Thursday, April 30, 2009

How do you measure (measure a year)?*

*apologies to Rent for pirating the title!

Turning 40 REALLY upset me. Silly, I know, but it took me a while to get my head around that number. Forty-one wasn't thrilling, either, since I've always had a strong aversion to prime numbers...but we don't need to get into that. I think forty-two's going to be just fine, though, if I can continue the trend begun in the the past year. While I didn't manage to revitalize the rainforests, or halt global warming, or visit the Great Pyramids, I did experience a whole lot of life's little pleasures, such as:

--I joined a hip-hop dance class (inspired by High School Musical? Revisiting my ballet recital days? Who knows!) which is 1-hour a week to shake and shimmy and rock my inner Beyonce (whose existence was previously a deep, dark secret, even to ME).
--I bought a keyboard and started working my way through a lesson book...which is at times extremely challenging, but also satisfying (when one of my sons walks in the room and says, "Hey, isn't that...Jingle Bells...right?").
--My baby went off to Kindergarten, which means both of the boys now spend their days in school, while I lounge in my pajamas and eat ice cream...I mean grocery shop and go to work and all that other stuff!
--I finally overcame inertia and laziness and a smidgen of fear, and broke ground on this blog, where I discovered my Writer persona (who turns out to be a bit of a narcissist, going on and on about herself and her family and expecting people to actually READ it!)

Not bad for 12 months' work...next year I'll scale Mt. Everest, learn Portugese, and improve my backhand. I'd better go get started...

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

A promotion?

My 9-year old son, now officially a "tween", has just started to experiment with tiny little bits of independence. For instance, he prides himself on being able to shower and wash his hair without any help. He made the mature decision to save his allowance for a Nintendo DS (the $170.00 toy his mother refuses to buy him). At dinner time, he often reports his friends' (inappropriate) behavior at school, while assuring me "Don't worry, I know not to do that"! And though I feel some pangs about my baby growing up, mostly I'm pleased with his accomplishments. However... yesterday at the bus stop he inched over to me and whispered, "I've decided I'm not going to call you 'Mommy' anymore. I'm going to say just 'Mom'." Oh no! That's going to take some getting used to. But I guess we all have some adjustments to make as our kids grow into their own people. At least I don't get "Oh, please, Mother" with an eye roll...yet!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Blessings

I vaguely remember attending Sunday School as a child, and later serving as an acolyte (and may I say that God was surely watching over me, since as nervous as I always felt in front of the entire congregation, I miraculously never set the church on fire with the altar candles.) Somewhere along the rocky path of adolescence, I stopped going to services. So it was important to me to get my own children in the Sunday morning habit. Honestly, their Christian education experience sounds a whole lot more exciting and fun than what I recall...they rock out with praise songs, act out Bible stories using puppets, and practice having little chats with God. So cool. If I needed any proof that they're absorbing what they hear, I got an earful the other night after dinner. My 5-year old suddenly exclaimed, "Mommy, we've been forgetting to pray at mealtime and at bedtime!" Oops, yes we have. "I'm going to do it right now!...Thank you God for my toys and my family (a slight pause and then the big finish) and thank you for the cheesy rice!" At least we were mentioned ahead of the evening's side dish...and thank you God for my cheesy son!

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

This is why you skip commercials...

I have a secret to confess, something that may cause other mothers, in their shock and disgust, to brand me a Bad Mommy. Here goes: my children have been allowed to watch TV practically since they were born. It started when they were a captive audience in the bouncy seat, and frazzled, exhausted Mommy needed a break. All I can say is God Bless the woman who thought up the Baby Einstein videos. Art and music for baby! Nap for Mommy! We progressed to Playhouse Disney and Nick Jr., where each of my toddlers learned to count in Spanish with Dora, figure out what the heck Blue wanted to tell clueless Steve, and sing (@#%$) Wiggles tunes. Lesson for pre-schooler! Half-hour of peace and quiet for Mommy! Now, my husband and I have always monitored the amount of time they spend in front of the screen, and we figured we were totally safe with the content shown by Uncle Walt and our buddy Nick. Then my 9-year old discovered that they televise SPORTS. But it's still okay; we watch together, and discuss the rules, and strategy, and sportsmanship. Hey, this is practically educational too! We pat ourselves on the back for good parenting! Then one Saturday afternoon my 5-year old plops down in the kitchen with a juice box. He pops it open, takes a long pull out of the straw, sighs contentedly, and declares that it has..."drinkability." No more beer ads for you, from not on, it's all Sesame Street, all the time!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Nine years ago today...

(cue slow, booming, swelling music) my life changed forever! Okay, that's quite enough melodrama. Just the facts, then: it was a sunny Saturday morning, and I woke up in a leisurely fashion, rolling over and stretching at about 8:30 (it sounds like a beautiful fantasy...those were the days!). My first child was due in 3 weeks, and Husband and I planned a trip to the "Baby Stuff Out the Wazoo" store to buy the all-important carseat. I immediately headed to the bathroom, that sacred refuge of all pregnant women; although I don't make it a habit to report the morning results, on this day I had to peek out and call, "Um, honey? I think we have a situation..." Yep, water breakage, 3 weeks early. (My son already demonstrated his mother's innate IMPATIENCE!) It was April 15th, and a very long day; I'll skip the nitty-gritty details, but suffice it to say the key words were: pain, and Pitocin! In the evening, I was finally saved by the Orioles game on TV, which gave me something to focus on....Cal Ripken steps in (deep breath), he swings (exhale), a rocket to center (grit teeth), it's a double (squeeze Husband's hand until it crunches), congratulations to Cal Ripken on his 3000th hit (scream like a fan in childbirth)! Yes, thanks to Cal for providing me with that much-needed distraction. Happily, Baby waited until 2 a.m. to make an appearance, sparing him from forever celebrating his birthday by paying his Uncle Sam. Oh, and Husband took a nap...then went to get the carseat so we could actually bring the baby home with us! So Happy 9th Birthday to my "baby", on this sunny April 16th!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

On second thought, I'll just stick to the Press Box!

