Driving Miss MaggiePie

MP LOVES maps. LOVES. She has a collection from different towns; different states even. She loves to see exactly where we’re going. This cartographic gene clearly comes from her father, who shared the same fascination. I, on the other hand, couldn’t find my hand in front of my face on a clear day.

So, I have to admit, I’m impressed.

Lately, however, I can’t shake the feeling I’m in the car with my dad, who’s famous for his … er … very specific directions. (Which, in case you missed it, is my attempt at subtlety. It just sounds nicer than [holy-hell-zip-it-up-I-know-how-to-drive] Backseat Driver.)

To illustrate my point, here was the view from the driver’s seat today, taken with my camera phone.

Today’s conversation went a little like this:

MP: Now, where is the post office? (Very serious.)

Me: Just up ahead. Better hurry and finish your snack.

MP: I see two taffit lights on da map. (Pointing to the window) There’s one! There’s one!

Me: Yep.

MP: Mommy, you need to turn RIGHT. The map says to go RIGHT.

Me: This is a shortcut.

MP: What’s a shortcut?

Me: It’s the fastest way to get somewhere. It’s quicker.

MP: Hmmm … I don’t see that on da map …

Me: We’re almost there.

MP: Where’s da udder traffit light?

Me: I don’t think there is another traffic light.

MP: It’s on the map.

Me: See, the post office is right there.

(pause)

MP: Why is it called a ‘post’ office?

Me: Uh … Because that’s where people go to post their mail. ‘Post’ means ‘mail.’

MP: Huh?

Me: Means ‘send.’

MP: Can I bring my map into the post office?

Okay, so it’s not as annoying as my dad.

The Mommy Switch

As of a few days ago, instead of emulating her mommy with a little ‘Newman’ (my Seinfeld swear word sub, which, coming out of a preschooler is Comedy Central) MP has decided she wants to say ‘Human’ instead.

I cannnot tell you how it lightens my day (I’m thinking about it right now) to visualize her playing cards, flipping over Old Maid, shaking her fist and muttering, “HUUman!”

It’s actually what prompted me to log on and blog in the middle of my workday. So, to ensure I’m still gainfully employed in the morning, I’ll be brief ….

It’s little things like ‘Human’ that just … get me. For instance, there’s just one night a month I schedule to go out (in case you were wondering, I have zero social life) – it’s a regular business thing (now you REALLY feel sorry for me). A cocktaily networking thing. Which is usually a nice diversion, but I’m wearing a nametag, and it’s still work. Tonight’s that night.

Most times I’m able to turn off the Mommy Switch, and relax for a few hours. Drinks, appetizers, adults I like – I should be in Heaven. But inevitably, after an hour or two, I’ll find myself in a sea of people, listening to someone blah-bu-blah-blah-blah … and the switch is tripped. I think about the little things. And I just want to be home.

Do I hear a ‘Human?’

Can I get a little ‘Human’ here?

Holy Bladder Control Issue

This TOTALLY made my week.

what_celebrities_would_look_like_if_they_moved.ppt

Broccoli in the Bath Water

Broccoli in the bath water
Noodles and hamburger too
Take more than an hour to eat your dinner,
And it will go with you.

You say you’re full
I know you’re not
You’ll be up in an hour, it’s true
Begging and pleading and shedding those tears
all for a cracker or two.

So into the tub
Into the tub
Into the tub with you.
You’ll finish your dinner
And stay in your seat
Sure as the sky is blue.

Don’t worry if your veggies get wet
I promise it won’t hurt you
Honestly, it’s not a big deal
Remember your mouth is wet too.

See, it’s a treat to eat in the tub
Multi-tasking is fun!
As long as it works and you get to bed
Before the rise of the sun.

The Worts Pies in the World

Someone Googled this today and found me.

Whatever works.

The Secret Life of Parents

2008 is a milestone year around here. This is the year my old friends and I all turn 40. Crazy.

