Listening to: Aerosmith - Sing With Me
Mood: Crack head type awake
Hope you like the design changes that I just did. I thought it was about time to play around with blogger’s features a bit. The couch image is a bit self explanatory. My couches are this brick red color, so I thought it fit.
It’s a bit more than a little ironic that I posted yesterday about magnet hands. As I was doing laundry in the evening, I noticed that our laundry card had gone missing. Our washers and driers use a credit card type card that you re-monetize at a machine and then insert into the machine to use. I was sure that I put it on our craft table along with the detergent, as I usually do. When I went to get it, it was missing and because my eldest daughter was using that table, I assumed that she had moved it. Now keeping my previous post in mind, this wasn’t an idiotic assumption. Well, I got after her about it quite a bit. She didn’t deny it, but she didn’t admit it either. I couldn’t find it for anything and just got more annoyed as time went on.
After the kids went to bed, our house got cold and I threw on my favorite black Dickies sweatshirt. I had it on earlier, but gave it no thought when I took it off. I reached my hands into my pocket, and guess what I found. Yep. So I basically felt like an asshat jerk for getting after my daughter when it was completely my fault. You should have seen her face this morning when I apologized to her and explained what happened. It was that “I told you I didn’t do it you silly heffer!” look. Sigh.
I know every parent wins one of these awards at some point in time, but it doesn’t help you feel less like a prick.
Becky
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Amazing Magnet Hands
Mood: awake, for the first time in 2 weeks
Listening to: Buck Cherry – Sorry
Hi. You’re still around. Wow. I’ve been out in the middle of earth somewhere all this time, most of the time not connected to my blog, to my dismay. Life has just been like that lately. Real life is sort of sucking out any and all time I used to have to do adult type stuff. I got a job last month. A real-adult-type-paying job. One that doesn’t require plastic gloves or asking if someone wants fries with that. Whoo hoo!!! Unfortunately, this means that I am a little busier than before. My kids are now 5 ½ and 17 months. Just the right ages for insanity.
My elder daughter has always had magnets for hands. She absolutely cannot help herself but touch everything and anything within imagining distance. It’s nice in a way that she learns through tactile means, but good lord almighty, it keeps me on the razor’s edge. I can never relax, because if I do, then she will find something such as aforementioned razor, or a hot iron, or a glass vase, (all of which are never supposed to be reachable by her in our house) and find creative uses for it. The younger one is at an age where it’s fun to pick everything up. I’m sure you can imagine why taking them both to a store is a special type of hell that I’m not willing to endure more than, say, once a year. It’s almost like they both have magnets on their hands. They don’t even need to get that close to an object, but it will mysteriously appear in their hands anyhow. I’m sure it’s quite amusing to sit back and watch as my brain explodes trying to find out how the baby ended up holding a comb that was on the top shelf of a medicine cabinet that she hasn’t been in.
Becky
Listening to: Buck Cherry – Sorry
Hi. You’re still around. Wow. I’ve been out in the middle of earth somewhere all this time, most of the time not connected to my blog, to my dismay. Life has just been like that lately. Real life is sort of sucking out any and all time I used to have to do adult type stuff. I got a job last month. A real-adult-type-paying job. One that doesn’t require plastic gloves or asking if someone wants fries with that. Whoo hoo!!! Unfortunately, this means that I am a little busier than before. My kids are now 5 ½ and 17 months. Just the right ages for insanity.
My elder daughter has always had magnets for hands. She absolutely cannot help herself but touch everything and anything within imagining distance. It’s nice in a way that she learns through tactile means, but good lord almighty, it keeps me on the razor’s edge. I can never relax, because if I do, then she will find something such as aforementioned razor, or a hot iron, or a glass vase, (all of which are never supposed to be reachable by her in our house) and find creative uses for it. The younger one is at an age where it’s fun to pick everything up. I’m sure you can imagine why taking them both to a store is a special type of hell that I’m not willing to endure more than, say, once a year. It’s almost like they both have magnets on their hands. They don’t even need to get that close to an object, but it will mysteriously appear in their hands anyhow. I’m sure it’s quite amusing to sit back and watch as my brain explodes trying to find out how the baby ended up holding a comb that was on the top shelf of a medicine cabinet that she hasn’t been in.
