What am I doing right now? Sitting in front of the computer, with piles of folded laundry stacked behind me, begging to be put away, an episode of The Biggest Loser in the hopper, begging to be watched, my dirty hair jammed under my Yankee cap, begging to be washed before Back to School Night, yet, I am writing. All of my big plans of using this time when the girls are at school and Little Man is napping to write? In the toilet. The kids, the house and all needs associated with the two, are like an unstable gas, needing constant monitoring lest they explode and expanding to fill any space (of time) they occupy. I don't know how it happens, but it seems I've just walked back in the house, thrown LM down for his nap and suddenly it's time to go get the girls and I have to shovel a few bites of a half-cooked Lean Cuisine down my throat on my way out the door.
So it seems logical, that as the seasons begin to change, and the weather gets colder, there has been no time for me to shop for fall clothes. While you might be thinking, "So damn what? Wear your pants from last year", it's not that simple. First of all, my "pants" from last year consist mainly of track and yoga pants, which I have made a pact not to wear in New Town unless actual athletic activity is going to take place in the next few hours, and running around my house looking for a missing ballet slipper ten minutes before class doesn't count. And stop your snickering, I'm actually sticking to it. I have been dressed in pants with actual buttons and zippers and not worn a baseball hat a single day since school started! Second, the pants I did manage to buy last year still did not fit the bill. I am talking about the Holy Grail. I am talking about the much maligned, but from-this-day-on-reclaimed-by-Mean-Mommy-term known as Mom Jeans. Yeah, I said it. MOM JEANS.
Stop shrieking. I, of course, am not talking about the light-wash, high-waisted, looks-good-with-a-holiday-themed-vest nightmares of Saturday Night Live fame. What I am talking about are jeans that allow you to complete all of your duties as a mom, and make you look attractive without looking like a cougar trying to pick up the teens playing pick-up basketball at the park or showing your whale tale to local toddlers. We all have our "going out jeans" or as I call them, Booty Jeans, as I don't have to worry about how much of my anatomy is hanging out since I won't be picking up some spilled goldfish at the local watering hole out with H. But they just do not function in real life not matter how good they make your butt look. As I discussed in my Shorts-gate post, the struggle to find clothes such as these is a pandemic. These jeans, it seemed to me, were the stuff of urban legend, never seen in real life, if my experience watching my mom friends hike up their pants after tying Johnny's shoe and hide what I know are toned butts in loose fitting, yet appropriate pants, is any evidence.
I went shopping with a friend this weekend, since as the mercury keeps falling, it becomes harder to stick to my no-elastic-waist-pants pact. I was child-free, bloated from my period (since you NEVER want to shop for jeans on a skinny day and wind up with pants you give the evil eye to as they sit, mocking you, on your closet shelf the other 353 days of the year you don't fit into them), and determined. In my search I came across several types of completely unacceptable jeans:
Skinny jeans - Can these every-gals-permission-slip-to-dress-like-an-80's-hooker please just go away? I know maybe two people in my life who can wear these jeans and even they don't feel comfortable doing so. So why would the rest of us? I'm not sure actual movement is possible in these pants so they preclude any jungle gym scaling, making them a non-option for me - along with the fact I would look like I could star in a Sir Mix A Lot video. And to those of you who do rock this look, enough already. Your labia called and it wants its blood flow back.
The "Boyfriend" jean - These jeans, made popular by Katie Holmes (no, I won't call you Kate, you and Ricky Schroeder need to remember what paid for your orthodontia and get over yourselves), are baggy, worn and cuffed and are supposed to remind you of a pair of pants you pilfered from your boyfriend's closet. Well, up until I met H, who rocks quite the booty, I had never dated a guy whose ass was even marginally close to the size of mine, being the pear that I am. And wearing pants to the playground that look like they should be worn home on the Walk of Shame, complete with raccoon eyes and high heels? Um, no.
Ultra Low Rise jeans - Crack is whack. Enough said.
Faded/Distressed jeans - My children wreak enough havoc on my clothing, I don't need my clothes to come pre-destroyed. In addition, having not mastered the bleach dispenser on the new washer, so I have enough faded clothing of my own right now, thanks. And also? Those fade marks they make right across the hip area? Dear God, why?
Completely demoralized, I made my way to Ann Taylor Loft and like a vision, there they were. With a halo of light shining behind them. The Classic Boot Cut. A nice, even wash, with a medium rise, straight leg and just enough stretch to forgive weekend wine and donut binges, making them actually wearable on Monday mornings, previously the domain of yoga pants. So if you are in my and Michelle's boat, get thee to this store, because mean Mommy might have bought every pair they make if you don't act soon.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
A book and its cover...
