Crash.

It was bound to happen. We had been headed that way for weeks. Living life very, very, very close to the edge. Too many holiday activities, too many errands crammed in, and way, way, way too much sugar. It was getting ugly. The threat of Jingle, our elf, reporting bad behavior to Santa Claus had become meaningless. Overtired monsters were lurking in every corner. Bickering was constant and relentless. The kids were on edge. I was on edge. Someone was going to crack and I was beginning to fear it would be me.

But today, oh today was such a good day. No one came and whisked my children to the movies. No one delivered cookies to me. And there was no babysitter scheduled for date night. What I got instead was a fabulous surprise- two children sleeping this afternoon for close to three hours- at the same time. At first I did laundry, and puttered about, thinking the respite would be brief. As the minutes ticked by, it became apparent- the kids were down for the count. So I did a very crazy thing; I sat. I made a cup of Trader Joe's raspberry tea (highly recommend it, by the way. it has a very strong raspberry flavor without being bitter), hid in my favorite couch with a stack of loooong delayed Chrismas cards, turned on Amy Grant Christmas music, and lost myself in the joy of Christmas cards. Not just stuffing pre-printed photos into envelopes (although I have done that many a time and hold no ill thoughts for those who do), but actually writing personal messages. They weren't profound, they weren't even lengthy, but I had turned Christmas cards from a chore into a pleasant afternoon to be savored and enjoyed. Two hours later, my six year old stumbled out of her room and snuggled up to me on the couch. I was ready to set aside the cards, but I think Caitlin felt the joy too; she curled up next to me and drifted back to sleep for another hour.

We paid for this guilty pleasure this evening; the fine art of bedtime stalling was elevated to new levels in our house this evening. But was it worth it? Oh, absolutely. Yes, today was such a good day.

Did Martha Have a Gun?

Twenty pair of red and green suspenders in less than 12 hours. Ah yes, the joys of Christmastime holiday shows in kindergarten. As I sat there with my trusty glue gun, a stack of red and green felt, a 3 year old helper, and 6 year old helper, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this mess. What on earth had possessed me to volunteer to make the suspenders for the entire class? Was it a need to feel like I had accomplished something? Was it a need to fulfill my creative inner Martha Stewart longings? If so, I was a miserable failure. Martha would not have approved of these suspenders. The widths were all different. Safety pins would be securing them to the kindergarten elves; no discreet hook and eye attachments for us. There were no cute button finishes. No hand embroidery or glitter. Hmmm...maybe there was a reason why Martha never had 3 and 6 year old helpers on her show?

And all of this led to me wonder...did they let Martha Stewart bring her glue gun into jail? Did she get to sacrifice her prison issue sheets in order to make a ruffled skirt to go around the sink in her jail cell? I bet she could have made some fantastic wind chimes out of license plates and thread unravelled from the bottom of her prison uniform. Or maybe she was deprived during her incarceration and that was her true punishment. For me, it was the opposite; using a glue gun seemed like retribution for evil things I must have done in a former life. I sure hope Martha enjoyed her first trip to a craft store after she got out of the slammer. For me, I think I'll go back to running half marathons to feel successful. h

Houston, We Have a Problem...

It all started off well enough. Thirty kindergartners had volunteered to stay after school for a community project called "Roots and Shoots". The idea behind the program is simple; teach young children how to change the world through community involvement. Lucky me, I was in charge of community events for all eight kindergarten classes. Life lesson # 216: when your next door neighbor asks if you want to "help" with a community project, ask more questions before saying "yes"! Our project to help the Atlanta Humane Society by collecting old towels (to be used for dog washing, etc.) and cardboard tubes (for teething puppies and cat toys) was also going well. And now it was our actual meeting, with a speaker from the Humane Society scheduled to speak briefly, and bring some of the animals available for adoption. Imagine the scene...with the help of a few brave parents, we had herded the children into the cafeteria. It is immediately after school and the children are ready to let off energy. We're able to coax them into sitting at the cafeteria tables, but they are ticking time bombs, ready to start bouncing off the walls at the slightest opportunity.

