Girl at large

We met Girl's new pediatrician(s) last night. What wonderful women. The only male doctor in the practice couldn't make it to the consult but that's okay. I loved these two women.

Dr. L was strong yet lovable with Girl and Dr. K was so sweet, I couldn't take it. We made a point to express our concerns and issues that we had with Dr. Anus and we told them that really the only thing we wanted was a practice that accepts us for who we are as first time parents. Silly questions and all..and their answer, there are no silly questions when you are a parent. Ah-Men!

Dr. L talked straight to Girl and expected her to answer politely, make eye contact and be well behaved. I was shocked at how well Girl responded. She pulled her usual, "I'm not talking" act but Dr. L didn't fall for it. She told Girl that she has four kids at home, one being 13 and Girl was 'nothing!" I loved that.

We discussed the potty issue and they agreed it was a power play because really all she can control in her life is two things. Potty and Food. So, she is acting appropriately for her age and she'll get it. They assured me. They didn't seem the least bit annoyed about her pamper.

She offered Girl cookies if and only if Girl said "please and thank you" and she offered Girl a lollipop after the consult was over but Girl could only eat it after dinner. Of course Girl fought it, but Dr. L just replied..."Well, then you don't get a lollipop." Plain and simple. How easy. I know.

And guess what? When we got home, Girl made sure that only after her dinner would she be able to eat the lollipop. I was floored.

Of course, I questioned my authority with Girl after the meeting because I felt that Girl looked a little bratty to the Doctors. But Mista set me straight. He had to remind me where she was just a year ago when she wouldn't even walk into the new place without a major meltdown. She seemed confident and sure of herself. Bratty, but confident. I'd rather that. I can reform bratty, I can't teach confidence...

So, all in all it went well. I like the Doctors and I think they are a good team. I liked the way they interacted with Girl and let her know they mean business but were soft and caring at the same time. I think I'll like it here. I hope.

I can't seem to stop questioning my abilities especially after meeting with doctors. I always feel like a schmuck. But I guess I'll just hafta get over that one. Just like Girl hasta get over her brattyness.

Yes, I had wine when I got home last night. A yummy Pino Grigio. Made everything seem a little better...

We have a birthday party to go to this evening...Get ready everyone!!!
And thank you for all the fantastic comments with my last few posts. Damnit I swear, I never had this many cool people in my life before...You guys all rock.
**************************
On a totally unrelated note: This man is my new favorite. We watched the movie last night. "Is Nice!"

We went to go see my BFF's dog in "Day Care" at PetSmart while she's yukking it up in Las Vegas for her Birthday. This is what we found. "They having sexy time...is nice!"

The way I learned it.

When I was about 7 years old. I was in the bathroom with my mom (a usual occurrence) and she had "Aunt Flo"; she called it "her friend". I asked what it was and the answer flat out: I have my period. The conversation led to a woman's menstrual cycle and why we get it and what happens when you get it. Which led to "the birds and the bees".

Once again, Mom was real and honest and didn't use 'baby' terms for anything. Now, looking back I am grateful that she didn't sugar coat anything and that she was real, open and honest. I literally could talk to her straight about any-thing! One of the many of my mom's best qualities.

She used the technical terms for everything and she whipped out different books geared towards teaching children about sex. I have them still, I just can't find them. They looked a lot like this site here. (pretty graphic for a 7 year old) One book (that I can't find online) was called "Before You Were a Baby" by Paul Showers. I still have it in my basement. I plan on using it when the time is right.

I am all for explaining it the way you feel most comfortable. Some people find it difficult to talk about certain topics like how and why you 'do it'. But like my mom, I am most comfortable just saying it. (when it comes to this stuff) I hope when the time comes and Fa is inquiring, I'll be ready and willing to share the secret.

I remember moments like this with my mom and I miss her terribly. I wish she was here to talk about other things like being a Mom and family and well, sex. I am thankful that she taught me certain things but regretful that she still can't be here to teach me more. I always respected her outlook on things. I still wish I was like her.

I remember one time, I was in maybe 7th grade and I was talking poorly about some chick, I don't even remember her name. Wait, yes, I do. But I won't tell you. She approached me and asked if I was talking about her. I admitted it and said I was talking about her because I hated that she "did so and so things" (I think she was just a bitch) and not many people liked her because of it...even the girl that told her I was talking about her hated her. I was shitting my pants but she didn't know it. It ended there.

