, anyone?
2.) I just ate a chocolate peppermint candy cane left over from Christmas (it's September) because we have no suitable candy in the house. It was terrible but I'm probably going to have another one when I am done writing this. (which, clearly, might not ever happen)
3.) I find that prescription for inadequate eyelash length to be absolutely ridiculous. Why don't those inadequate lash length scientists start working on the problem of a tiny double chin that only appears in pictures. Now there's something worth researching!
4.) I think that my kids are amazing, unique, hysterical and generally provide excellent fodder for a blog. (Especially because you love them so much Mom, and you're my audience, lady!!)
So, there you go. Me. In a nutshell. Must go; Oprah might be calling now and I only have dial-up. Or it might be aforementioned brother, from whom I must ascertain whether he is angry or not and then, of course, be reassured that he is not angry, never was, and still thinks I'm wonderful/perfect/the best sister anyone could have.
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