Becky
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Root of All Evil
So I’ve found the root of all evil and as I mentioned, it has nothing to do with the green stuff. Wanna know what it is? Of course you do. Its cupcakes. Particularly the birthday variety of cupcakes. Well, it’s probably more like the refined white sugar that comprises a huge portion of the ingredients in cupcakes, but still. Hear me out. My daughter goes to the public school in White Plains NY. Yes, we do live in Westchester County New York where there are WAY too many moms who have too much money and time on their hands. Unfortunately, they seem to swarm to the PTA like flies on honey. This leads them to spend their time totally annoying normal moms with mandates like only bringing healthy food in to share for birthdays. At the beginning of the school year, we were actually given a list of healthy alternatives. Like granola bars. Or cut up veggies. WTF??!!! If my mom tried to send in granola bars to share for my birthday, I think I would have just told her to forget it. Cut up veggies? For a birthday snack? Don’t I force feed my kid enough of those every day? You have to go and screw with her birthday too?
I know that the motivations behind not encouraging parents to send in junk are well intended. But seriously. It is not a few random cupcakes that are ruining the health of our kids. It’s all the junk they eat after school and on the weekends that really hurts their weight and diet. Encouraging moms to send in healthy lunches is one thing. Not selling soda in the cafeteria for every day consumption, I can totally get behind that. Trying to be overly proactive about this stuff, not so much.
Another thing that bothers me is the holier than thou attitude of these moms. Frankly, I’m a pretty intelligent person. I think I can weigh out whether or not my daughter should have cupcakes. I don’t judge you for being a type A uber crazy helicopter mom, don’t judge me for being a more laid back mom. Both our kids will turn out fine.
I know that the motivations behind not encouraging parents to send in junk are well intended. But seriously. It is not a few random cupcakes that are ruining the health of our kids. It’s all the junk they eat after school and on the weekends that really hurts their weight and diet. Encouraging moms to send in healthy lunches is one thing. Not selling soda in the cafeteria for every day consumption, I can totally get behind that. Trying to be overly proactive about this stuff, not so much.
Another thing that bothers me is the holier than thou attitude of these moms. Frankly, I’m a pretty intelligent person. I think I can weigh out whether or not my daughter should have cupcakes. I don’t judge you for being a type A uber crazy helicopter mom, don’t judge me for being a more laid back mom. Both our kids will turn out fine.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Wow, You're..... Strict
Listening to: The Bounty Girls
Mood: Calm
My eldest daughter just entered Kindergarten last week. (Enter usual laments about how fast time goes by and children grow here) I’ve always been on the strict side with her. I will be with my youngest too. I feel children need leadership and boundaries to grow up right. Just my personal child rearing philosophy. I’ve commented before about how parenting is becoming less and less up to the parents and more and more of peer pressure and outside interference and regulation. I’ve also commented about parents who feel it’s their right to make judgmental comments on how other parents do their thing. One of the comments that I received recently that really bothered me: “Wow, you’re…..strict.” In a condescending tone as if I beat my children with a wooden spoon to keep them in line. (By the way, that’s how my dad kept me in line. Not that I in any way condone that.) So let me get this straight. You want to judge me for trying to raise a socially conscious, courteous, law abiding child? Um, what? It’s not really a new thing, but it is still very much in vogue to be friends with your kids. My generation as parents seem to have a need to be liked. I never subscribed to this theory. I love my children, my children love me. However, they don’t have to like me. In fact, they probably shouldn’t like me, at least until they turn 25. If they do, I feel like I’m not doing my job. Kids should not get everything they want or ask for. They just don’t have enough information or life experience to know what’s best for them. So yes, I am strict. Raising kids is a hard job. Hard enough without fellow parents being snarky. I don’t mind being seen as strict. I agree that if you start seeing me beat my children in public that I probably need to be stopped, but until then, let me raise my kids as I see fit.