I went home that day and cried to my Mom. I was upset that the other girl, "my supposed friend" ratted me out and that the chick I was talking about had the balls to call me out. My Mom's advice: "Fuck 'em. Tell both of them to go shit in the woods and tell them to stay far away from you or they'll be sorry. And if you have to, get her down on the ground...they are all the same size as you when they are on the ground." Uhm, OK.

So what did I do? I did what Mom told me to do, of course. Was I shitting? Yes. Guess what happened after that? I was the coolest chick in the 7th grade (for a while anyway). No one fucked with me and everyone wanted to be my friend. And I didn't even have to try to drag her ass to the ground. Yes. Sweet Success.

My Mom was a tough chick. Once, she pulled some lady out of her car and beat the shit out of her for a parking spot under the "El" in Long Island City. The cops came and had to pull her off the woman. Mom had the woman's thumb in her mouth and she was biting down on it and she didn't even realize. She grew up in the Queens Bridge Projects and fought everyone. If you know NYC, you know the Projects. You don't wanna be there. She beat the piss out of boys and girls, she didn't discriminate. After she fought with them and totally kicked their asses, they became her friends and protected her.

I always valued her toughness and hard ass. I wish I was like that. I pretend to be, but I'm not. That's the way I learned about life. I hope I can be as tough for my daughter. I hope Mom's toughness spills into her, my toughness is flighty and unreliable. Our mouths are exactly the same though.

But I did wind up getting my daughter an extra lovey...just in case.
I told you I'd do anything for her.

Pssst...Over here!

I have a secret. Can you guess what it is?
I'll tell ya....

I'm not perfect.


I know, you can't believe it, right...Well, my friends...Believe it.
Sometimes I sit here and wonder how others haven't figured me out yet.

~I watch too much television. I could literally veg out in front of the tube for hours without flinching. I think it's a sickness...
~I sing out loud even though I can't. I think I sound like a rock star but it sounds so different in your ears than in reality...
~I'm a 'helicopter mom'. I am always hovering over Fa. I am afraid she's gonna eventually get sick of me. I see it in her face already, she looks at me like..."Moooooom! c'mon, I can do it myself." But, I'm afraid to let her go. She's my heart and I try to protect her from, let's see...everything.
~I should be spending more time with my husband. We haven't spent a whole lotta time together. I miss him. I hope he misses me too.
~I'm insecure. About, uhm, everything.
~I'm afraid of a whole crapload of different things. I can't even get started about that.
~I sleep too much. I love to sleep. I wish I could sleep more than I have been. I miss sleeping for hours at a time even in the middle of the day. I guess this makes me lazy.
~I haven't used my mind in such a long time and I'm getting nervous that I'll lose my mind if I don't use it. I miss reading for a purpose. I hated schoolwork but it gave me a feeling of accomplishment when I completed a project and got a good grade...

But I think it's time for being positive today:
~I have this daughter who adores me.
~I have this husband who (I think) does the same.
~The dog hasn't pooped or peed in his crate for 8 days straight.
~I can sit in front of the T.V. to watch my favorite shows and those fantastic reality shows, I'm a grown up, I can do what I want!
~If you don't like my singing...too bad. My daughter loves it!
~I am smart enough to realize that I have insecurities and imperfections and I work hard to change them or deal with them.
~All this thinking, is leading me to better things.
~I'm feeling pretty good about myself since detox and going to the gym regularly...BD noticed I lost weight!!!
~I get to be home with my little girl to help her grow up and watch her bloom into this precious 'flower'.
~Fa is loving "Mommy & Me"!!! She has a blast every class, she paints, plays, discovers new things like riding a tricycle by herself...She frickin' cries when it's time to leave. She says, "No, don't sing the 'goodbye song', sing the 'hello song'!!" and "I wanna stay here, can we please stay and play more?" I am ecstatic!
~I am liking "Mommy & Me" too...I adore spending the time with her in school and watching her have fun and not ALL the moms are arseholes.

How lucky am I?