Our elementary has two campuses, that unfortunately are not next door to each other. It is a source of great confusion to visitors. My biggest fear was the speaker would go to the wrong campus and miss her 2:30 "appointment". I had gone to great lengths to prevent this problem. Step 1) schedule the speaker for an early arrival at 2:00 to eliminate delays due to traffic, etc. Step 2) e-mail the speaker the address of the campus our group was. Step 3) Call the speaker, repeat the address, have speaker repeat the address. My bases were covered. At 2:00 I posted a look-out at the front door of the school to watch for our speaker. At 2:15, all the children were in the cafeteria, but no speaker. I was a little concerned and began dialling my speaker's cell phone, no answer. I began playing the birthday game with the children, having them line up by month of their birthday and playing Simon Says, etc. You get the idea, we were stalling for time. At 2:30 I was very concerned and called again. And again. At 2:40, I finally got a message from the speaker "Hi Colleen, I'm in the cafeteria- where are you guys?" Yikes. Our speaker was clearly at the wrong campus. I popped into the school front office and asked the to call over to the other elementary campus to find my speaker. The conversation made my heart sink "Yes, you see a lady with the puppies? They're really cute? Oh, that's so sweet. Have the buses left yet? No, they haven't? Okay, thanks!" Houston, we have a problem. Once the buses begin loading, the parking lot is shut down; no cars may leave. This meant it would be AT LEAST another another thirty minutes before my speaker arrived...just in time for the end of my meeting. Okay, it was time for desperate measures. Back in the cafeteria I went and said "kids, it's time for a new game. You are all now puppies. Welcome to Miss Colleen's obedience school." After a few sessions of playing dead and rolling over, the kids were losing interest. It was getting ugly. Just before it all fell apart, we were saved by the arrival of our Humane Society speaker. With world record speed, we sat the children down, listened to a five minute spiel of what the Humane Society does, and handed out pads of paper & pens. And then it was over. Whew. Definitely a day to block out of my memory!

For more information about Roots and Shoots, go to http://www.rootsandshoots.org

When Sharing Is Not a Good Thing.

We spend an awful lot of time teaching our 3 1/2 year old, Ryan, to share. Come to think of it, we still spend a fair amount of time teaching our 6 year old, Caitlin to share as well. But over the Thanksgiving weekend, sharing backfired in my face. Thanksgiving Day I was feeling extremely joyous over surviving the Atlanta Half Marathon without my 37 year old body collapsing on me. At noon-time I was sitting with some of my running buddies soaking in the hot-tub and enjoying life. Little did I know, in 24 hours the whole weekend would be falling apart. Partly out of guilt (standard state of mind for me, even if I am a lapsed Catholic) and partly out of sympathy, we were hosting my Irish friend & her family (complete with grandparents in town from Dublin) for a dinner party Saturday night. How could I not? If the sheer fact that she had hosted my family at her Thanksgiving dinner, allowing me to lounge around post-race day in leisure, wasn't enough prompt a return invite, then the fact that her parents were camped out at her house for two entire weeks and were in dire need of activities was enough to clinch the deal. And if you are getting the giggles about now, then you are having the same thoughts as me; there was great irony in a Thanksgiving dinner being cooked by a born and bred Dublin, Ireland hostess. And she was making a turkey recipe from Everyday Italian to boot!

Little did I know, as I happily prepped for dinner, trouble was brewing and multiplying. I was focused. I was chopping. I was sauteing. I was pulling out all the stops with a Julia Child recipe for cannelloni. I handmade crepes, I simmered the red sauce, coddled the white sauce, and seasoned the filling. And oh yeah, I made a roasted banana cheesecake. With a quick kiss on Ryan's head, I watched my husband carry him off for his nap. Finally it was assembly time. As I carefully laid a cannelloni into the baking dish, I sensed a presence behind me. And a rather unpleasant smell. With great trepidation I slowly turned around to the vision of an unhappy little boy covered in puke. "Oh Lovey, let's go get you cleaned off." And off we headed to the bathroom for the detoxification process. I cringed as I passed Ryan's bedroom, it was clear he had efficiently contaminated every piece of bed linen, the walls, and siderails of his bed.

Luckily the stomach bag quickly passed, although the dinner party was obviously cancelled, leaving me sad. Not only had I gone to great lengths to cook a company worthy meal that would go to waste, I had ironed napkins for our guests as well. And you can believe me when I say that is an uncommon occurrence!

As children usually do, Ryan quickly bounced back and things returned back to normal. Unfortunately it soon became apparent something was multiplying in my own stomach. So much for teaching your children about the joys of sharing!

Why I Love Legos.

This may come of great surprise to those of you who know me, but I love Legos. Adore them. Quite possibly rate them as one of the top ten twentieth century inventions. In theory, I should hate Legos. I am a grinch; I hate Polly Pockets. All of the teeny tiny litte shoes and shirts and hats for the dolls get cheerfully vacumned up on a weekly basis. Birthday party goody bags rarely make it into my house; I shamelessly bribe my children with lollipops to surrender their bags of plastic whistles, and kazoos, and mini-pinball machines from birthday parties. Do you get the idea? Okay, I confess; I am not really that mean. I do not confiscate birthday goody bags the day of a party. But you can be pretty darn sure it won't last the week in my house once the kids are out the door for school. I despise clutter. It makes my brain crazy. I literally cannot think with too many things in my house, or too many patterns for that matter. New friends who enter my house for the first time say "Oh. It's so..." And here my new friend will pause, searching for the right word. Empty is not the right word; I have plenty of furniture and things to fill space. And while my house is roomy, that t isn't the right word either, my house is not small, but it certainly is not of mansion proportions. My taste leans towards contemporary, but I am not of the modern ilk; I value coziness and texture far too much to cross the line to modernism. And so the word they usually settle on is "uncluttered." I like the finished look vases, and candles, and numerous prints on the walls give other houses; but not in mine. I am never 100% sure if people find my lack of knick-knacks unsettling, or if the simplicity of my shelves and furniture is as soothing as them as it is to me.