Becky
Mood: Calm
My eldest daughter just entered Kindergarten last week. (Enter usual laments about how fast time goes by and children grow here) I’ve always been on the strict side with her. I will be with my youngest too. I feel children need leadership and boundaries to grow up right. Just my personal child rearing philosophy. I’ve commented before about how parenting is becoming less and less up to the parents and more and more of peer pressure and outside interference and regulation. I’ve also commented about parents who feel it’s their right to make judgmental comments on how other parents do their thing. One of the comments that I received recently that really bothered me: “Wow, you’re…..strict.” In a condescending tone as if I beat my children with a wooden spoon to keep them in line. (By the way, that’s how my dad kept me in line. Not that I in any way condone that.) So let me get this straight. You want to judge me for trying to raise a socially conscious, courteous, law abiding child? Um, what? It’s not really a new thing, but it is still very much in vogue to be friends with your kids. My generation as parents seem to have a need to be liked. I never subscribed to this theory. I love my children, my children love me. However, they don’t have to like me. In fact, they probably shouldn’t like me, at least until they turn 25. If they do, I feel like I’m not doing my job. Kids should not get everything they want or ask for. They just don’t have enough information or life experience to know what’s best for them. So yes, I am strict. Raising kids is a hard job. Hard enough without fellow parents being snarky. I don’t mind being seen as strict. I agree that if you start seeing me beat my children in public that I probably need to be stopped, but until then, let me raise my kids as I see fit.
Becky
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Playground Etiquette
Mood: blasé
Listening to: Classic Rock on TV
I took my daughters to a park yesterday. My elder daughter ran off to climb and my younger one got set in the grass to play. All of a sudden, my older daughter came running up to me, crying, with blood streaming from her nose to her chin. At first, I thought she fell and knocked out some teeth, but it turned out she was hit in the nose by a stray Frisbee. I looked for a tissue to stop the bleeding and then looked around for the person who did it or a parent to at least see if she was ok. Nothing. No one but a great older grandpa offering me some wipes. His grandkids still needed to be carried around, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t related to him at all. Thank you so much by the way super grandpa! I later learned that the boy who threw the Frisbee had apologized to my daughter, but it was still the weirdest thing. Any time your kid runs up to you with a bloody face, it’s very upsetting, especially if someone else was involved, but is nowhere to be seen. Isn’t this basic playground etiquette? If your child hurts someone, even accidentally, don’t you at least tell the other parent something happened? Offer your best apologies and make sure the other child is ok? Perhaps they were afraid I would go nuts. After all, some parents are a little crazy these days, especially when a bloody face is involved. Still. They had to see the blood running down her face. That would at least appear a little serious. It’s not just running into another child.
I just think it sets a good example when parents show their child how to react when someone gets hurt, even if it was just an accident. Not all parents are psychos. Kids get hurt and it was an accident. I may not have been quite as understanding if the boy had punched her, but it was definitely an accident. If this happens to your child, make sure you set a good example. Find the other parent and explain what happened. Even if they do fly off the hook, and lots do when their child gets hurt, you will still be teaching your child to take responsibility for his or her actions, even if they accidentally hurt someone else.
Becky
Listening to: Classic Rock on TV
I took my daughters to a park yesterday. My elder daughter ran off to climb and my younger one got set in the grass to play. All of a sudden, my older daughter came running up to me, crying, with blood streaming from her nose to her chin. At first, I thought she fell and knocked out some teeth, but it turned out she was hit in the nose by a stray Frisbee. I looked for a tissue to stop the bleeding and then looked around for the person who did it or a parent to at least see if she was ok. Nothing. No one but a great older grandpa offering me some wipes. His grandkids still needed to be carried around, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t related to him at all. Thank you so much by the way super grandpa! I later learned that the boy who threw the Frisbee had apologized to my daughter, but it was still the weirdest thing. Any time your kid runs up to you with a bloody face, it’s very upsetting, especially if someone else was involved, but is nowhere to be seen. Isn’t this basic playground etiquette? If your child hurts someone, even accidentally, don’t you at least tell the other parent something happened? Offer your best apologies and make sure the other child is ok? Perhaps they were afraid I would go nuts. After all, some parents are a little crazy these days, especially when a bloody face is involved. Still. They had to see the blood running down her face. That would at least appear a little serious. It’s not just running into another child.