Deep Thoughts

• Guess who works out at my gym: Flash Card Bitch. I can't shake the thing.
• Shoes are a girls best friend.
• It smells like pumkin pickin' out there today.
• I have a crush on this Goddess.
• I need a dog trainer.
• Right now, Fa is in her bed saying "Rock on sista, yeah!" Is there anything better in the world than that?
• I think all men should hafta go to 'husband school' before they actually walk down the aisle...(Don't get mad BD...of course, I don't mean you)

The syllabus looks like this:

September-December
~Ignoring 101 – I heard you the first time
~Remote hogging by Professor Surroundsound
~What to do if you don't wanna
~How to get out of major chores around the house without really trying
~Holidays 101 – making nice with the new in-laws
~Begging for sex, the really annoying way
~Becoming a dad, how to change a diaper…you won’t really need this class…it just looks good on the syllabus

January-May
~Ignoring 102 – You never said that
~Dealing with screaming children by handing them over to your wife
~Handing the paycheck over gracefully
~Getting out of family obligations by blaming it on work
~Holidays 102 – trying not to shove your mother-in-law’s/father-in-law’s face in the apple pie
~How to beg for sex without looking too pathetic
~Giving in to nagging and why women do it

**Updated to add...Anyone out there want to give me a tutorial? I am looking to categorize my posts with tags. They are getting wily and I would like to have them sorted other than archived by month. (Must be the control freak in me) I have no clue how to do that. Any suggestions?

**psst! Over here. These guys are my new favorites, for real. They are like crackheads with ADD. Just my speed. I laughed harder than Fa.

How to Make a Duck Circle

As many of you know, Fa loves her duckies. She loves to make duck circles with them that look similar to these mysterious masterpieces...So, in order to educate the masses...Together, we decided to organize an Expository piece of writing on proper duck circle arrangement. My last batch of fourth grade students (who are now 7th graders) would be proud...

1. Dump the duckies out of their purple crib and anywhere onto the floor.
2. Make sure the most important ducks roll under the couch or wall unit.
3. Ask Mommy to crawl on her hands and knees to retrieve them. (Why should you do it?)
   
4. Line them up by their names. (ie: Mamma duck, Baby duck and Daddy duck all go together)
5. Make sure you have everyone in order. There still may be a runner under the coffee table.
   
6. Draw a 'to-scale' plan on construction paper with the proper tools (Crayola).
   
7. Begin to arrange them one by one into a semi-circle.
8. Stand in the middle of them to make sure they look good.
9. Rearrange them one by god forsaken one in a different line.
10. Re-asses their order and regroup one by one (yet again) if necessary.
    
11. Arrange them into a complete circle one by frickin' one.
12. Ask them if they are happy.
13. Tell Mommy to take a picture to preserve prosperity.
14. All in all, you should take as much time laying out the ducks as you do rearranging them and putting them away.
    
15. Start all over again.

There, now you have it. Go get yourself a few hundred duckies and get quackin'!

Why I love T.V. and a whole lot more...

1) I'll admit. I love T.V. I know it's a horrible habit to start in childhood. But I love having the darn thing on in the background during the day. I always swore I'd never let Fa watch...But there are a few great children's shows out there...I am addicted to Noggin. When she's napping, I watch it. So anyway, we found a few shows that we both like to watch...Fa loves Oobi and Oswald, I love Jack's Big Music Show and Pinky Dinky Doo...Knowing full well, I leave the tube on way too much. (I can hear the T.V.-hating moms gasp at the thought) I have been starting to turn it off again during the day. (I miss it.)

When the 'acceptable' or mutually agreed upon shows are on, we catch them if we are around. That frickin' Pinky Dinky has gotten Fa to start telling her own stories. I tell ya. I can't believe it. Now, don't get me wrong. She is by no means plopped in front of the tube all day every day. I am a teacher in real life you know, I think I have been doing a fantastic job on her so far. She is a very bright lady. She loves to read and we read all the time...She has a load of books under her memory-belt and she reads them to us now...word for word...(I know, she's the smartest 2.6 year old ever..I know) But she made up this story one night as I was putting her to bed:

Once upon a time, mommy was sleeping in her bedroom. Fa was sleeping. The air conditioner was on, the ceiling fan was spinning. The duckies were sleeping and the walls were purple. My toenie nails were blue and my hair was blowing in the wind. The moon was shining and the sun was going down. It was dark in the bedroom. I was drinking water. I gave Mommy a big hug. The daddy was cooking and Auntie was playing in the yard. I went to sleep with mommy in her bed and we snuggled under her covers. The vacuum cleaners were 'Big Mamma' and 'Baby' and they were off doing neeno. And she lived happily ever after. The End.