So now you may begin to see, how peculiar it is, that someone who shudders at the thought of knick-knacks in my house could love legos. But there's just something about Legos that makes me happy. It starts with the batteries. Are you thinking "huh? what batteries?" Exactly my point. Next, we move to commercials. When was the last time you were cooking dinner and your kids screamed "Mommmm, come quick, I HAVE to have Legos!!!" It doesn't happen. At least not in my household. That's because you see very few (if any) Lego commercials. Brilliance does not need to advertise on T.V. As a general rule, the more captivating a commercial for a toy on T.V., the less your child will play with the actual toy after receiving the toy. Another reason to love Legos; they are a multi-dimensional toy. Now, if you throw out all the developmental gobbledy-gook about why multi-dimensional toys are highly desirable (namely that they encourage creativity and fine motor skills), it is still a good thing for parents. Why? Because in the real world, multi-dimensional means you get actual value for your money. The more time your children spend creating a Lego world means more time to cook dinner without playing twenty questions, and parents experience the pleasure of their children using a toy more than once. In fact, not just once, but for hours at a time. Who else has a carful of toys they've donated to Goodwill because your child only played with it once or twice until becoming "bored"? Encouraging creativity, plus enhancing fine motor skills, plus value for your dollar makes Legos a big winner in my book. And trust me, for me to cheerfully feel the stab of yet another small Lego piece in my foot at 6:30 in the morning as I stumble towards the coffee-maker, I must really feel good about Legos. Will you be surprised if I start waxing poetic about Lego teamwork building? Any toy that can get a 3 1/2 year old and 6 year old to work together is pretty darn good. People (young and old) just can't resist joining in once someone starts building a monster Lego house. It doesn't matter if your child is a princess type or sports type or bookworm, Legos are the great unifier. I'm definitely sending a box to Barack Obama as an inauguration present. Perhaps I should send a couple boxes to U.N. headquarters before their next meeting. We might finally have a real shot at world peace.

Where the heck IS that Parenting Handbook??

I felt like a jerk. A complete and total jerk. As I sat in the pediatric opthamologist's office, four years ago with my two year old daughter I should have been quietly grateful. And I wasn't. Clearly around me were children with bigger problems than ours. Although we hadn't had the exam yet, I was fairly certain of the diagnosis for Darling Daughter (D.D.), good ol' fashioned myopia, nearsightedness, whatever you wanted to call it, she was going to need glasses. Sure enough, after the eye exam, it was clear glasses were in our future. Not today, D.D.'s eyesight was not that bad, and as the opthamologist remarked "it's not like she needs to see to drive a car.", but glasses were in our future. I wasn't surprised. I have deplorable eyesight. Truly deplorable, when I say I am blind without contacts it is no exaggeration. I impress opthamologists with my -10.00 prescription, they don't see it very often; and while impressing Matt Damon is good, impressing an ophthamologist is bad. I am treated as a novelty. In the genetic lottery, D.D. had lost and instead of getting her father's impressively good eyesight, she got mine. As a single tear crept down the side of my cheek, I felt like such a failure as a parent. And worse, I felt like a jerk for being so upset. Outside in the waiting room were children whose eyesight was limited at best and usually coupled with other developmental speech and hearing problems. Should anyone feel sympathy for me for crying over glasses? Puh-lease!

And this morning it all came back to me; the reasons why glasses seemed like a horrible thing. Fortunately D.D. just began wearing glasses last year at age 5. Despite my anxiety about being the only kid in pre-K wearing glasses, it was no big deal. Quite the opposite; many of her friends begged for glasses of their own & wanted to borrow D.D.'s. Kindergarten however, was a whole new world. This morning it was meltdown city. She didn't want to wear glasses; kids were teasing her; she didn't want to hear how cute her sparkly pink glasses were (huh? was she nuts? didn't she know how fantastically lucky not to be saddled with the horrible oversized tortoiseshell frames of my youth???); and most of all, she did not want to be different. I felt her pain, I had lived it myself in elementary school. I didn't really know what to say, all I could do was hold her as she cried. My thoughts bounced back and forth between "I'm going to strangle the little monster in her class who has been teasing her" to "where IS that parenting handbook?? what chapter is this??" and "why does this happen when my husband is out of town??" We were getting into big issues here: self-esteem and societal pressure to conform were just a few things lurking beneath this conversation. I was totally unprepared, it was a lot to handle at 6:23 in the morning! Maybe it WAS time to start those karate lessons I'd seen; the promise of self-confidence and inner strength was awfully appealing at the moment!