As you already know, dear readers, I have been working my ass off trying to meet new pals here in the new town (which will henceforth be known as New Town), joining mother's groups and book clubs galore. We haven't had a book club meeting yet, but I'm sure my membership will be revoked once I open my big, opinionated mouth in a group of women who haven't chosen to be friends with me because of my brashness. I thought I was tired of half a summer working the kiddie pool like Obama at the DNC, then school started.
While this summer has been challenging, building relationships in a town we will most likely inhabit for the next twenty years, and wanting to avoid, as long as possible, becoming known as The Crazy Redhead, the beginning of the school year presented added stickiness. I'm worried about moms I'll run into every now and then in the day to day activities of parenting,but the majority of the children my kids would meet will be their classmates for the rest of their pre-college lives. Sure, I joked about picking out the right outfit and washing my bangs, but I took great and deliberate care in helping #1 select her first day of school outfit and disco-ball monstrosity Hannah Montana backpack. No pressure!
So fast forward a week, and my house is playdate central. My house might as well have a revolving door I've had so many girls between the ages of five and seven over. All of this is in an effort to get the girls to know their classmates and, to be honest, for me to get to know them as well. And here's where I admit my guilt to you. There is one little girl I am reluctant to invite over even though #1 talks about her all the time, and I am ashamed.
We met this girl, let's call her Leaf, since she has an equally look-my-kid-has-a-different-cool-name name, at the pool party the class mother was nice enough to host. I had heard Leaf and her family are also new to town so I thought this would be the perfect pal for my daughter. Until we met.
WARNING, I WILL SOUND LIKE A TRULY JUDGMENTAL, HORRIBLE BITCH HERE AND NOT IN THE USUAL FUNNY WAY:
Her mother showed up in tatty jeans and black t-shirt with waaay too much eyeliner for daytime. She said she and Leaf had moved into town to care for her ailing grandmother, not mentioning her husband or partner and not wearing a wedding ring, and proceeded to tell me she was four months pregnant*. Leaf, who was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a non-descript t-shirt upon arrival, had decided to go in the pool and was now wearing her string bikini. At least it was distracting from her large, hoop earrings. Oh boy.
Now here is my dilemma, dear readers. #1 has been talking about Leaf incessantly, and despite my efforts at making other playdates, she keeps asking to have this kid over. And while my first misgivings have not been assuaged since Leaf showed up on the first day of school wearing artfully ripped jeans and a halter top, and it was confirmed the mom's name is only one the class list*, I know I will be having this kid over to play. First of all, it will shut #1 up if I do. Second, it will allow me to sleep at night if I do need to nip this friendship in the bud if she gives me some hard evidence, like being a spoiled brat. But what if that's not the case? What if she's perfectly lovely, but her mother still allows her to dress like a Bratz doll? Am I bad mother if I discourage the friendship or am I good mother for doing so?
We tell our children not to judge people based on appearances, but let's be honest, we do it evey day. We all use visual clues to help guide us toward people with similar interests and lifestyles. The mom with the tattoo sleeve and dreadlocks and I maybe don't have that much in common. So when our children look past all that to see the person inside, but we, as parents, know somewhere down the line, that kid's appearance is going to become an issue, what is the answer? How can I tell #1 while she's seven, "No you can't be friends with Leaf because in eighth grade she'll be dragging you with her to get her birth control pills at Planned Parenthood**." And is it even fair for this kid to suffer for her mother's lack of foresight (And I really think that's what it is sometimes. I think some parents think it's cute to see their kid in a string bikini at seven, but what's left for them to upgrade to when they're eighteen)?
I don't know, dear readers. I don't have the answers, but I do know I feel shitty and confused about this. I guess I will have this kid over and see what happens. I will need to play this one by ear. This is the stuff they don't warn you about.
*I am not saying it is wrong to not be married when you have kids, but this whole situation seems shady and weird, especially since I called their number on the class list and it wasn't in service.
** At least I'm giving her credit in the future for being smart about birth control!
While this summer has been challenging, building relationships in a town we will most likely inhabit for the next twenty years, and wanting to avoid, as long as possible, becoming known as The Crazy Redhead, the beginning of the school year presented added stickiness. I'm worried about moms I'll run into every now and then in the day to day activities of parenting,but the majority of the children my kids would meet will be their classmates for the rest of their pre-college lives. Sure, I joked about picking out the right outfit and washing my bangs, but I took great and deliberate care in helping #1 select her first day of school outfit and disco-ball monstrosity Hannah Montana backpack. No pressure!