I was flabberghasted. I asked her where she got that story from and she said, "She made it up like Pinky Dinky." Wholly bookworms Batman! I love that T.V. See, it's not all gore and garbage...There is some intelligence to children's programming out there. Yes, I know her content leaves a lot to be desired. There is somewhat of a beginning, middle and end and her story structure needs work. She's got some story elements there like setting and characters, but her plot needs work..Hot damn though, she's better than some of the 4th graders I've had in my life.

I'm sure when her Noggin days are over, I'll be singing another tune...But until then. You go Noggin!

2) I also love the smell of Fa's feet. It is such a distinct smell and BD thinks I'm crazy, but I just can't get enough if them...I can sit and sniff them all day long if she'll let me. We also like to pick out her 'fuzzy punk' from between them..She tells me, "Mommy, get the fuzzy punk!" I love that...

3) Her hair is also one of my favorite things in the world. I love that I have done many styles on her head...I love to style it into all sorts of different ponies and clips. She loves that too. It' so soft and luxurious. When she was born, she had a full head of jet-black hair...Now, it has grown way past her shoulders and it's brown with a kiss of blonde throughout...I'd kill for hair like hers. I want her curls, her color and her texture. It's perfect. When she's 13 she'll cut it into a mowhawk and dye it green, I'm sure. But for now, I will enjoy it in all its glory.

4) I love my husband's eyes. They are the most amazing color of green/blue and brown I have ever seen. They have an outer greenish-blue layer with an inner brown-speckled layer around the pupil...Very interesting and oh! so nice to look at.

5) I love music. I love dancing around the livingroom with Fa to all kinds of music. We listen to this (Fa's fave is "Catch the Moon") and this and even this. She bangs her head like a true rocker and makes those "rock on" horns with her hand...I get such a kick outta that. I love that she adores music as much as I do. We have so much in common...Did I make her that way, or is it truly her taste? Hmmm....

6) I have a new appreciation for the moon. I have always had a connection with it. I have always been drawn to it. But since Fa; I have fallen in love with it. She adores the moon. She looks for it at night and loves books about it. I also love that she reads these books to me at night...The moon has been something that has driven me throughout life and now I see the same connection in her. Maybe she'll be an astronomer when she grows up. I love that.

7) I loves me my coffee in the mornin'. Hot damn. I can't get through without it. (like my strong coffee-lovin' accent?) It just makes me happy. I love to drink it with a little bit of Silk Creamer mostly. But I have found that Silk Soy Milk and a dash of vanilla International Delight works just as nicely. I started getting really attached to the java so I had to cut down quite substantially but I will never give up the mornin' brew. Oh! And this place is my heaven...When I die, I wanna live here...

8) I love when Fa sings. She's doing it right now in her crib. She belts out the tunes all day. She sings in her crib, in the tub, in the car and in the park. She loves to sing. She sings songs she already knows by heart, like Twinkle Twinkle or The Rainbow song...but the best is when she makes up her own words, and melodies. Where does she get that from? What makes her so confident that she can sing just about anywhere? How happy is this kid or what? That. I. Love.

9) I love California. More specifically, Northern California. BD and I used to go there on vacation every year before we got married. Then we got married there and I have fallen deeper in love with it since then. We haven't been there in 5 years. But I am itching to go back. I love Napa and Monterey, Bodega Bay and San Francisco. I love the Golden Gate Bridge and all of its surroundings. I wish we lived there. Maybe one day, when Fa is off to college in California, we'll move there. I can only hope.

10) Lilies. The most beautiful flower out there. I love these Lilies the best. But these are so beautiful too...I love the fact that they come in all kinds of styles and colors and there isn't an ugly one out there. They are a fantastic flower with so much to offer their admirer.

So, this turned into a list. I hafta stop here. 10 is a nice round number. I'll leave it at that...