As a pregnant person I walked around with clear notions of parenting: "First you get the baby to sleep through the night, then you deal with the terrible twos, and then you work through the teenage years. Everything in-between is the easy part like practicing spelling tests and driving to soccer practice." Does anyone else remember driving home from the hospital with your first baby and thinking "Are they crazy? Do they REALLY think we are qualified to take care of this baby?? " So if any of you find that Parenting Handbook, you know the one I mean, that answers all the hard questions let me know. I sure would like a copy. Until then, I'll guess we'll just have to make it up as we go and hope we don't screw it up too badly.

Some Things are Just Wrong.

I am not here to whine. I am not here to complain. I am just stating the facts. There are things that happen in this world that are just wrong; someone grabs your parking space at the grocery store, an umpire makes a bad call during your kid's baseball game, or Britney Spears makes yet ANOTHER comeback attempt. Those things are just wrong. Today was my turn to be "wronged." As I was struggling in the grocery store parking lot with two small children and ten cases of water that I had just successfully sweet-talked the store manager out of for the neighborhood park Fall Festival, my cell phone rang. It was D.H., also known as Darling Husband. I knew from his voice that he was not calling to tell me we had one the lottery. So as I simultaneously cranked my shoulder upwards in an awkward angle to hold the cell phone, hoisted water case number eight into the back of my SUV, prompted the 5 year old to help her 3 year old brother into the car, I was able to give a quick "hey, what's up?" What was up, was a last minute customer work event. A concert to be precise. My husband was "needed" to fill in at the last minute. As I thought of the afternoon scramble I had just gone through to assemble a roast citrus chicken, make it to the grocery store to pick up the water bottles for the Fall Festival, and the next mad dash to a local toy store to pick out goodies for our daughter's birthday party this weekend, I began to feel something was wrong. And then the details began to emerge from my husband. It was not just a concert. It was Coldplay to be exact. One of my favorite bands of all time. This was becoming very wrong. After throwing out last minute attempts- "I have LOTs of babysitters I can call, you know." "I'm great at getting ready on short notice.", it was clear my husband was tempted to bring me along, but it was not going to happen. I was resolved to the state of mind known as "bummer"; as in "bummer, I can't go, I hope you have fun." Suddenly everything changed and we were back to some things are just wrong. It began going downhill when I told D.H. "tell Chris Martin I miss him. " D.H.'s response? "OK, I will...who is Chris Martin?" AGHGHHGGHG! Did a man who didn't know who was the lead singer of Coldplay deserve to go to the concert??? So just for fun, I said "Let's put it to a vote. You let your teammates decide who should go. You, who doesn't know who the lead singer is, or me, a semi- obsessed fan who not only knows who Chris Martin is, but also knows he is married to Gwyneth Paltrow, that the song "Yellow" was written for her, and that their two children are named Apple and Moses." (hey, don't make fun of the kids names to me, I didn't name them I just report the facts) There was dead silence on the other end of the phone as my husband too, began to realize, this was just wrong.

But do you know what the really great thing is out of all of this? It IS wrong that D.H. is out tripping the light fantastic tonite & I'm dealing with the bedtime scramble with the kids affectionately known as Thing One and Thing Two. But if that is the worst thing that has gone wrong today (or even this week for that matter) I think I am in pretty darn good shape. If the worst thing I can tout as my injustice of the world gave you a smile today, then let's toast to that. And if you need something to be right this week, check out this super yummy, super easy roast chicken from Giada on Food Network. The girl can cook! http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/garlic-and-citrus-chicken-recipe/index.html

P.S. Do you think I'll get a souvenir concert t-shirt out of this??

Why Every Woman Should Run a Marathon (or Half)

A happy accident has happened in my house. On Thanksgiving I will run in my first half marathon (and no, that is not the accident, it is a conscious decision). I'm not really sure what motivated me to take the plunge. I've never been a distance runner; before I've always been pleased with a sedate four mile loop around the neighborhood. The idea first started tickling around my mind as I kept bumping into a marathon runner buddy of mine. There was no pressure to run a half marathon with her, just a "it would be fun; you can do it." From there the thought began to bounce around my head as I chugged along the neighborhood. Maybe I should do it. It sure would be motivating to run with a purpose. As I waffled along in my mind, I got a phone call from a neighbor that clinched my decision. "Hey, I heard you're thinking about doing the half marathon on Thanksgiving. My dad picks me up every year and drives me to the race. Would you like a ride?" Well...if it was going to be that easy - then, yes! And, most importantly a dear friend of mine was hostessing Thanksgiving dinner, my only responsibility that day would be to show up and eat well deserved calories after a 13.1 mile run.

