A Mom's Life

We had to have a talk on the way home tonight. I was tired and really wasn't prepared but sometimes it just has to be done when it has to be done. I was firm but not mean. I was honest but understanding. I talked a lot. She said nothing. In fact, she sat in her seat like a statue, staring out of the window. She was even borderline rude. It was like she didn't even hear what I was saying when she spoke right over me to declare, "Moo cow?!" I'm exhausted every day when I make the return trip from work and it takes all of my energy to pick Caroline up from day care and get us home. I hardly know any of the parents there because we all come and go like zombies. Picking our kid up is a check box on the day's to-do list. At some point between cleaning dishes and washing out sippy cups, I read the daily activity sheet that the daycare provider completes to inform parents of the ins and outs of the little things we all miss while we are at work. It is then tha...

It started with my Mom. Many years ago, when Andy and I were dating, my mom mentioned that Andy looked like somebody famous. We were talking on the phone when she brought it up. "You know, Andy looks like a celebrity. " she said. "Mmm," I agreed, "I know. He looks like Winnie the Pooh. Can't you just see him with his pot of honey?" My mom was disturbed. "I hope he doesn't walk around without pants on." She went on to tell me that Andy bears a striking resemblance to Ben Affleck. Well, then, how's about them apples? "Well, I suppose he looks more like Ben Affleck than I do." I wasn't going to trust my mom's judgement about guys. When I was a high school sophomore she told me I should date my only classmate with chest hair. The conversation moved on to other topics but I tucked the comment away in my mind and was pleased that my mom gave Andy a compliment because it meant that she approved of our relationship. A few mo...

Everybody loves holidays. Time off from work, eating good food, hanging with family and maybe getting some presents. What's not to love? From Christmas to Easter, and from Mother's Day to New Year's Eve, there's a special holiday and wonderful holiday-related memory for every one. Well, every one but me. I'm starting to hate holidays. Really, I am. It's my fault, too and that makes it worse. Since Caroline's birth, I look at holidays as mini-vacations. A typical day for us is chaotic and there is barely a moment to breathe. But, a holiday is a day to step out of the rat race and relax! A holiday is a day to get baby support from family members who are more than happy to take on some of the mundane parenting duties. Not to mention, a holiday is a day to get and give gifts! I get excited anywhere from a month to a week in advance of each holiday, depending on how hyped up the day is in my mind. That's when it starts to fall apart. It takes me so long to pa...

I could write a tribute to my mom every day, but since this Sunday is the the yearly designated block on the calendar for Mom, I'll go ahead and dedicate this week's blog to mine, who we like to call Moe, or as Andy says "Marine". I've met a lot of women in my life whom I don't like at all. I'm lucky though, to have been in the company of so many whom I like very much and love a great deal. I have some really fantastic friends and colleagues who have helped shape and influence me throughout the years but no woman has had made a greater impact on me than Moe. Being a mom has, of course, made me better understand Moe and respect the decisions she has made. I'm lucky to say that it wasn't just parenthood that opened my eyes to my mom's sacrifices, her strength and grace. I've known ever since I was a little girl that I had a special mom and lived under the guidance of the type of mom not everyone gets to have. Sure, there were bumps along...

Andy decided we need need an addition on our house to fit all of his junk. The beloved September 11th collection that I banished to the garage is becoming warped and needs to come back to a temperature controlled environment. I am a trained museum professional and this issue has me torn up inside. I understand the historical value of Andy's collection of random crap related to the September 11th attacks and know that it needs to be preserved in order for the story to be told to future generations. We recount history through material culture. I get it. I spent 50 grand to get a Masters in this exact topic. But, why couldn't Andy collect something nice or pretty? I like depression glass, cook books and Fiesta Ware. All are attractive and can actually drive the decorative scheme of a room. What can you do with a red, white and blue, size 12 tennis sneaker or a 4-foot replica of an 18-wheeler displaying the names of the 9/11 victims? How about toilet paper with a photo of Bin ...

Dedicated to my friend Bill. Procrastination led me to my addiction and I've been hooked ever since that day. Three o'clock in the afternoon on a typical work day is a giant hump for me. A few years ago I was looking for something to prevent me from wasting the almost-but-not-quite -5pm count down with web surfing or cat napping. Naturally my search for amusement brought me to the staff break room which sometimes offered up some form of half eaten, (you know there is always that person who can't eat the whole cookie or donut and has to cut it in half) stale sugar treat. While the snacks were sporadic, the coffee was always consistent. My former colleagues are die-hard coffee drinkers and the pot was usually full and hot from 8 in the morning until just about 4:30 in the afternoon. On that fateful aforementioned afternoon, I looked at the pot and thought, "Why not? When in Rome, do as the Romans." I filled the cup with black as night java, added 2 heaps of...

When my brother Jared was a kid he had a stretch Hulk doll. You could pull on any part of his body, head, neck, arms, legs, torso. You could twist him into knots and throw him against the wall and he'd bounce off before thudding to the ground. Jared tested the Hulk's limits on a frequent basis, and abused the doll for his personal amusement. One day the Hulk had been stretched an inch too long and he ripped in half. Even the special elastic action of the incredible Hulk could not withstand the constant stretching and repeated abuse of an active child. Lately I've been feeling a lot like the little guy. While I don't turn green and grow tremendously large muscles when I'm mad, I do feel like I'm being pulled in just about every direction possible and I'm worried that my fate is going to be similar: ripped in half and left in the trash as nothing more than a fallen hero. For much of my life I've been able to choose where to focus my energy. Most of t...