Baby vs. Puppy

My poor husband wants to have another baby. I, on the other hand, do not. We have been avoiding the topic for a lot of months now. I have been just feeling not so ready here. With my history and newborns, I fail to see the positive aspects of another child...Plus, I'm gettin' up there in ovarian age, it might not be so easy...So we bought a puppy. I know, crazy right? Well, I truly figured it'd be way easier than another kid. I dopily thought: I won't feel so frickin' heartbroken every time he leaves my side, I won't be too attached, I won't feel so responsible for my heart and blood running around outside my body, I won't care if he cries, I'll feed him and walk him and that's that...oh so many reasons why a puppy is easier, and such the smart choice...Well, I was wrong. Dead wrong. Yes, I don't feel so attached to the frickin' thing...it is definitely not of my blood and loins....However, the work involved is waaaaaaaay more difficult...Put it this way, at least a baby shits in diapers...And it's shit that I helped make with mine and my husbands genes...

So I weighed the cons and cons. Here's what I came up with.

Baby: poopie & peepee all over the place
Puppy: poopie & peepee all over the place

Baby: Diaper rash
Puppy: I wish

Baby: midnight feedings
Puppy: eats two-three times a day

Baby: spit up
Puppy: slobber

Baby: gas
Puppy: gas

Baby: potty training sucks
Puppy: potty training sucks

Baby: colick
Puppy: is there a such thing as puppy colick?

Baby: grows up to talk back and think her parents are idiots
Puppy: loyal & faithful

Baby: tantrums
Puppy: happy licking most of the time

Baby: money for clothes, diapers, food
Puppy: money for clothes, wee wee pads, food

Baby: teething
Puppy: shreds wee wee pads to pieces (even with shit on it)

Baby: the pee pee dance comes later and can be somewhat controlled
Puppy: the Shit dance just makes a frickin’ mess all over the house

Baby: PPD
Puppy: you still need meds 'cause he's rippin up the place

Let's see...it's a toss up. Did I make a mistake with the puppy or what?

31 Months

Fa is 31 months today. July 20th. It seems like yesterday I brought her home from the hospital...the both of us crying and unsure of what to do next.

Now, she's just such a joy in my life and those initial, unsure moments have passed me by. I can't believe I ever felt the way I did back then. I was so sad and scared and afraid of what might happen to her that I couldn't enjoy the 'moment'. I had severe PPD. I was a mess. I thought I was the only one who ever felt that way and I thought I would die. I wanted to die. I didn't want to be a mommy. I wasn't good enough to be her mommy. She deserved more than I could ever give. I wrote a letter to American Baby in response to an article I read a few months ago...they never published it. But I want to put it here. So someone else can read it. Not just me.

August 5, 2005

Dear American Baby,

I just finished reading your article: (left blank) in your August 2005 issue…and I cried. Not because I remember it happening like that, or because I miss those times, but because my first three months were nothing like the article. I had Post Partum Depression and I would have given anything to have those “new mommy” issues that the author had instead of the ones I had. I want to tell you my story because I also took notes, but I really don’t need to refer to them, I will never forget how I felt when my daughter was born.

Day one:
The day my daughter was born was when I began crying. I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and I could not breathe. It took me nine months to get used to having that little being inside of me. I depended on feeling her kick, hiccup, and move around at all hours of the night but nobody warned me that I would not have the same amount of time to get used to the fact that she WASN’T in there anymore. A part of my being, my reason for breathing.

The night she was born, I missed her so greatly that it felt like the loss of my mother all over again. I cried the entire time I was in the hospital. To top it all off, it was around Christmastime and the hospital was short staffed and short tempered. One nurse yelled at me because I called for help to go to the bathroom even after my allotted “two times” to make sure my bladder was functioning. I told her I couldn’t do it and she yelled, “Are you going to need to hold hands every time you go? What are you going to do when you leave here? How are you going to take care of the baby?” Good question. I wanted MY mommy. She wasn’t there. I was alone. I felt it from the first second my daughter was taken from me.

Day three:
Taking her home from the hospital was a different story. Like the author of the article, I sat in the back of the car with my daughter too. However, I was praying deep down in my soul for my husband to crash on the LIE so I wouldn’t have to live anymore. Once we were safely in the house, we stared at her for what seemed like an eternity and I hoped her parents would come and pick her up because I was done with her.

Breast feeding was a nightmare, I had no one to help me figure it out and my nipples were cracked, bleeding and literally falling off, so I had to stop. The hospital promised a lactation consultant who never showed up. I was devastated. I felt like a failure and a horrible person because all I wanted to do was see my daughter’s face from that special angle that no one else would ever see. Instead, I fed her the bottle hoping she would choke, this way it wouldn’t be my fault.