I just think it sets a good example when parents show their child how to react when someone gets hurt, even if it was just an accident. Not all parents are psychos. Kids get hurt and it was an accident. I may not have been quite as understanding if the boy had punched her, but it was definitely an accident. If this happens to your child, make sure you set a good example. Find the other parent and explain what happened. Even if they do fly off the hook, and lots do when their child gets hurt, you will still be teaching your child to take responsibility for his or her actions, even if they accidentally hurt someone else.
Becky
Monday, August 11, 2008
It's a.......boy?
It’s a…..boy?
Mood: Quietly cranky
Listening to: Aristocats on TV
My youngest daughter is 8 months old. She doesn’t necessarily look like a girl. Most babies don’t look specifically like their gender for quite a while. So if some cute old granny tells me how cute he is and my daughter happens to be wearing a gender questionable outfit, I really don’t mind. Honestly, I don’t. Unless we know them, I don’t usually bother to correct the person. However, most of the times this happens, my daughter is not wearing an outfit of that type. She has pierced ears. Both of them. So if she’s wearing pink, is seated in her Very Pink Car Seat, and her older sister is asking her if she’s a good girl, well ladies and gentleman, it really isn’t a brain buster. You know what they say about ducks. If it looks, quacks, and flies like a duck, it ain’t a chicken.
I know some people make a big deal out of deciding that their children won’t be biased against certain colors just because of their gender. I have nothing against little girls in blue or green or boys in red or yellow, or even a little pink. However, most people do naturally use colors that help identify gender. It’s just habit. We define our world around us with convenient parameters. Using colors is a natural method of distinction. My daughter does occasionally wear blue and green and purple. I’m not a fan of making girls and boys into overly programmed bots, but pink and lavender just mentally fit for me on girls.
I guess it’s just my mom defensive getting rubbed when people tell me how cute my child is, but don’t bother to notice what she’s wearing and sitting in.
Becky
Mood: Quietly cranky
Listening to: Aristocats on TV
My youngest daughter is 8 months old. She doesn’t necessarily look like a girl. Most babies don’t look specifically like their gender for quite a while. So if some cute old granny tells me how cute he is and my daughter happens to be wearing a gender questionable outfit, I really don’t mind. Honestly, I don’t. Unless we know them, I don’t usually bother to correct the person. However, most of the times this happens, my daughter is not wearing an outfit of that type. She has pierced ears. Both of them. So if she’s wearing pink, is seated in her Very Pink Car Seat, and her older sister is asking her if she’s a good girl, well ladies and gentleman, it really isn’t a brain buster. You know what they say about ducks. If it looks, quacks, and flies like a duck, it ain’t a chicken.
I know some people make a big deal out of deciding that their children won’t be biased against certain colors just because of their gender. I have nothing against little girls in blue or green or boys in red or yellow, or even a little pink. However, most people do naturally use colors that help identify gender. It’s just habit. We define our world around us with convenient parameters. Using colors is a natural method of distinction. My daughter does occasionally wear blue and green and purple. I’m not a fan of making girls and boys into overly programmed bots, but pink and lavender just mentally fit for me on girls.
I guess it’s just my mom defensive getting rubbed when people tell me how cute my child is, but don’t bother to notice what she’s wearing and sitting in.
Becky
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Swimming in a Tar Pit
Mood: Exasperated
Listening to: American Pie – Don McLean along with my ghetto-booty wall sleeve air conditioner that will doubtlessly vibrate itself out onto the porch any minute now. Yippee.
I have once more emerged from the black hole of the internets once again to provide you with a taste of the rediculosity that is parenting. I know I’ve been away from a while (again!). I sincerely hope no one is checking back in every few days for inspiration. I hate it when I check back on a blog every day for a month to find the same entry staring me in the face. That’s just kind of how life is going these days.
While I was absent, I took my two progeny to visit my mother, best friend, and grandparents in Chicago and Michigan. For the most part, it was a great trip and fun was had by all. The rest we’ll dig into with a spoon in another blog.