So fast forward a week, and my house is playdate central. My house might as well have a revolving door I've had so many girls between the ages of five and seven over. All of this is in an effort to get the girls to know their classmates and, to be honest, for me to get to know them as well. And here's where I admit my guilt to you. There is one little girl I am reluctant to invite over even though #1 talks about her all the time, and I am ashamed.
We met this girl, let's call her Leaf, since she has an equally look-my-kid-has-a-different-cool-name name, at the pool party the class mother was nice enough to host. I had heard Leaf and her family are also new to town so I thought this would be the perfect pal for my daughter. Until we met.
WARNING, I WILL SOUND LIKE A TRULY JUDGMENTAL, HORRIBLE BITCH HERE AND NOT IN THE USUAL FUNNY WAY:
Her mother showed up in tatty jeans and black t-shirt with waaay too much eyeliner for daytime. She said she and Leaf had moved into town to care for her ailing grandmother, not mentioning her husband or partner and not wearing a wedding ring, and proceeded to tell me she was four months pregnant*. Leaf, who was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a non-descript t-shirt upon arrival, had decided to go in the pool and was now wearing her string bikini. At least it was distracting from her large, hoop earrings. Oh boy.
Now here is my dilemma, dear readers. #1 has been talking about Leaf incessantly, and despite my efforts at making other playdates, she keeps asking to have this kid over. And while my first misgivings have not been assuaged since Leaf showed up on the first day of school wearing artfully ripped jeans and a halter top, and it was confirmed the mom's name is only one the class list*, I know I will be having this kid over to play. First of all, it will shut #1 up if I do. Second, it will allow me to sleep at night if I do need to nip this friendship in the bud if she gives me some hard evidence, like being a spoiled brat. But what if that's not the case? What if she's perfectly lovely, but her mother still allows her to dress like a Bratz doll? Am I bad mother if I discourage the friendship or am I good mother for doing so?
We tell our children not to judge people based on appearances, but let's be honest, we do it evey day. We all use visual clues to help guide us toward people with similar interests and lifestyles. The mom with the tattoo sleeve and dreadlocks and I maybe don't have that much in common. So when our children look past all that to see the person inside, but we, as parents, know somewhere down the line, that kid's appearance is going to become an issue, what is the answer? How can I tell #1 while she's seven, "No you can't be friends with Leaf because in eighth grade she'll be dragging you with her to get her birth control pills at Planned Parenthood**." And is it even fair for this kid to suffer for her mother's lack of foresight (And I really think that's what it is sometimes. I think some parents think it's cute to see their kid in a string bikini at seven, but what's left for them to upgrade to when they're eighteen)?
I don't know, dear readers. I don't have the answers, but I do know I feel shitty and confused about this. I guess I will have this kid over and see what happens. I will need to play this one by ear. This is the stuff they don't warn you about.
*I am not saying it is wrong to not be married when you have kids, but this whole situation seems shady and weird, especially since I called their number on the class list and it wasn't in service.
** At least I'm giving her credit in the future for being smart about birth control!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Central City Dump, the home edition
I know, since the spring, and the successful dunking of all my children, I have written very little about my return to church. Part of this has been due to our abysmal attendance since the summer started. My belief that our absence had gone without notice was shattered while trying to skulk out the door without shaking Padre's hand a few weeks back. He stopped mid-conversation, excused himself, and came over to say hello since he hadn't seen us in so long. I guess the deafening silence left in the absence of Little Man's babbling monologue called All Things Wheeled ("Truck! Car! Train!") is a dead giveaway. But with the new school year starting, and thus the start of CCD*, I have once again been thrown, headfirst, back into my faith, this time without a life preserver.
Since the move, I came to realize there was no way humanly possible that I would be able to get #1 to CCD on time, having to drive through four towns in the fifteen minutes between school dismissal and the start of class, without killing myself, or someone, in the process. So, no matter how grateful I am to this particular parish for making the whole return process easy and guilt free (a miracle itself when Catholics are involved), we had to change parishes. This might not seem like a big deal except I had this whole scenario worked out for #1, who was a year behind, to be in a first grade CCD class, since I was told she had to be in formal class for two years before receiving communion. I really didn't want to have the whole "I'm a bad Catholic" discussion again with a new priest.
I bite the bullet though, make the necessary calls and during my meeting with the director am told, "If you had been doing the first grade book at home, your daughter could have started with her classmates in the fall." Fuuuuck! I had wasted the whole summer since I had been told specifically this was not the case. Sensing my frustration by the huge vein popping out of my head as I explain this, she offers a solution. "If you really want to work at this, and can finish the book by October, we can put her in the 2nd grade class." Splash! That's the sound of my being thrown into the deep end of Catholicism.