Day four:
I also figured out that at 32 years old, I was afraid of the dark. I hated being alone at night with her because that was when the thoughts and visions would be the clearest. I had thoughts of people breaking into the house and killing us all. I would see my daughter being sucked up by a chainsaw or lawnmower and I could not stop it, nor did I really want to. I never did anything to hurt her and I never would, even at my darkest, (I would rather have killed myself) but those visions were scary and made me very unsure of my sanity. I felt like I was losing my mind and my sense of reality. I wanted to die. I wanted to escape, run away and never see her again. I wasn’t good enough for her.

Week two:
The day my husband went back to work was when I realized I needed help. He was afraid to leave me alone with our daughter and most of all I didn’t want to be left alone. I was afraid she would get hurt and I couldn’t save her. I was afraid to drive in the car with her alone and I was afraid to leave the house even to go for a walk with her. What if someone kidnaps her, or me? I was afraid of her! She knew more than I ever would or could. I would look into her eyes and ask for her forgiveness because she got stuck with me as a mommy. I promised her I would find her a better mommy and one day she would understand why I left.

I started comparing my mother’s life to my own. I had my daughter the same time my mother had me. However, my mom died 17 years later and I started thinking that was my fate as well. I wondered what it was all for, if I was going to leave my daughter in 17 years like my mother did. Or sooner. Was it worth it? She really didn’t need me around at all, I thought. Just get it over with and let her live a fairly normal life without me….Mike would re-marry and she would have a person who could really take care of her… She was better off without me. That went on for a few weeks until I finally broke down. I didn’t want anything to happen to her. I didn’t want anything to happen to me because without me, she would be a motherless daughter like I am now. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I didn’t want her to ever suffer the pain of losing a mother, like I have.

Week three:
Unlike the author, I didn’t join a mommy group because I was sure I was crazy and no one has ever thought of the things I think about. They’ll surely have me arrested or put away somewhere and take my daughter away from me. Not one mommy out there could possible feel the way I do. They are not in my head and they will never understand me. Those mommies are all living in a dream. It can’t really be as easy as they make it look. What’s wrong with me?

Week six:
I called my OB/GYN and told him my story. He referred me right away to a psychiatrist. I went to see him that same day. He prescribed Wellbutrin for the depression and Klonopin for the anxiety. I resisted but knew there was no other choice. I was going to hurt myself, not my daughter and I needed to fix things. It was a slow recovery. Aside from the physical aspects of childbirth, the mind can play fantastic tricks on you. Physically, I was a wreck. My body was not healing quickly and I had issues down below that no woman should ever deal with. It was scary. I felt useless and helpless and motherless and with medication, I was finally ready to be the mother that my daughter needed me to be.

Nineteen months later:
I thank the stars above that I used what little courage there was left to make me take a step in the right direction. My daughter is a well adjusted, active toddler and I couldn’t live without her. She is the air I breathe. My husband has been my rock because without his strength, I couldn’t find my own to help myself. I realized I wasn’t totally alone. I had people to help me and I had support when I needed it. I am forever grateful for my husband to teach me about life and love and motherhood.

I hope this letter helps just one woman out there who might be feeling a little the way I did. It is normal and not everyone has sparkly and bright experiences when they take their child home for the very first time. It is unbelievably scary and no one is truly prepared for what is to come. Especially when the crying, the diapers, and the all-nighters are the easiest things to deal with, compared to the visions, thoughts, and terrible fears you can have as a new mom.

Please use this letter if it helps just one woman out there. I know I went through such horrible experiences and I’m sure they are hard to read just as they are hard to share, but it would all be in vain if I did not help someone because of it.

Sincerely,
me

***No one has ever read this before. I am not sure I want it out there. But it seems fitting to compare myself now to then. I was so lost and I felt so alone. But I got through it and I look at my gorgeous Fa now and I cry. She is the heart that beats inside of me and the air that keeps me alive. Without her, I am nothing. Without her, I will die. I truly live for her smile and to see the joy in her eyes when I enter her room first thing in the morning. As happy as she is to see me, I am overjoyed to see her. I love this little girl with all of my being and I cherish every moment with her...even the first scary moments. For without them, we wouldn't be here today. My big girl. My love. My heart.

Ask The Laundress

Q: What do I do if I’m invited to an intimate party by someone I’m not intimate with?

