Southern Attire

Not a week goes by that my baby boy does not get mistaken for a girl. Okay. So, he has curly hair. Big blue eyes. And maybe doesn’t wear the most masculine clothes, but for goodness sake, he’s 17 months old. So I get to dress him like that a little longer. Besides, would you really think this hunka hunka burnin’ love is a GIRL?

No. I didn’t think so. But maybe you would if you saw him wearing this:

I mean, I still think he looks pretty manly. But the bubble might be a little um, well, not so manly. Plus, it’s a little too big, which makes it have a dress-like appearance. Don’t judge. This picture was taken during a playdate. The hostess’ mother-in-law was there, and she looked at Davis and said, “Now, I think I’ve seen her before. “ HER. Right. And it’s kind of awkward when you have to correct people and say, “Actually, he’s a boy. HE.”

But here’s something: this particular woman is from Connecticut. Or somewhere around there. She’s not Southern. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Well, not much wrong, anyway. Here in the South, and especially in Raleigh, we DRESS our kids. At Ava and Davis’ preschool, it is not unusual to see all the kids in their smocked and appliqued best for just a regular day at school. That’s just what we do in these parts. I like to think that since I no longer dress as well as I’d like, I can at least keep the kids looking good, since they are a direct  reflection of my own fashion sense.

Here are mine, all dressed up after church recently. Look how nicely their outfits match Ava’s room! (That was actually not planned, but it worked out nicely. Too bad I couldn’t get them to pose better for this picture. At least it shows a sweet moment, where Ava is reading a book to Davis).

 

Now that Ava is 5, she’s kind of outgrowing some of the cutesty, smocked stuff. Last week I had the pleasure of attending a crewcuts trunk show (you know, J.Crew’s line for kids? In the words of Rachel Zoe, I die.) I ordered her clothes that I am actually envious of. Here are a few of the pieces I got:

I also got a cute little henley dress and an adorable embellished navy and white striped shirt, but they were preorder items, and not yet on the website. Now, if I could just get Tory Burch to make some flats in kid sizes…..

Things That Make Me Feel Old

I am a pop culture junkie. I don’t even try to hid the fact that I subscribe to US Weekly. In fact, just last week, I mentioned to the husband that when my subscription expires, I was considering switching to People, because it’s “more high-brow.” Clearly, I’m kidding myself. The husband thought so, too. I think he said that neither of them have much redeeming value, so it doesn’t really matter which one we get. For the record, we also get Newsweek, but sadly, it often sits unread.

(Just so I don’t come across as a total idiot, I do catch up on real news via CNN and NPR on XM Radio. And I’m even dorky enough that I get podcasts of NPR’s “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” and listen to them when I’m running.)

As I was saying, I do like pop culture and celebrity gossip. It’s fun, it’s loose, and it can make you forget about bigger stuff for a few minutes. So, I will not be ashamed of my addiction little hobby. I will say, though, that over the last year or so, my interest in a lot of the “celebrities” that appear in the weekly tabloids has been almost non-existent. And that’s making me feel a little old, but I’m just calling it maturity.

So, in no particular order, here are some things that make me feel old:

First, Jersey Shore. Sorry, I just don’t get it. At all. When it got all popular last year, I tried to watch it. I only lasted five minutes, if that. And, people, I’m not THAT discriminating in what I watch. I die over Rachel Zoe. Gossip Girl is among my list of most-watched shows. So, you see. It’s not as if I’m locked on PBS over here. But those Jersey Shore kids just make me cringe, and I can’t stand to watch even a minute of that show. In fact, I think the Today Show hit a new low last week, when they ran a story about Snooki during what was once the hard news hour. Man, they’re really pandering over at Today, aren’t they?

Second. The slight boredom I feel when watching the VMAs on MTV. We DVR’d them last night, and are catching up tonight. Chelsea Handler is hysterical. I heart her and have for a long time. I  watch Chelsea Lately when I’m up late enough. I’m a little jealous of her awesome job, and I might like to have my own little talk show one day. Anyway, back to the VMAs. When it came to the Best Rock Video category, I had heard of only 2 of 5 artists. This means one of two things. Either I am way out of it when it comes to rock music (because I am forced to listen to Radio Disney in the car and therefore can sing to you the entire Camp Rock 2 soundtrack), or MTV picked obscure rock artists for the category. Not sure what the real answer is. All I know is that there were some good rock bands that had albums out in the last year who went completely unmentioned on the VMAs. I mean, MTV, have you not heard of the Black Keys? Vampire Weekend? Maybe they don’t make videos. But MTV doesn’t play videos, so what’s the difference.