Saturday night I went to the first, of what I’m sure will be many, 40th b-day celebrations. This one was at the home of a married couple I’ve known since high school – in fact, they’ve been together since high school. Now, more than two decades and a set of 12-year-old triplets later, they’re still throwing the best parties.

Most faces were familiar; a few were new. Like the older gentleman and his wife who, after a few drinks and a little polite conversation, told me I reminded them of a heroine in a Jane Austin novel.

“How is it,” they wondered aloud, “that a woman as charming and engaging as you hasn’t found anyone yet? We MUST find you a man!”

At any rate, let’s say the night was roughly 98 percent Married with Children. And of course, Le Token Single Mama. Which is okay, because I actually love hanging out with cool couples.

After much wine, cheese, sushi (not for me thank you), and even a few bottles of Dom (uh, not FROM me, thank you), the music got louder, and before I knew it, yours truly was belting out Should I Stay or Should I Go … into a mic. In the livingroom. The Clash never sounded so … dog howlingly bad.

But SO barkin’ fun.

It wasn’t long before things progressed to one of those side-splitting, pee-your-pants, hysterically memorable nights.

If you’ve ever heard of Guitar Hero (and if you haven’t, don’t feel badly – it was new to me too), Rock Band is a step above (check out this recent CNN report) – it’s this amazing video game that incorporates two guitars, a drum set and a mic. Band members all ‘play’ (and sing) along with rock songs, trying not to miss a note. (I had my turn at bass guitar too.) I am so NOT a video game person, but I gotta admit, this puts Scattergories and Pictionary to shame. (Holy Dork.) I snapped a few shots with my camera phone, that sadly, turned out way too crappy to post, which bums me out because I wanted to share the night’s awesome rock star goodness …

So there you have it – the more things change, the more they stay the same. Well, kinda. What do you think your parents were doing all those years ago, while you were at home with a sitter?

Uh, scratch that – mine were probably at some 70s wife swapping key party.

This was much better.

Sleeppicker Strikes Again

6:41 a.m.
Hep me Rhonda.

Another panic stricken bloody morning for MP.

Booger Lady’s BandAid idea lastest all of 20 minutes. If anyone has any advice, I’m all ears. Seriously.

The Worst Mom in the World

I am the worst mom ever.

EHVA.

We’ve gotten into a little weekend routine here at the Pie House that lately, I have to admit, has left me feeling a bit ashamed. MP wakes up around 8 a.m., at which time I get up, hose her off in the tub (not quite gettin’ the whole ‘making it through the night’ potty training thing juuust yet), get her dressed, brush her teeth, set her up with some juice, toast, granola bar, etc., turn on Noggin … and go back to bed.

Horrible. I know. I know!

Now here’s me, [pathetically] trying to justify my actions …

– The tv/family room is literally RIGHT outside my door, which remains open
– It’s healthy for her to learn the fine art of entertaining oneself
– I’m a better mom when I can get a little extra sleep
– I never FULLY fall back asleep, and can usually hear everything

Okay, I take that last one back. Here’s what I woke to a few months ago … an activity I did NOT hear:

Thank you, Jesus, for washable markers.

So this morning, I sleep a bit later than usual, re-awake just before 10, and realize it’s a little too quiet. I figure she’s probably working on another self-adornment project. It’ll wash off. I fade in and out of sleep for a few minutes, trying to drag my butt out of bed. The phone vibrates on my nightstand. Peering over with one eye half-open, I see my mother’s photo on the cell face. I put it down, and wait for the message. Thirty seconds elapses before it arrives. I dial my code, and hear MP’s tiny voice leaving an unintelligible message on my voice mail.

WHA??!?

I bolt out of bed, my brain lagging behind my body, trying to catch up and connect the dots. I speed dial Grammy, and MP answers.

“Hi Mommy! I’m sorry.”

I need to clarify that my mom in fact, lives just a few hundred feet away. We live down a long dirt drive, on a small bit of acreage, with virtually no neighbors. Think Everybody Loves Raymond. With a rural flair.

Which may sound better, but knowing that MP put on coat and boots, unlocked and opened the front door, and trekked across the snow to Grammy’s house without me hearing a thing confirms it …

I AM the worst mom in the world.

