Tag Archives: single motherhood

The Menudo Rule

bmen.jpgOnce cast members’ voices start changing, it’s time to give them the boot, Barney.

Seriously. You’re creepin’ me out.

See how the red-haired boy’s unable to squeeze his legs under the playroom toddler table?

I don’t care how convincing his mother may be … he’s outgrown the part. It’s simply too disturbing — this prancing, this singing, this playing of pat-a-cake. All the while telling me how much he loves me.

I’m afraid we’re going to have to block you, my friend.

You make me feel so … dirty.

Gentle Reader: If you weren’t around in the 70s, and have no idea who Menudo was, this will clear things up.

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Filed under Piece of Pop Culture

The Joys of Turning Four

cake.jpgI must be a crazy person.

Eleven kids at a birthday party. Holy Crack Smoker. How did I NOT know the only possible outcome could be a complete and total meltdown?

The whole thing was … uh … a little overwhelming.

Oh yeah, for MP too.

Two hours seemed an E-TER-NI-TY. She covered her ears and cried when the kids screamed during pizza. She emerged from the play structure tunnels in tears when, in all the excitement, she bonked her head. And then her leg. The whining started up again during cake, escalating to a panic attack when more screaming kids clamored around to watch her open gifts.

And I’m a schmuck because I was embarrased.

I was embarrased that she wasn’t happy and excited and thanking each and every child with the sincere graditude she’s always shown at previous birthdays. I’ll be honest. It’s bothered me that this year, the WAY she opened gifts — even at yesterday’s family celebration — was so different than years before. She’s always taken time with each present, thoughtfully considered each one, and showered gift-givers with hugs and kisses.

This year, she acted … like a four-year-old. Tearing into her gifts, she would scan each one briefly before putting it aside and going for the next. No heartfelt thank-yous. Not even a tiny smile. I miss the charming three-year-old dog-and-pony show. I’m embarrased that I was embarrased.

By the time we left, she was so emotionally spent, the ride home was one agonizing, non-stop, hysterical fit. Emotionally drained myself, I was able to hold the nice-nice face until we got into the car. After 10 minutes I lost it. Really lost it. I yelled at her on her birthday.

Because she was over-stimulated.

I am such an a-hole.

Not too many of those happy pictures today …

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Filed under Party Piece

Four Years and Cause For Celebration

A big happy 4th birthday to my MP!

As this traditionally loooong and exhausting day comes to a close, my thoughts naturally reach back to prior birthday celebrations, and I find myself reflecting on how drastically things have changed in such a short time.

The first birthday. Arguably the most memorable. In our tiny, turn-of-the-century kitchen measuring less than 100 square feet, the family (my dad, brother, sister-in-law and best friend) and a few neighbors crowded around MP and watched as she tasted her first piece of cake. We waited with baited breath for the reaction.

As was expected, most of it wound up everywhere but her mouth. A bonafied hit!

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For a little while, at least.

The Demon Baby meltdown pic below is one of my absolute all-time faves. That’s my dad egging her on.

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I remember spending a lot of time at the sink in those days. Dishwasher-less, *sob* I was sterilizing bottles by hand. Thinking back to the early days, I’m pretty darn proud of the two of us for figuring it all out on our own. In spite of any obstacles we faced, the memories are sweet.

Her second birthday found us here in our current house, in my hometown two states away. I spent the day at work, while she went to daycare. This was a hard day. I packed a special birthday muffin, sent along a few candles with instructions, left my camera and entrusted the center’s providers to record my baby’s second birthday. I kissed her good-bye and wished her a wonderful day.

The photos I got back broke my heart.

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I didn’t need the runny nose or the sweaty hair or the tears welling in her eyes to tell me she was, in fact, NOT having a wonderful day. I felt like I had failed her. Knowing this moment would be swept from her memory in a matter of days didn’t do anything to ease my guilt or the gut-wrenching sadness I felt for having missed my baby’s second birthday.

Until she was 18 months old, I was fortunate enough to work for a progressive boss (a mother herself) who allowed me to work from home most days. And when I had to be in the office, MP would come along. She was a sling baby and I carried her everywhere. After outgrowing the sling, she graduated to riding on the mail cart. She was my constant companion.

Which wasn’t always easy (to say the least), but after being spoiled for so long, having to put her in daycare made me miss even the difficult moments. And then a few months later, the second birthday trauma just added to the whole guilt-ridden mess.