Third, and similar to above. Justin Bieber. Or Beiber. Whatever. I try to put myself in the shoes of a tween and wonder if I would like him if I was say, 12. I mean, he’s a little bit talented, I guess. I can’t really tell, though. His VMA performance was clearly lip-synched. And his hair is too perfect. And too much in his eyes. Also, Ava recently saw a picture of him and said, “oh. I thought Justin Bieber was a girl. He sounds like a girl when he sings.” Kids say the darndest things, don’t they? Darndest, but truest. Anyway, he seems like a good boy, and I wish him well, but please don’t make me listen to him.

I fear that I may be outgrowing the MTV generation. That’s a hard thing to admit. I mean, for most of my life, I have BEEN the MTV generation. I remember my sister trying to watch MTV on my parents on console set before we actually had cable. She would turn it to channel 27, and you could make out just a little bit of a video every few seconds, but it was all we needed. Luckily, we got real cable soon thereafter.

So, while I’m sad that I’m finally growing up (don’t worry Gossip Girl, you’re still on my DVR. And Stephanie Meyer? Keep writing vampire books. Because I will continue to read them.), I’m kind of becoming okay with it. Thankfully, I have discovered the replacement for MTV in the form of Bravo. I think  Rachel Zoe and the Real Housewives will keep me feeling young for a few more years.

Balance of Power

Back in my Senior year of high school, I took AP European History.That was when I was still kinda smart, and they let me take AP classes. (My, how I had them all fooled!). I recall learning about the Balance of Power, which we referred to as simply, BOP. If I recall correctly, in the context of AP European, the BOP basically referred to parity (big word, eh?) or stability between competing European nations.

Now, in my current life state, I am reminded of the BOP. No, no, I’m not trying to balance the power between my kids and me. Really, it’s between my husband and myself. And I’m not really sure that “power” is the right term. I think it’s more like, responsibility.

As a stay-at-home mom, I’d estimate that 99.9% of the daily responsibilities of the household fall on me. I’d probably actually say 100%, but the husband might read this and get offended, so let’s keep it at 99.9%. This balance is fair, right? I mean, he’s at work, making it possible for me to stay at home, and I’m just living the life of Riley, eating bon-bons and watching Oprah. At least that’s what I sometimes think the husband imagines I do all day. But, as any of us moms know, the day is full of cooking, shuttling, shopping (not the fun kind), cleaning, laundry, discipline, mediation, more cleaning, and then a little more laundry. Oh yeah, and I work from home, remember? So we have to fit that in. And wine. But that’s later.

It’s not that I don’t actually think the husband appreciates all that I do. He has said, “I don’t know how you put up with those kids all day.” (I think, however, that such statements are sometimes said with the hope of being rewarded, and not altogether sincere). The problem is that I find myself resentful of the fact that, despite the long hours he puts in at the office, I feel like I still work harder. And I don’t get paid, unless you count hugs (which is not all bad, but really, I do like cash). The thing is, though, when he does chip in more, I get annoyed.

For instance, last Sunday, we were heading to church. I mentioned on the way there that I wanted to clean our disgusting bathrooms at some point that day. His reply was, “I’ll do it.” Well, quite honestly, I wasn’t trying to get him to clean any bathrooms. What I wanted was for him to keep the kids out of my way so I could get it done in peace, and not have a 17-month-old throwing things in the toilet behind me. So, I said that was very sweet, but that I would get it done. And I meant that.

But then we got home from church, and he changed clothes and immediately started cleaning the bathroom. Very nice, no? Get this, though: he cleaned more thoroughly than I do. He got behind the toilet and scrubbed . He was on his hands and knees cleaning. And then he said something like, “This bathroom is just gross. It’s so dirty!.” Really? REALLY? I know that. But when do I have time to get on my hand and knees and clean? Huh? When? It’s easy to do a thorough job when the kids aren’t following you, ingesting bathroom cleaner. I don’t know. It just got under my skin. On the one hand, I totally appreciated that he wanted to help, but on the other hand, I kind of felt like he was saying he could do my job better than I can. And I felt defensive. I also felt like telling him we are hiring a maid, but I decided to wait on that one.