My gorgeous friend, (I love her to death) K always gets herself into these situations. Now, she has yet another stalker in her midst. She gets these mommies who call her constantly and harass her for play dates. I know, she is a beautiful woman who has a wonderful personality. She draws people to her. Everyone wants to be her friend. However, K (my very bestest buddy in the entire world) isn’t known for her returned phone calls. She sometimes takes a while to get back to you…(so do I, that’s why we understand each other so well) Sometimes other people take that as an insult or a slight against them. We just see it as, “Don’t take it personally, we’ll get to you.”

Today, she has this (her second) “Stalker Mommy”. Who calls her on every phone K owns and harasses her at Mommy & Me. Here's a good one: StalkerMom invited K to a “sex toy party”. Yup, that’s right a SEX TOY party. Picture a whole buncha mommies buying dildoes for themselves with their husband’s ‘hard’ earned money…pardon the pun. K is mortified. Mind you, K and I aren’t prudes in the slightest definition of the word. We’ve both pretty much seen all there is to see between the two of us. K even hangs out with porn stars on occasion for Christ’s sake. But the woman is mortified about being invited to this party. SO! She asked The Laundress for advice…I am honored to reply:

A: Tell the weirdo mom that: You will not attempt to justify where the gigantic purple dildo came from to your husband. You refuse to spend his cash on frivolous items such as nipple clamps and Benois beads. You adore your husband and ALL he has to offer. You don’t need substitues. You’re sorry if she feels she must ignite some lost passion into her marriage by throwing such a peculiar party. By the way, you don’t even know her well enough to share such an intimate moment as purchasing a “ball stretcher” for your husband. If you were to go and purchase some sort of sex sling, you’d do it with your best friend The Laundress and not her. Tell her to keep her edible panties to herself and to leave you out of it. And also tell her to lose your number and forget you exist.

Take my advice. Or not. It’s up to you.

Any questions about advice you want answered, please feel free to e-mail me.

I have homework.

My therapist thinks I need to practice being in uncomfortable confrontations. I disagree, but I'd never confront her on it.

You see, when I get mad. I clam up. If you know me and I'm not speaking, you know I'm mad. You might never find out why, we just might stop talking. If you are my husband or my father, you might eventually find out why I'm mad. But you'll really have to dig for info.

Whenever my husband and I fight it's because I stop talking to him over somthing that might have happened a week ago. Then, I fester. Then, he gets pissed and asks me why I'm mad. Then, I start to cry and it usually ends there. See, I'm okay with letting it out, once I'm ready. But I ALWAYS break down into a ball of sappy hysterics. I can't confront anyone without crying. That's my real problem. Once I muster up the courage to spill it, I weep. Not just tears, mind you. Hyperventilating hysterics. Crying that hurts your nose because its so clogged with mucous. Crying that makes it impossible to utter words. Crying that makes your eyeballs bulge for three days afterwards. Like a spaz.

I am getting better with my husband. It's the other people in my life that I can't confront. The problem? I always get caught off guard by the unexpected stupidity and I fall short for a smart retort. Then, hours later, I think. "Shit, I shoulda said..." But it's too late. I am forever thinking of good "comebacks" or "defenses" hours after the fact. I can't very well bring it up then, it's over...the stupidity has washed away like the shoreline from the ocean tide. However, I am then left to fester; to wallow in my own silence. To continue to think, "Why didn't I just frickin say...."

So, my homework is to practice. Because, after all, practice makes perfect. So loogout everyone. If I get my panties worked up enough you might be in for it, 12 hours after the initial confrontation. Better late than never. You might not even know why I'm pissed, but once I gather my thoughts, I'll let you know.

Wishful thinking, I'm sure. But at least I'm confronting the fact that I need to practice. Right?
Chalk one up for me in the practice department.

It's not what it's cracked up to be, huh Fa?

We took Fa to the carnival in town last night.

She was so excited, she couldn't even walk...she jumped from place to place, like a little bunny.

She wanted to go on that big, rickety, very high slide that looks like you could really fall off of, if you're not careful...So I took her...She had a friggin' ball, not afraid of how high it was, the stairs you climb like Mount Everest, or the burlap bag you slide down your ass on (all things by the way, I expected her to be afraid of.) Is this the same kid that won't go on the merry-go-round in mall? Yup, same exact one!