So I began to increase my running distances and six miles became the norm, not just something a did a few times year for 10K races. Every Sunday became the day for my husband to watch the kids for a few hours while I logged an 8-10 mile run. And this is where my training really began to pay off. It started as I walked out the door for my first Sunday run. As the door began to shut my husband wished me luck and said "Hey, I was thinking about making chili for dinner. Is that okay with you?" Was he nuts??? Of course it was okay! I love to cook, but in my mind any meal that doesn't involve me making a trip to the grocery store or digging through recipes sounded fabulous to me. For all of you women whose husbands cook on a regular basis, I envy you. It is not something that happens in my house very often. This, was a special treat indeed. But the happy accident did not stop there. The following Sunday I was planning an eleven mile run. On the way to church my husband suggested cooking out hamburgers that evening. Feel free to think of us as old-fashioned, but it was a given in our house than any grilling would be done by him. So once again, dinner was "on him." After the long run as I stumbled back up our driveway and plopped onto the couch, I noticed something was different. Not only was the lovely aroma of a charcoal fire with hamburgers sizzling filling my backyard, but the deck had been swept, the kids toys had been corralled and the firepit cleaned out. Clearly, I was on to something. It was an epiphany of sorts. I am too capable. Toilets overflowing and sick children throwing up while my husband is out of town get me little sympathy from him; he knows I can cope without a nervous breakdown. A half marathon, however, has him in awe. For years I have been struggling to maintain a balance. I have been looking for ways for my husband to feel needed without being "needy." At last, I had found it. This may be the most fantastic accident to ever happen to me! So don't be surprised if in Spring I announce training for another half-marathon. It's good for my husband to feel needed. And occasionally being taken care of is even better for me.

Carpool Madness

It's time to stop the madness. I am not kidding. Write your congressman, start a petition, go on a hunger strike, but do something! What is this madness I refer to? Why carpool, of course! Silly me, thought carpool was supposed to be simple. To make our lives easier and safer. Apparently I am in the minority. Here is how carpool should work. In an orderly fashion, pull in to the carpool line, preferably not while talking on your cell phone. As the car in front of you moves forward, you do the same. Stop at the appropriately marked place, turn around, blow a kiss at your child and say "I love you, have a great day", while a teacher escorts your child out the door to their classroom. If you do not have time to wait in a carpool line, you do not belong in carpool. To the Mom who cut me off in carpool line yesterday, then pulled back out of line because it was moving too slow - relax. And to the same Mom who then parked in the middle of the parking lot while blocking the crosswalk- get over yourself. You are not more important than the rest of us. We all have things we'd rather be doing than waiting in line. And once again, to that same Mom, was it really worth the 45 seconds you saved by cutting me off, blocking the crosswalk, and leaving your other two children in the car while you shoved your kindergartener halfway across the parking lot to the teacher who pulled her safely onto the sidewalk? And to the Dad who has been taking Mario Andretti driving lessons on the weekends so he can cut off the buses and make his own special turn lane, please- leave your type Triple A self waiting at the office. This is an elementary school, not Wall Street.

All of this is just for morning drop off. Can you imagine what pickup is like? It's really a fascinating study in selfishness. Here is how pickup is supposed to work. Once again get in line (and you would not believe how many people have issues with this simple concept). Once again pull forward when car in front of you pulls forward. When your child climbs in the car, help him/her with the buckle if needed and drive forward out of the carpool line. Do not, I repeat, do not, by any means climb out of your car. If your child needs that much help climbing in the car, you do not belong in carpool line! If you need to have a lengthy discussion with the teacher about your child's progress on their thesis statement, you do not belong in the carpool line. Every day I study and ponder the white Ford Explorer that attends my school. I find her absolutely fascinating. Every day this Mom pulls into carpool. Every day this Mom stops her car, gets out of her car, opens the hatch of her car and stands to wait for her children. Every day she helps them climb through the hatch of the car into the backseat. The Mom then precedes to climb into the car behind her children to help them buckle their seats. And somehow this Mom manages to be the first car in line every single day. You can imagine how many cars backup in the parking lot waiting for her to finish. And don't even get me started on the lengthy conversations she holds with her child's teacher during this process. Here are the things I ponder: is she really that clueless about the twenty other cars waiting for their turn? did the Mom not feel loved as a child and this is the way she proves to her children they are loved? maybe the Mom never went to kindergarten and never learned to follow simple rules?

Coming soon to a location near you... Carpool 101 by the Road Warrior Wife

Humiliation...