My point is that the poor guy was full of good intentions, and even though I act like it’s what I want, maybe I don’t really want him to help. At least not like that. What I want is for him to just pick up after himself, so that I don’t have to add that to my list of household chores. I want him to recognize that even though I’m not going to an office every day, that I work just as hard as he does, and my job take a break at the end of the day. Instead of cleaning the bathroom, I want him to see that after I’ve made dinner #2, tnd it’s 9pm, I don’t want to clean up the kitchen. I want him to do it. Maybe not every night. But once a week would be nice.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my husband for anyone else. I adore him with all my heart. And he works really hard.I just want the balance of household responsibility to be a little more, well, balanced. And frankly, it’s hard to figure out how to make that happen without seeming like a nagging bitch. So, in all liklihood, things will continue as they are, and that will be fine. Eventually, our kids will eat dinner with us every night, and I’ll only be cooking one dinner. In the meantime, I think I’m going to find a wife for me. Or at least a maid.

Kids these days….

 

Pictures are making a return here on the MMC. (Sorry Mom). They just spruce things up a bit.

We got over our week of hand, foot, and mouth disease only to be greeted by colds. That’s okay, though. Finishing off summer with two weeks’ of sickness is great. Really.

If you know me, you know that I only masquerade as a stay-at-home-mom. In reality, I have a bit of a paying job. It’s not usually worth talking about, because I only work one day a week, and maybe a weekend day. And it’s not rocket science, so I just usually don’t mention it. However, over the last 2 weeks, I have pretty much tripled my work hours, along with my level of insanity. (And I bet you didn’t think that last part was even possible).

In my mind, working a few extra hours was not going to  be a problem. Most of my work takes place in the afternoons, while the little one is napping. And of course, I envisioned 3 hour naps. Riiiigghht. Pipedream. And then there’s the 5-year-old. A child that age has no problem entertaining herself, correct? Especially when that child has just been showered with new toys, crafts, and books for her birthday. Wrong. On all counts. Just wrong. Davis might have had one 3-hour-nap day. The other days weren’t bad, but still. Not conducive to a job where one has to spend a good deal of time on the phone. And Ava. Oh boy. Yeah, not so good at entertaining herself. It seems all she really wanted to do was play on the computer. My computer. The one I use for work. She basically just moped around my office (which doubles as my kitchen) waiting for her turn. Nevermind that she has a Leapster, along with 2 other computer-like toys. Oh no, my friends. It’s Mommy’s PC that she wants. (I’ll take that a step further, and tell you that what she truly desires is a Mac. Just ask her. A Mac. Guess what, sweetie? Mommy wants a Mac, too, but we’re still PC around here).

This brings me to the meat of my post today. Kids these days and technology. I know, I know. I sound so old. But really. It’s pretty crazy to think about the fact that today’s kids have always known iPods, iPhones, Wii,computers, the internet, and all the stuff that comes along with that. I have a picture of Ava as a baby with my earphones on, holding my iPod. She knows how to work my iPod Touch better than I do, and has no trouble navigating the internet. So, it should have come as no surprise to me last week, when I walked in the kitchen and found her watching Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” video on You Tube.

Let me take a moment to mention that I’m not one of those moms who drives around listening to nursery rhymes or Baby Einstein CDs. We listen mostly to what I want to hear. Embarassingly, that tends to involve a decent amount of Top 40-ish tunes. As a result, my kids love pop music, and we like to have dance parties in our car. Sadly, this also means that my 5-year-old adores Katy Perry and Lady GaGa. That same 5-year-old can also read and write, and has also figured out that Google can take her places on the internet. So I really shouldn’t have been so surprised to find her gazing at a basically nude Katy Perry along with Snoop Dogg, but still. It was disconcerting, to say the least. The hardest part is having to explain to her why I don’t want her to watch such things. But really, the bottom line is that I’m not ready for her to go from this: (first day of soccer practice, by the way)

to this:

(image from www.katyperry.com)

So now, I’m having to limit her internet access to the basic, kid-friendly sites. We approve of www.nickjr.com, www.playhousedisney.com, www.pbskids.com, and www.starfall.com. I’ve had to tell her  not to go on Google, or any other site I haven’t approved. Last week, she even updated my Facebook status. Next thing you know, she’ll be asking for her own Twitter account.

I’m not ready for my baby girl to be grown up. I’m not ready to have to tell her about the evils of the world, internet predators, and why half-nude pop stars aren’t the best thing for her to see. I like the world she inhabits. The one where Snow White is real (we saw her at Disney….of course she is real), and where seeing the Chickfila cow in person might be the highlight of the week. Ava and I have our moments….the child can get under my skin like no other. But at the end of the day, I love my innocent, sweet little girl, and I just want to keep her safe. It’s a hard job, but it’s worth it.