Thus began my career as a Catechist (the official name for CCD teachers), but I think Masochist is a more appropriate title.
I really thought #1 would balk at the challenge I put before her, but God knows no better motivation for a seven year old than getting to dress like a child-bride (a post about the creepiness factor of this to come), and she said yes. If she hadn't, there was no way I forcing this upon her, since the kids have only recently become accustomed to the fact that church is something we do on Sunday mornings when they'd rather be watching a Kai Lan marathon**, and I didn't think forcing her to do homework all summer would improve her opinion of the place. But she was willing and although I was really not able, we began.
Let's all take a second here to appreciate the irony that I, a woman who had so completely given up Catholicism that she would not receive communion, even just for show at weddings and funerals, would now be spending hours a week teaching religion to her kid. I thought God would smite me on the spot. Every day we would sit for half an hour and do a chapter of the twenty-five set before us, and, at first, it wasn't too bad. The first couple of chapters start out with the basics, introducing the heavy hitters - sign of the cross, God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit (Which was a total bitch to explain to a seven year old. All together class, can we say abstract?) - but then things take a turn for the worse and I remember all the reasons I hated CCD.
First of all, the activities in the book are written for a wide range of ability levels. If Johnny can't read well, there are easy activities he can complete like "Trace the letters below to find the name of the first sacrament". And Baptism is so clearly written Mr. Magoo could read it. #1 looks at me and says, "But I can read it." No duh. I totally get why they have to do this, so don't line up to protest outside of my house. It doesn't make it any less boring for the other kids though.
And then, once you think oyu can check your brain at the door, among these same short-bus-riding-kid pages are gems like this one:
"In the footprints below, write or draw how you can live as follower of Jesus."
Seriously? When an adult needs to take a few minutes to figure it out, what the hell is a seven year old going to do with this question? I remember, so clearly, sitting at the desk during my dreaded Wednesday CCD class, pondering whether leaving questions like this blank would get me in trouble. At this point I just start feeding #1 answers since I find this whole exercise to be ridiculous, telling her, "Enjoy it now, because you're going to have to do this yourself in the fall."
Content-wise, we progressed to the really good parts about the bread and wine actually being the body and blood of Jesus. I have never felt more like David Koresh then when reading aloud the words "We receive the Body and Blood of Christ in Holy Communion." How is that not terrifying for a child? And, again, bad, bad Catechist that I am, I had to modify. I stopped and said, "OK, listen. You know we're not really eating a person, right? We just pretend it is..." at which point #1 cuts me off and finishes, "be cause Jesus was so important." Thanks for backing me up, girlfriend. I did have the foresight to tell her not to share this knowledge with her classmates, but just go with the flow in CCD. Watch, I'll have my kid labeled the class heretic.
Maybe I'm wrong in doing this, and it does make me a bad Catholic, but I didn't return to the church for all this stuff. I returned so my kids can learn about God, who I do believe in, despite the number of times I take his son's name in vain a day, and so that we can have an outlet to show gratitude for all the blessings in our lives. It's all this Jesus-died-for-you stuff that makes me cringe. I always said I'd moderate the teachings of the church with some of my own, I just never knew I'd be the teacher whose lessons I was modifying. And if the argument is this is information they need to know in order to receive First Communion, then why can't we do it in sixth grade or something? While I am still happy, overall, with our decision to become church-goers, my resolve is being tested when I have to explain original sin to my perfectly-innocent-from-the-moment-she-was-born daughter.
Hypocrite that I am, I will trudge on, helping her to finish the book by October 1st. And while I am giving myself migraines with all the eye-rolling I have had to refrain from, I will try to see the good in what I am doing. The end of each chapter has a space to write "How I will live my faith" and #1 always writes "Help my mom around the house." For that alone, all of this would be worth it.
*Which does not stand for Central City Dump as we all called it, it is actually the more terrifying sounding Confraternity of Christian Doctrine. Brings to mind images of Kool-Aid and sneakers, no?
**If you do not know this Chinese newcomer to Nickelodeon, turn it on and see how badly you suck at repeating Chinese phrases and how naturally awesome your kids are at it.
Since the move, I came to realize there was no way humanly possible that I would be able to get #1 to CCD on time, having to drive through four towns in the fifteen minutes between school dismissal and the start of class, without killing myself, or someone, in the process. So, no matter how grateful I am to this particular parish for making the whole return process easy and guilt free (a miracle itself when Catholics are involved), we had to change parishes. This might not seem like a big deal except I had this whole scenario worked out for #1, who was a year behind, to be in a first grade CCD class, since I was told she had to be in formal class for two years before receiving communion. I really didn't want to have the whole "I'm a bad Catholic" discussion again with a new priest.