Apparently, she had written a letter while I was sleeping, and just wanted to give it to Grammy. I wasn’t mad at her – I was furious at myself. Add embarrassed, ashamed, horrified … Grammy got on the phone and told me they were on their way back.

After a serious five-minute discussion about leaving the house without telling Mommy, she asked if she could go back to play at Grammy’s. Which left me alone to think about MY actions.

Definitely NOT one of my shining motherhood moments.

A little extra sleep on the weekends will just have to wait a few more years. Period.

The Dragon and the Track Mommies

Once again, Friday morning found us screaming to gymnastics, racing against the clock. Why I can never seem to get it together is a mystery.

I watched in the rearview mirror as MP, sitting in her carseat, waived to a homeless man holding a ‘God Bless’ sign (“Mommy! We forgot to give him money!”), blissfully unaware that we were, yes, late again.

Seven minutes later, and we’re running through the gym’s double doors, bursting into a class already in progress.

The Track Mommies turn to look, in unison.

The Track Mommies are everything I am not. The Track Mommies have it together. The Track Mommies are on time. She of the salon tan and designer track suit. Of the mani and the pedi and the blinding diamond ring signifying the perfect marriage to a successful provider. She of the perfectly coiffed hair – pulled tightly into a low pony to give the illusion of ‘sporty’ low maintenance.

The Track Mommies quiet as we quickly shuffle to MP’s cubby. I feel their eyes on our backs – me, freshly showered with wet hair peeking from beneath a ball cap, and MP … oh yes … in a dragon costume. Did I forget to mention this?

After peeling the endless layers atop her unitard, MP gleefully ran to join her group. I walked back to the parents area, and settled into a good vantage point. (Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I actually ENJOY watching my child crabwalk and sommersault …) The Track Mommies, meanwhile, have turned back to their conversations, their cell phones and their lattes.

I can only wonder what truly goes on in the lives of the Track Mommies. I know all too well, looks can be (and in my experience, usually are) deceiving. As I watch MP from my perch – dancing around and looking like she’ll pee her pants any second – I can’t help but be proud of our little party of two. And I silently pledge to let her wear that goofy dragon suit whenever and wherever she wants.

And to never, ever buy her a track suit.

Mama Merit Badges

I’m sorry, this is just too good to be buried in the sidebar. You may have already seen these, but I just came across them a month or so ago, and they crack me up.

Here’s some copy from the Mama Merit Badges site (which I gotta say, I love almost as much as the badges themselves), describing just a few of the different badges available:

Sex
This lusty badge is for the drastic changes in your sexuality since birthing. It covers: first post-partum sex, sex in unusual places and at unusual times, kids walking in on sex, nursing during sex or squirting milk across the room, smiling while kids tell strangers about “mama sugar time” and really just for doing it all. If you have used the upbeat Baby Einstein finale song as your cue to wrap it up, you can iron this badge on your nursing bra or thong to show what a sexy mama you are!

Breastfeeding
This badge is to commemorate the nursing relationship, whether for a week or for years. Have you tandem nursed while pregnant or nursed twins? Breastfeeding is hard work and not as natural as it seems. If you produce milk for another human, you get this badge (and so much more).

Diaper
Everyone has an episode of diapering significance! Have you experienced poop paintings on the wall, poop dripping from the Bjorn in the grocery store, poop in the tub, poop up the back and into your baby’s hair? Have you ever performed gymnastics trying to keep other siblings from getting into poop? Has your baby ever peed into your mouth? Explosive poops, indecent exposure, or cloth diapering; this badge tells your story.

Eating Out
If you have picked up pasta from a filthy floor, created a game with empty creamers, straws and sugar packets, drawn a pretty picture with the two blue crayons that the “too young to have kids” waitress gave you, or got your kids to eat something other than ketchup, you may wear this badge for rising to the occasion.

I LOVE the great business ideas moms are coming up with. Gotta get me some of these – Lord knows I’ve earned ’em!