And now for something completely different, last night I was contemplating how detrimental it would be to pipe mashed potatoes in my ears. Just to deaden the noise. You see, my baby is 7.5 months old now, and to my dismay, has decided that she is a screamer. And a yeller. She screams for food, she screams for a clean diaper, she screams to be picked up, she screams because she’s happy. Hell, she screams just for the joy of making so much noise. The problem with all this is that I have wood floors in my apartment and it’s not overly furnished with noise reduction items like love seats and curtains. I seriously have to cover my ears at times it is so shrill. And she does it all the time. She has been so different from my eldest daughter. In almost every aspect, she has been a much more difficult baby. It really calls my sanity into question when I still insist I want more kids.
I’ve always thought that having kids and trying to preserve your own identity is like trying to go swimming in a tar pit. Some people realize this before they have kids and jump in anyway, others, like me, don’t realize it until much later. Of course if you aren’t really interested in preserving your own identity sans kids and are totally sold on a new mommy identity, you have already sunk. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Of course most of us moms that identify with losing our identity get an inordinate amount of joy from said tar pit (i.e. our kids), it still gets a little depressing at times. I’ve told my husband many times that if I were able to just coast along never cooking or cleaning a thing, I’d probably handle motherhood just fine. The minute I start to put fight and cook or clean, little tar limbs appear out of nowhere needing lots of different things. My 4 year old is much better than the baby, but the ability to talk and get bored have inspired her to think of lots of unnecessary things to bother me to fetch for her. I.e. milk, a scissors, finger paints, a taco salad (seriously, wtf?). At least when it’s moderately temperate outside we can go for a walk or to the park. When Mother Nature decides to turn into a steam cooker, we’re not only stuck together, we’re stuck together in my 1000 square foot apartment. For the 18 or so hours they are awake.
*Cue tragic sigh. I’m sure I’ll miss all of this as they get older.
Becky
Listening to: American Pie – Don McLean along with my ghetto-booty wall sleeve air conditioner that will doubtlessly vibrate itself out onto the porch any minute now. Yippee.
I have once more emerged from the black hole of the internets once again to provide you with a taste of the rediculosity that is parenting. I know I’ve been away from a while (again!). I sincerely hope no one is checking back in every few days for inspiration. I hate it when I check back on a blog every day for a month to find the same entry staring me in the face. That’s just kind of how life is going these days.
While I was absent, I took my two progeny to visit my mother, best friend, and grandparents in Chicago and Michigan. For the most part, it was a great trip and fun was had by all. The rest we’ll dig into with a spoon in another blog.
And now for something completely different, last night I was contemplating how detrimental it would be to pipe mashed potatoes in my ears. Just to deaden the noise. You see, my baby is 7.5 months old now, and to my dismay, has decided that she is a screamer. And a yeller. She screams for food, she screams for a clean diaper, she screams to be picked up, she screams because she’s happy. Hell, she screams just for the joy of making so much noise. The problem with all this is that I have wood floors in my apartment and it’s not overly furnished with noise reduction items like love seats and curtains. I seriously have to cover my ears at times it is so shrill. And she does it all the time. She has been so different from my eldest daughter. In almost every aspect, she has been a much more difficult baby. It really calls my sanity into question when I still insist I want more kids.
I’ve always thought that having kids and trying to preserve your own identity is like trying to go swimming in a tar pit. Some people realize this before they have kids and jump in anyway, others, like me, don’t realize it until much later. Of course if you aren’t really interested in preserving your own identity sans kids and are totally sold on a new mommy identity, you have already sunk. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Of course most of us moms that identify with losing our identity get an inordinate amount of joy from said tar pit (i.e. our kids), it still gets a little depressing at times. I’ve told my husband many times that if I were able to just coast along never cooking or cleaning a thing, I’d probably handle motherhood just fine. The minute I start to put fight and cook or clean, little tar limbs appear out of nowhere needing lots of different things. My 4 year old is much better than the baby, but the ability to talk and get bored have inspired her to think of lots of unnecessary things to bother me to fetch for her. I.e. milk, a scissors, finger paints, a taco salad (seriously, wtf?). At least when it’s moderately temperate outside we can go for a walk or to the park. When Mother Nature decides to turn into a steam cooker, we’re not only stuck together, we’re stuck together in my 1000 square foot apartment. For the 18 or so hours they are awake.
*Cue tragic sigh. I’m sure I’ll miss all of this as they get older.
Becky
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