By the time her third birthday arrived, we had the daycare thing down. ‘Daycare’ was now officially ‘preschool.’ Once again, I spent the day at work, but this time coordinated a special hour with her teachers. I joined the party on my lunch hour to help supervise. The kids wore party hats and frosted their own sugar cookies. MP was so proud. And everything was okay.

mpbday4x.jpgIn many ways, this birthday was markedly different than those that came before. Today, her true day, was a low-key celebration with Grammy and Poppy, topped off with a late night birthday Twinkie. Tomorrow comes the chaos. It’ll be another first – my virgin attempt at a full-blown party, complete with 11 kids, party bags, cake, balloons, pizza, punch and a HYUGE play structure at a rented facility. Wish me luck.

And to my sweet MP – thank you for choosing me to be your mommy. I wouldn’t trade one second of those 53 hours you took to get here. Honestly. I love you Baby.

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Filed under A Little Piece of My Heart

A New Level of Sophistication

Tonight, MP’s sense of humor reached a new level of sophistication, which in all honesty, blows me away. This is totally going to sound like I made it up, but I swear it’s ALL true.

About an hour ago, I left her in the tub for a few minutes to quickly wash my face in the second bathroom. I had just dried off with the towel when I heard Naked Girl padding down the hall. (Nothing new – this happens about three times a week – she thinks it’s a RIOT …) She appeared, dripping wet and shivering.

“Mommy, I’m scaaared.”

“Why are you scared?”

“Because I heard a noiiise …”

“What did it sound like?”

“Uh, it sounded … like …”

She bent over.

Stuck her tush out.

And with a gleam in her eye …

LET IT RIP.

A high-pitched, squeaky (or should I say cheeky) little number.

Indeed.

The thing is, it sounded like a spooky, creaky door, which made it THAT much more hi-larious. I suppose the timing could have been purely coincidental, but of course, I prefer to believe I birthed a comedic prodigy. (Who wouldn’t?!?) Either way, the two of us howled with laughter.

That kid cracks me up.

I suppose I should have more clearly explained my definition of “sophisticated humor.”

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Filed under Piecemeal

Bathroom Talk

invitation70.jpgMP’s been sitting on the potty for awhile. I poke my head into the bathroom.

“Mama, I’m getting odor.”

“Wha??”

“I’m getting OH-DUR!”

“Mmm …”

“I’m almost FUR!” (Holding four fingers up.)

Oooohhhh.

“Yes, you ARE getting older.”

“I can’t wait for my party!” (Arm pump, arm pump)

Ten minutes elapse. MP bellows from the bathroom.

“Maaaamaa!”

“MAH-MAH! Cleared for takeoff!

“What?”

“KUH-LEARD for takeoff!!”

Apparently, new code for ‘Come wipe my butt.’

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I Swear I’m Gonna Start A Movement

bridgetjones2.jpgI’m outing myself … and simultaneously adding another reason I love being a single mom to the list.

Granny Panties.

HYUGE Bridget Jones “Hello Mummy” Undies.

Yeah Baby.

Big. Plain. White. Cotton. Underwear. Unapologetically unsexy. Something I wouldn’t have been caught DEAD in when there was a man in the picture. Actually, something I wouldn’t have been caught dead in, period … up until last month, when, purely by accident, I was introduced to the big girl panties goodness that is Hanes.

What I purchased was marketed as ‘boy shorts.’ After getting them home, washed and out of the dryer, it was obvious ‘Granny Panties’ was probably more accurate. I was bummed. I tried them on. I was addicted.

Now, I am dangerous in my ginormous Granny Pants.

In my GPs, I am a rebel. This new rejection of the beautiful and lacy but itchy and maddeningly uncomfortable g-strings of my past – and declaration of love for the plain and simple brings sweet satisfaction. The only one I have to please … is me.

Oh, how I love you, my Granny Pants.

Assimilating easily into my nighttime routine, the GPs are icing on the cake. I can have my hot shower, my wet hair, my face mask. (As in moisturizing. Not hockey. ‘Cause that would be weird. And creepy.) I can have my cold clean sheets and I can pull on my big ‘0l Granny Panties and savor an entire bed to myself.

I submit that Granny Panties are the new sexy. (Okay, it was worth a shot.)

I dare you to try ’em.

Viva La Granny Panties!

Vote for my post I Swear I'm Gonna Start A Movement on Mom Blog Network

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Filed under At Piece with Yourself

Monday Morning Confessional

This box of 53 was supposed to go to MP’s class for shared snack this week.

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I know.

Mama’s gotta find a man. Or something.

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Filed under Confessional