It happened last week. I was completely and utterly humiliated by my son's preschool teacher. My day was off to a great start- I came bouncing down the preschool hallway not only showered by with my hair dried AND makeup on. Trust me, I was not often seen this way at my preschool! I was in a great mood- my husband and I had just returned from a ten year anniversary trip sans kids. Not only were we without the kids for five glorious days, we got to explore a foreign country as well. Never mind the exchange rate against the euro was horrendous, it was definitely worth eating mac 'n cheese for a month to relive my jet-set days again. The threat of impending jet-lag couldn't even bring me down, I was recharged and revitalized. I was ready to throw myself back into the world of carpool, homework, and the dinner time scramble. Little did I know my world was about to crashing down with these five words uttered by a preschool teacher in the hallway..."Can I talk to you?" By the look on the teacher's face, I feared the worst- my three year old had bitten someone...maybe his mediocre enunciation was a sign of serious speech delays...But no. It had nothing to do with my son. It was all about me. And my husband. We had recently sent in family photos and as often happens, there were many pictures of my husband and two kids. Many pictures of me and the two kids. And many pictures of the two kids. But no pictures of us as a family. The teacher was concerned- was everything okay with my husband and I? Were we getting a divorce? The whole exchange was so surreal, all I could manage to get out was "Uh no, actually we just got back from our ten year anniversary trip" and flee the school. Back in the car I was pissed. And embarassed. WHAT was that teacher thinking? Why on earth would you stop someone in the middle of a hallway during morning dropoff to ask about their marriage? What if my husband and I were going through a divorce? And finally, my mind started to spin in circles. Why did the teacher think we were getting a divorce? Simply because of a lack of family pictures? Because my husband and I were rarely at the same events? Finally I shook my head and sighed. It was time to shake the whole event out of my mind and chalk it up as one more part of being The Married Single Mom.

Drive-In Nap 'n Stop

It happened again. I was happily driving along with my three year old in the backseat. One minute we were singing the ABC's, and the next he was completely asleep. Oh Fudge. I had a dilemma. My choices were a) drive aimlessly around while he slept b) park the car somewhere and stare out the window while he slept or c) drive home and cross my fingers for a successful transfer from the car into his bed. None of the options were appealing. And I really needed to grab some milk before his sister got home from kindergarten. And I dying of thirst. And I needed to pee. What was a Mom to do?

I began to daydream of a new business. Ever since quitting my job almost six years ago I indulged in fantasies of creative ways to rake in cash and still spend quality time with my children. My latest scheme involved a huge drive in warehouse. On those occasions your children fell asleep in the car and you were out of errands involving the drive-thru (bank, dry cleaners, and pharmacy to name a few), you would head your car over to the Nap 'n Stop. Upon entry you pull into an assigned place and park your car. Interested in catching up on your magazine reading? No problem- would you like Oprah, Shape, or Bon Appetit? Been too busy for a manicure/pedicure? Sit back and our manicurist will be to your car in just one minute. Baby was up last night with a cough and feeling that mid-afternoon slump? We'd be happy to whip up a double non-fat vanilla latte. Still haven't figured out when to get the oil changed in your car? Drive over to Bay 9 and we'll do it while your child sleeps and you catch up on e-mail at our computer station.

But, since I haven't found my local Nap 'n Stop, I sighed and picked up my eight month out of date copy of Cooking Light and browsed the recipes for the thousandth time while wondering if I added water to the last of the 2% milk if I could make it taste like skim milk to go with our breakfast cereal tomorrow morning...

In my Next Life, I want to come back as a Man.

It's true. 110% true. I want to blithely navigate through parenthood. I want my wife to oversee pediatrician appointments, playdates with friends that are "good" influences, and find creative lunches that are nutritious AND acceptable to five year olds. Wouldn't it be great if someone else had to be the bad guy that said "No Hannah Montana, and absolutely no Suite Life of Zack and Cody. (In case you are wondering why they are taboo in my house, sit down and actually watch the shows. Every parent on these tv shows is an idiot, and every child has a sassy mouth.) Don't get me wrong, I adore being a Mom (and a woman too for that matter.) I love the confidence my children have in my ability to fix anything from a boo-boo to a broken Tonka truck, all with the magic of my trusty glue gun. I don't love it when my children have nightmares, but a part of my heart melts when they cry "mama, I want my mama!" at 3 a.m. I don't have to worry about teaching my three year old son how to be "tough. " I don't stress when that same three year old runs around singing " Nobody's perfect, I gotta work it" at the top of his lungs in a sparkly princess tiara. (And yes, that song is by Hannah Montana. I allow the song, not the show. Fortunately Miley Cyrus has yet to backtalk in a song. Yet.)