Longest. Week. Ever.

Finally, and not a moment too soon, it's Friday. I think this is the week that has totally done me in. When it was Wednesday, I was CERTAIN it was Friday. Here's a re-cap of the week.

Monday was good, mostly. Pool time with Ava and Davis. Trying to use the pool as much as possible since it will close for the "winter" in a few weeks. Post-pool, I noticed that Davis was warm and took his temperature. He nearly dozed off on the changing table, which should have been my first sign that something was wrong. Anyway, he had a temperature of 99.7, which I wrote off to teething. Oh, and I should mention here that he woke up with a terrible-looking diaper rash that morning.

Honestly, I don't remember the rest of that day. Maybe there was a trip to Target? There often is, you know. And I'm sure there was wine for me. Oh, now I remember. There was a meeting that night for me. So, a night off.

Tuesday. Davis was not himself. At all. I kept thinking, "This is one difficult teething baby! Wow." But when he cried for 2 hours, I figured something was wrong. I peeked in his mouth to get a glance at the molars that he's cutting, and in addition to the molars, I saw sores. All over his lips. On his tongue. And on the roof of his mouth. Then I checked out his hands and feet. Spots. Sores. Gross. Went to the doctor that afternoon to confirm a diagnosis of hand, foot, and mouth disease. Yuck.

The rest of the week was pretty much spent under quarantine. Playdate scheduled for Wednesday? Cancelled. More trips to the pool? Cancelled. Mother's Morning Out? Cancelled. But boy, did I have one cranky baby all week. And naps? Terrible. Just terrible.

And here are just a few other highlights of things that happened involving my youngest child:

1) Bath on Tuesday. Davis and Ava are both in the tub. Davis appears very serious for a moment. Poops in tub. I quickly evacuate both children from tub. Davis gets loose and pees on the carpet.

2) Wednesday. Davis dumps a gallon-bag of Cheerios onto the kitchen floor.

3) Wednesday again. Davis submerges one of our cordless phones into the dog's water bowl. And then dumps the dog's water out everywhere.

4) Davis learns to climb on all of the beds in the house.

On top of that, my oldest child has been sassier than ever. But instead of focusing on the negative, here are a couple of funny Ava-isms from the last week or so:

Last week, we were at the grocery store, purchasing ingredients for her birthday party cupcakes. (Please note that she wanted a Disney Princess Castle cake from Harris Teeter, but Mommy doesn't spend $50 on a cake for a 5 year old). I was looking at the little paper cups for the cupcakes. There were plain white ones, and ones decorated with balloons. I instinctively picked up the ones with the balloons, at which point Ava spoke up and said, "Mommy? I would rather have the white ones. They're just a little more classic." CLASSIC. I seriously don't know where she comes up with this stuff.

A few days later, she was reading Goldilicious. (If you don't have girls, you probably are not familiar with this book, which is a companion book to Pinkalicious and Purplicious. If you're still lost, just bear with me for a second). She said, "How did they color these pages so well?" Before I could answer, she said, "Oh! I know. they went to www-dot-pinkalicious-coloring-dot-com and just clicked on the colors they wanted to use. Then they just printed it out." Riiiggghht. Good theory.

So, long week. Happy hour might have been starting at lunchtime most days. And we didn't call  it "happy hour". More like, "mommy's little helper" hour.

Now, I'll sign off with this. On top of it all, I started training for a half marathon this week. Who the hell am I???

Happy Birthday, Ava

Five years ago today, my world was turned upside down, in the best possible way. On August 14, 2005, my sweet Ava made her entrance into the world, and nothing has been the same since. I can't believe she's five. I don't think there is anything like having kids to make you see how quickly life goes by. I get sad sometimes, because I can't quite remember exactly how it felt to hold her newborn body in my arms, can't accurately remember the sleepless nights, or the colicky evenings. You can record milestones in a baby book, but nothing is ever as clear as the memories in your mind. And it turns out it's not really the milestones that make the best memories, anyway. It's the little moments. The hugs, the smiles, the giggles, and even the tears. Those little moments that really define your child. And I get a little sad, because every year, I feel like the memories of Ava's very early childhood aren't as sharp to me as they used to be. There is so much going on in all of our lives, that some of the best moments just blend into the minutae. That said, my goal for the next five years (and beyond) is to cherish the little moments, and revel in the things that make Ava who she is.