In the spirit of fair play, I think it's fitting to list some reasons why I'm glad NOT to be a famous sports figure...

--Even if I screw up royally (like forgetting to buy ice cream, or failing to do laundry when all the little Fruit of the Looms in the house are stinky), I don't get booed. No one throws beer or peanut shells at me. I am free to handle any smart-aleck remarks by immediately ejecting the "fan" (son) to his room.
--If I have a colossally bad outing (think Chien-Ming Wang, who gave up 8 earned runs in ONE inning yesterday, racking up a tidy 28.93 ERA. And no, I did not misplace the decimal.), I don't have to spend the rest of the season trying to remedy it. Thank goodness, there's no "Mommy Stats"!
--I don't have to go to Detroit. Ever.
--Sports reporters don't follow me around, scrutinizing and analyzing my every move (I believe she's headed to the bathroom...what could that mean? Film at 11!).
--My job isn't in jeopardy if I experience a slump at the plate (like a couple of bad dinners...get it? "plate"?) or walk a few too many batters. I have a no-trade clause, and I can't be sent back down to the minors!

However, I may have to negotiate some "incentive clauses" for my contract ...chocolate kisses for good performance?

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Put me in, Coach!

It is a much-published fact in parenting magazines that if Motherhood were officially recognized as a profession, and mothers were actually paid an appropriate wage for the tasks they perform, they would easily pull in a 6-figure salary. The point they're trying to make is that mothers toil away at the endless chores of cooking, cleaning, caring for the children, etc., with very little recognition or material reward. Just for laughs, contrast that with the life of a professional baseball pitcher. He throws a ball for a few hours in a game, every 5th day, for which he earns (at minimum), hundreds of thousands of dollars. It works out to something like thousands of dollars PER PITCH for some of them. You can see the absurdity of the situation.

Since the season has just begun, here are a few other ways baseball players have it better than me:
--I work out every day, too, and no one pays me squat (get it? squat? I'd probably do more of them if I got a buck-a-rep!)
--Each day, someone else picks up the dirty laundry, washes/dries/fluffs/folds it, and returns it.
--2 words: Clubhouse Buffet! It's my most cherished fantasy...meals just magically appear every day without me having to plan the menu, purchase the food, or prepare anything! And it gets cleaned up, too! Heaven!
--If I strain a muscle bending over the dishwasher or twist my ankle chasing my 5-year old, a trainer doesn't charge into the room to examine me. At the end of my day, there's no whirlpool. No massage. No advice to "take a day off tomorrow and rest it." I'm sometimes listed as "day to day", but I don't have time for the DL!
--Finally, there aren't oodles of fans yelling my name and cheering every time I succeed. I caught the noodles before they hit the floor...YAAAAY! I remembered the Cracklin' Oat Bran at Giant...and the crowd goes wild!

Hmmm...I actually think some of these are do-able for Team WestEnders. And as the Player/Manager of this club, I just might start implementing some changes around here! Time for a team meeting and pep talk!

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

What I learned in college...

For several years, I have worked on the main campus of a Community College. It is a beautifully diverse place, teeming with students of all ages, from countries all over the globe, representing a multitude of cultures. As I travel from the Faculty Lounge to the Student Center to the Humanities Building in the course of my day, I get to drink in Psychology and Statistics lectures, student conversations, and the lively campus atmosphere. This, combined with Springtime, when people congregate outside, chatting, eating, and studying, brings on waves of nostalgia for my own college days. All these years later, I still fall victim to the Spring Fever that hits hard this close to the end of the semester. But this time, I'm not lugging a backpack crammed with heavy textbooks. I'm not stressing over a paper that's due tomorrow. I don't have to sign up for extra study sessions for a test later in the week. Instead, I get to saunter off to class, maybe stopping to admire the cherry blossoms on the way, and then interpret while the professor sternly preaches "hard work" and "not slacking off". Ah, this is one of those rare times it's actually good to be the Adult!

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Turkey burgers: $5.00...baked beans: $2.00...son's reaction to dinner: Priceless

There are times in every mother's life when she feels less like the Respected Matriarch of the family--who is overwhelmingly cherished and respected by her spouse and offspring--and more like...the Hired Help. These moments are inevitable, since husbands and children are by nature savage, untamed beasts who require constant vigilance to keep them clean, clothed, fed, and reasonably on-schedule. (I'm kidding...mostly.) Lately my most reviled task has been preparing meals for the perpetually ravenous horde. (Love to eat, hate to cook: ironic, but there you have it.) Facing yet another night of staring into the refrigerator, waiting for the Dinner Fairy to rescue me, I decided to just give up the fight. Out came frozen turkey burgers and a can of baked beans. My 5-year old son's stomach warned him about the approach of dinnertime, and he wandered into the kitchen. Spying the makings of his meal, he suddenly beamed up at me, threw his arms around my waist, and jumped up and down, chanting, "Best Mommy! Best Mommy!" Oh, now I remember, THAT's why I'm here, and haven't fled to a tropical island somewhere! While we're on a roll, after dinner, we'll work on picking up our dirty socks!