Are you wondering why, then, I want to be a man in my next life? None of you know me or my husband. I am being truthful and honest when I say I married a wonderful husband and father. He's not some jerk sitting on the couch watching t.v. all Sunday while I watch the kids. He gives the kids baths, he reads them books, and he spends time playing with them. But, he is still a man. Ultimately someone in the family has to be responsible for running the household. I want to be irresponsible. I want to be the "fun parent." I want someone else to prompt the annual hanging of the Christmas decorations. I want to sit back and wait for someone else to create the "honey do list" instead of creating multiple to do lists of my own every week. I want someone else to worry about the environment and whether or not BPA in plastics is killing us, or if it's part of a conspiracy theory. And most of all, I want to let go of Mommy guilt, worry less about what's for dinner, and enjoy my kids more often. I never heard of a man talk about "daddy guilt." Or maybe it's just the guilt I want to get rid of.

Can I Change My Name?

I don't care what name you pick for me. As long as it's not "Mo- ommmmmm". It's been one of those days. You know the kind of day I mean. The kind where your kids act like their legs are broken and it's torture for them to get their own glass of water. Or the kind of day where a shower doesn't count as being "alone" because every few minutes a face is peering at you saying "Mommm-yyyyyy, I neeeeeeed you." I used to have a favorite hiding place. For several months I was able to "hide" in my three year old's bedroom. It was great, I would sit in his leather club chair (a relic from our first house when my husband "needed" a man chair" and happily chat on the phone with my friends. All around me the children would be calling my name, never suspecting I was righ there the whole time. I think an intercom system would work in my house for a few days. Then instead of yelling throughout the house when they need me, the kids could press a button & buzz me wherever I am. I fear the novelty would quickly wear off and we'd be back to a child in the kitchen yelling for me while I am in the basement. Actually, that's not a bad idea. Maybe I should go hide in the basement now...

Where oh Where has my sweet child gone?

Oh where oh where did she go? Last night I put a very sweet 5 1/2 year old little girl to bed. Tucked her in with her blankies, played her lullaby cd, and kissed her on the forehead. With a "good night, sweetpea", I walked out the room. Little did I know, in the morning a horrible tired beast would emerge from the bedroom. The beast looked like my child, but clearly was not my child. The beast was crabby. The beast was mean. And worst of all, the beast was full of sassy backtalk. Is this a true case of Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Should I file a missing persons report? Did Aliens comes from the planet SassyBacktalk and steal my sweet little girl? When my daughter was a toddler I used to think there was nothing worse than an overtired eighteen month old. Boy, was I wrong. An overtired and crabby 5 year old is not a pretty sight. They pick fights with their brothers. They don't listen. They whine. They backtalk. There is only one way to recover your child from the space aliens- an early bedtime. Suddenly everything is in overdrive- dinner must be early, bath must be early, books must be early. The tired space alien must not sense early bedtime. If you are caught, you will hear the horrible screams of the "I'm NOT tired!!!" meltdown. I tuck in my daughter with her blankies and listen to extra fussing about exact placement of blankies. Everything is being delayed. I play her lullaby cd and concede to getting a glass of water for her nightstand. I kiss her on the forehead and almost out of the room, when there is "Cuddle with me, Mama." Finally, with a "good night, sweetpea", I gently close the door and look at my watch. Early bedtime has been defeated by the dawdling & lollygaggin. I sigh to myself "please send the space aliens home tonite, I miss my sweet girl."

Adventures in Potty Training

Adventures in Potty Training:

Oh boy, is this EVER a can of worms to bring up with a group of women. This may be the second most controversial topic to bring up amongst a group of Mom’s. (Number one most controversial of course being “to work or not to work.”) What kind of Mom ARE you for Potty Training?

Are you...

Flower Child Friend: I am a child of the 70’s…My daughter must be her own person, free to make decisions about her own body…she will give up the diapers when she is ready. (note: said daughter is almost 3 and shows no interest in “giving up” her morning and night bottle).

First Time Older Mom: My daughter can wear pull-ups and put big girl underwear over them if she wants to. Is this woman for real??? What motivation does a child have to ever take off the pull ups if they gets to wear princess panties AND a diaper??

Married Single Mom: I am NOT waiting until my daughter is four to decide she’s “ready” to give up diapers. That’s a load of garbage- what two year old WANTS to stop in the middle of playtime to take a potty break? Diaper are much more convenient for them- pee & go!

Wishing They Weren't Stuck With the Kids Mom: (wakes up one morning and impulsively decides) : I think I’ll potty train my two year old today, I’m OVER diapers!

Daycare Mom: I can’t be bothered with potty training. It's too much work. You have to remind them to go potty, you have to stop in the middle of grocery shopping, interrupt your dinner- what a pain! I'll let daycare handle it.

But at the end of the day, we all have our price. One parent may potty train "early" but totally slack off on teaching manners. Other parents dress their children beautifully every day in expensive clothes, but sacrifice car safety with a cheap carseat. We are just trying to survive day to day life. We let our children do “wrong” things in the quest to retain some semblance of sanity. We let them watch extra t.v. shows, buying more toys than they could possibly ever use. Or there are ways we find to keep our children close just a little longer- we bribe them into extra hugs & kisses with promises of special treats.