I thought about this post a lot, and what kind of words I'd like to say to honor my daughter on her 5th birthday. But the thing is, I can't reduce Ava to a mere list of traits on a blog post. She is so much more than that. She's funny, fiesty, shy, spirited, brilliant, precocious, and a bit of an old soul.  She's all of those things, but she's so much more. Most of all, though, she is loved. And she is love, for she has shown me the true meaning of love for the last five years, and I will never be the same for it.

Happy birthday, my sweet girl. I love you.

"I had a bad dream...."

Shortly after Ava turned 4 last year, Davis started sleeping through the night. He was six months old. "Yay! I get to sleep through the night again, too!" was probably my first thought. Unfortunately for me, Ava developed a fear of the night around the same time her brother began to embrace it. I really thought it was a phase. She started waking up a few times a night, saying, "I had a bad dream." Rarely could she tell us the nature of the dream, but that's the way dreams often go, right? I quickly figured out that if I laid in her bed with her, she'd get back to sleep and be fine. Problem is, she has a big bed (double), so I can get pretty comfy in there, and next thing I know, I'm waking up and it's morning.

Now, I'm not so cold-hearted that I think children who wake up scared should not be comforted. Quite the contrary. I remember the night being a little scary around that age, and a little hug from my mommy always made me feel better, too. I also remember getting into my parents' bed on stormy nights and getting to sleep there. But it was never a nightly thing.

Back to Ava. All of this started about a year ago. Up until then, she had been the BEST sleeper. She'd go down without a fight, read books in her bed until she fell asleep, sleep until way past 7am....it was great. Now this has become our night:

-Use every possible excuse not to go to bed
-Read two books. Argue about who gets to read them (her or me)
-Say prayers.
-Oops! Gotta use the bathroom. Again.
-Family hug.
-Sing a lullaby.
-"Hold me for a minute."
-Sit in a chair next to her bed for 5 minutes.
-Tell her goodnight, then wait for the tears to come.
-comfort her.
-She reads about 10 books, then calls for me to come take them out of her bed.
-She realizes she is scared, and asks for books back. We say, no, it's time to sleep. Then it's in and out of bed until she falls asleep. With the light on.

On the flip side, here is Davis' nighttime routine:
-Read two books.
-Turn on lullaby CD.
-Baby in crib. Night-night!

Anyway, I feel like I'm being a teeny bit manipulated with this whole bedtime thing, and I know that if I would just buckle down and be a Mean Mom, then maybe we could make some progress. But I feel sorry for her when she's crying that she's "too scared", so then I end up lying down with her until she falls asleep, or sleeping there in the middle of the night. She's only going to be this little for so long, and I doubt she's going to make me come lie down in her dorm room with her at college. My goal for now is to take baby steps to getting her to sleep on her own again, and trying not to get too frustrated with her in the meantime.

Did I mention that the poor girl also seems to be afflicted by night terrors? Now that's some weird stuff, let me tell you. She wakes up maybe an hour or 2 after falling asleep. She's crying, sweating, trembling, but totally unaware of what's going on. We ask her questions, she doesn't respond. After a few minutes, it passes, and she goes back to sleep, and never has any recollection of it the next day. Freaky stuff, especially the first few times it happened.

On a completely different topic, today is my birthday. I got the sweetest cards from my husband and kids this morning, and they really brightened my day. Turning 29 again has been great! I have a two-night celebration planned. Tonight is dinner at Dos Taquitos (margarita para mis cumpleanos, por favor) with the family. And then tomorrow night is dinner with the husband at my favorite restaurant, Poole's Diner. They have the best, best, best food in the world. Seriously. The world. And they have a kick-ass female chef. (Why is it that women are the primary chefs in most homes, but the most renowned chefs are actually men? Weird.)

I had planned to start my birthday with a run this morning. Alarm went off at 6:15, at which point I debated whether or not this run was going to happen. I decided it would be a good birthday present to myself, so I got dressed and ready to go. I walked out of the bathroom only to find Ava sitting on the floor of my bedroom. Seriously??? I said, "Honey, it's too early. You need to go back to bed." (and adding to myself, "since you stayed up until 9:30 last night fighting sleep). She said, as she rubbed her eyes, that she wasn't tired. So, instead of fighting it, I went back to her bed with her, and waited until she fell asleep. Next thing I knew it was 7:20, and the opportunity to run had passed. Maybe I didn't really want to go after all? Hmmm.