Then the conversation went something like this:
"I go again Mommy!"
"OK, Let's get on line and do it again."
"NO!!!!!! I do it again!!!!!"
"Whaddya talkin' about, I'll go with you, you're still too small to go by yourself!" (anxiety mom strikes again)
Then I think she said something like this: "NOOOOOOOO!!!! Mommy, I go by myself down the slide."
But I heard: "Noooooooooo!! Mommy, I go down the flaming shoot of high hell alone. I don't need you, I never did. Get over yourself and let me be who I am..."

So we went down the slide together a few more times..."or we'll go home right now young lady!"

We also let her ride on those metal death traps, or cars, that you sit in and steer the wheel, but they only go in a circle, fast enough to get the bystanders dizzy and puking, but slow enough that if your're in it, you can't even tell it's moving.

Well, my stars, was she ever so excited to pick out her very own PURPLE car to ride in. She obviously didn't get the concept of "ride alone" until then. Because, when I strapped her into the front seat of the metallic, purple trap of doom, and walked away...her eyes read, "what the f* do you think you're doing, get back here!"

She raised her pudgy hands towards me, the alarm buzzed and the metallic mangler jerked her forward..Like whiplash, toddler style. Fa pouted and "zoomed" off into her circle of despair. Upon her return to where she started, she was full-fledged crying. It was like watching your only child be tortured by people-eating cars.. it was my very own scary movie playing out right in front of me...I can't believe I didn't jump over the "safety" gate to rescue her. But I was brave, I let her experience the torture for a few revolutions...really letting her get worked up in a fit of terror. Then, I asked the operator of death to stop the ride, "cause I wanna get off"....

She calmed down surprisingly quick and asked to go on the slide of fear one more time...

I guess it's really not all it's cracked up to be, HUH?

Letters From A Stroller

Dear John,
Thank you so much for not leaving me on the tired, old curb. My new home is fabulous. I hear we are moving in a few weeks too, I am very excited to be "strolling" around my newest digs!

The kid I ride around with seems nice enough. She doesn't kick me in the foot guards too hard and her crackers that fall onto my seat are pretty tasty. I miss you, K and E though. However, it is to my understanding that the new kid and E hang out a lot together so that's nice! Maybe I'll even see you again at E's party on Saturday if my new family decides to take me along. I hear the mother is going to keep me in the car for fancy mall outings and quick strolls through the neighborhood. So it's like I'm still with K, only this lady seems quite grumpy at times.

Anyway, thank you from the bottom of my carrying basket, for not disposing of me in the trash...I am much happier here.

Sincerely,

Your ex-black stroller (given up for the new, fancy, pink, high-tech one)

Mommies NEED Makeup

As Fa was sitting on the potty….”practicing” (she hasn’t pipeed yet) she was watching me apply my daily dose of makeup.

F: Mommy watchya doin’?

TL: Putting on my makeup.

F: Why?

TL: Because it’s time to get ready to go out.

F: Can I wear makeup?

TL: You don’t need makeup. You’re beautiful just the way you are.

F: You need makeup?

TL: Uh, Yeah. I don’t wanna scare the people in the street.

F: (Giggling & Singing in her loudest voice)…”Mommy putting on her makeup…because she’s scary”

TL: You don’t hafta agree lady!

Remember those days when you wished you could wear makeup, but you weren’t allowed. Now I shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house without it. How does that happen?

Rain, Rain Go Away

I guess when you let your 2.5 year old splash in the puddles for the very first time in her life, you better not have a destination.

In her cutest pink, gingham rain galoshes Fa splashed like a goldfish. She was happily dancing in the puddles in the streets on the way to the Library. However, getting into the Library was a feat to be contested. I give her credit: She is a woman who gets what she wants.

We never made it to the Library.

Fa enjoyed splashing all the way home until we made it to the door...Can anyone say Temper-tantrum?

I guess this is the first of gazillions of arguments we will have as a mother-daughter team.

I better polish my boxing gloves.

I hope she always knows I will love her no matter what.

Why can't you get syrup out of hair without washing it?

Here's some words of wisdom for anyone who's listening:
Don't ever feed your 2 year old waffles before an important birthday party, unless you have time for another bath.

Do I look FAT in this?

Don't ever ask that question. You might get an answer that you don't want to hear.