Parenthood is not a Democracy

There is no Bill of Rights for toddlers. Your job is to with great love and patience turn them into civillized (and hopefully productive) members of society. To optimize chances of success, be strong, be courageous, and abide by these guidelines...

1) You are the Mommy, you set the rules.
2) “Because I said so” is a perfectly acceptable answer to “why can’t I a) jump on the couch b) have another juice box or c) any other time your child questions a rule.
3) My house, my rules” is also acceptable.
4) “This is not a popularity contest. You are not here to be your child’s friend, but to raise them as a caring, law abiding, and hopefully productive member of society.
5) Socialization of children is not always pretty or pleasant, but it is necessary.
6) Your child understands much more, much earlier than you realize. Starting at about 10 months use the word “no” followed by action- remove the child from the outlet cord, doorknob stopper, etc.
7) Children are opportunistic. This is dangerous in two ways.
a. Temper tantrums and bad behavior ALWAYS occur in front of other people or in Target when you really don’t want to leave your shopping cart full of necessities.
b. If you are on the phone & your child is not pestering you, it is because they are up to no good. This usually involves toilet paper, water, or crayons.

Introduction to Life as a Road Warrior Wife...

Pat Benatar said it best… “Shooting at the walls of heartache… bang, bang, I am the Warrior…”

I am the wife of a road warrior. I have two young children and you know who I am. I am the Mom you see who is there at kindergarten graduation alone. I come to birthday parties alone. I am the laundress, chef, boo-boo fixer, mechanic, chaser of nightmares at 3 a.m., and handywoman extraordinaire.

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There are times when you will hate him. Absolutely despise him. When both kids are throwing up all night and you are the only one there to take care of them, wondering how on earth you will take care of your children if you too get sick. When you are the only married Mom at kindergarten graduation without their spouse present. When the handyman declares the backed up toilet ”shot” and you have no idea if you really need a new toilet, where to get a new toilet, and how much labor should cost for installation. And there will be times when you hate yourself as well. Hate yourself for being yelling at the kids after being a solo parent for too many days in a row. Hate yourself for wishing your husband had a boring 9 to 5 job even though he would be miserable. And hate yourself for dreaming of going back to work just to escape from the constant neediness of your children.

But he is your spouse and in addition to all that “for better or worse” stuff in your wedding vows, it doesn’t have to be miserable having a road warrior husband. So c’mon, do you wanna stand there bitching, or do you wanna have some fun???

Here are the facts. The global economy is not going away, ergo, people must travel both domestically and internationally. I know these facts all too well. Not only has my husband been one of these statistics for the past five years while I hold down the fort with our two small children, I used to be a statistic too. For ten years I traveled for my sales job all over different parts of the country. I drove hours to small towns no one has ever heard of (ever been to Bamberg,SC?), held Platinum airline and hotel status, and once was so travel weary that I returned my rental car to the wrong airport in South Florida. So listen to me on this first very important rule. This is an essential key to your happiness: It is true what your husband says: WORK TRAVEL IS NOT GLAMOROUS.

So what IS the key to happiness as a single but married Mom?

Revel in the ability of being able to leave the house a complete disaster. No one but you will care if the dishes aren’t done before you scoot out the door for the carpool line. No one but you will care if the clothes have been washed and folded for four days but you just haven’t managed to put them away.

On extended travel weeks, always get a babysitter on the third day. By then the kids are driving you crazy, you are driving them crazy, and a change of scenery will do you both good

Be strong. Don’t surrender to the temptation to eat cereal every night. I know small children prefer bland and boring, but you deserve better!

Murphy's law states: “all hell will break loose” the second your husband walks out the door. Know this and accept it.

Have a dependable handyman. I know, I know, that is the equivalent to finding a forty year old man that is single, never been married, well-rounded, and straight. Once you find a dependable handyman, flatter him shamelessly and bake him cookies often. Trust me, there will be a time when your dishwasher/ washing machine/ and garage door all go on the fritz at the same time and your investment will be well repaid.

Always have a Plan B. Learn basic handywoman skills.

Extend your family, particularly if you have no other family in close proximity. Invite friends over for dinner often. Loneliness is the hardest part of having a travelling spouse .

Know there are missing chapters from the parenting handbook- i.e. “what do I do when my newly pottery trained two year old starts chanting “poopie, poopie” while in the bathtub with his sister. Sitting there, in the tub is a poop bigger than his brain. How ARE you supposed to scoop that poop out and is soap sufficient to wash the kids of?? Can you just run the toys through the dishwasher or should they all be burned to excise the memory??

Travelling husbands are a blessing. It is important to know that even if your husband were home, he would have been even more clueless than you on how to handle the poop AND you would have been irritated that he was of no assistance.