I bite the bullet though, make the necessary calls and during my meeting with the director am told, "If you had been doing the first grade book at home, your daughter could have started with her classmates in the fall." Fuuuuck! I had wasted the whole summer since I had been told specifically this was not the case. Sensing my frustration by the huge vein popping out of my head as I explain this, she offers a solution. "If you really want to work at this, and can finish the book by October, we can put her in the 2nd grade class." Splash! That's the sound of my being thrown into the deep end of Catholicism.
Thus began my career as a Catechist (the official name for CCD teachers), but I think Masochist is a more appropriate title.
I really thought #1 would balk at the challenge I put before her, but God knows no better motivation for a seven year old than getting to dress like a child-bride (a post about the creepiness factor of this to come), and she said yes. If she hadn't, there was no way I forcing this upon her, since the kids have only recently become accustomed to the fact that church is something we do on Sunday mornings when they'd rather be watching a Kai Lan marathon**, and I didn't think forcing her to do homework all summer would improve her opinion of the place. But she was willing and although I was really not able, we began.
Let's all take a second here to appreciate the irony that I, a woman who had so completely given up Catholicism that she would not receive communion, even just for show at weddings and funerals, would now be spending hours a week teaching religion to her kid. I thought God would smite me on the spot. Every day we would sit for half an hour and do a chapter of the twenty-five set before us, and, at first, it wasn't too bad. The first couple of chapters start out with the basics, introducing the heavy hitters - sign of the cross, God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit (Which was a total bitch to explain to a seven year old. All together class, can we say abstract?) - but then things take a turn for the worse and I remember all the reasons I hated CCD.
First of all, the activities in the book are written for a wide range of ability levels. If Johnny can't read well, there are easy activities he can complete like "Trace the letters below to find the name of the first sacrament". And Baptism is so clearly written Mr. Magoo could read it. #1 looks at me and says, "But I can read it." No duh. I totally get why they have to do this, so don't line up to protest outside of my house. It doesn't make it any less boring for the other kids though.
And then, once you think oyu can check your brain at the door, among these same short-bus-riding-kid pages are gems like this one:
"In the footprints below, write or draw how you can live as follower of Jesus."
Seriously? When an adult needs to take a few minutes to figure it out, what the hell is a seven year old going to do with this question? I remember, so clearly, sitting at the desk during my dreaded Wednesday CCD class, pondering whether leaving questions like this blank would get me in trouble. At this point I just start feeding #1 answers since I find this whole exercise to be ridiculous, telling her, "Enjoy it now, because you're going to have to do this yourself in the fall."
Content-wise, we progressed to the really good parts about the bread and wine actually being the body and blood of Jesus. I have never felt more like David Koresh then when reading aloud the words "We receive the Body and Blood of Christ in Holy Communion." How is that not terrifying for a child? And, again, bad, bad Catechist that I am, I had to modify. I stopped and said, "OK, listen. You know we're not really eating a person, right? We just pretend it is..." at which point #1 cuts me off and finishes, "be cause Jesus was so important." Thanks for backing me up, girlfriend. I did have the foresight to tell her not to share this knowledge with her classmates, but just go with the flow in CCD. Watch, I'll have my kid labeled the class heretic.
Maybe I'm wrong in doing this, and it does make me a bad Catholic, but I didn't return to the church for all this stuff. I returned so my kids can learn about God, who I do believe in, despite the number of times I take his son's name in vain a day, and so that we can have an outlet to show gratitude for all the blessings in our lives. It's all this Jesus-died-for-you stuff that makes me cringe. I always said I'd moderate the teachings of the church with some of my own, I just never knew I'd be the teacher whose lessons I was modifying. And if the argument is this is information they need to know in order to receive First Communion, then why can't we do it in sixth grade or something? While I am still happy, overall, with our decision to become church-goers, my resolve is being tested when I have to explain original sin to my perfectly-innocent-from-the-moment-she-was-born daughter.
Hypocrite that I am, I will trudge on, helping her to finish the book by October 1st. And while I am giving myself migraines with all the eye-rolling I have had to refrain from, I will try to see the good in what I am doing. The end of each chapter has a space to write "How I will live my faith" and #1 always writes "Help my mom around the house." For that alone, all of this would be worth it.
*Which does not stand for Central City Dump as we all called it, it is actually the more terrifying sounding Confraternity of Christian Doctrine. Brings to mind images of Kool-Aid and sneakers, no?
**If you do not know this Chinese newcomer to Nickelodeon, turn it on and see how badly you suck at repeating Chinese phrases and how naturally awesome your kids are at it.
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