Category Archives: Parenting

Whimsical tales and tips that can make you laugh or give you ideas to use in your own home.

Jan28

Parenthood is?

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Entering parenthood has definitely been an eye-opener for me, and for my loving husband. It is so close to those commercials you see where the boy and girl meet, fall in love and then you are thrown into the snip-its of their life together. It usually culminates in mother and father bouncing teary-eyed, snot-nosed children on their knees while looking on bleary-eyed and exhausted.

I sit on my couch laughing at the couple I see on television, only because I have been in that same position countless times. Bleary-eyed and living off strong coffee, it pretty much sums up the first several years of being a parent. Your brain doesn’t function properly and you find yourself putting the milk jug up in the cabinet instead of the fridge. I NEVER thought I would be one of “those” people. Oh how life can throw irony right into your face, dirt and all.

I have laughed, cried and yelled with other moms about the instances in my life as a mother that have literally made me want to pull my hair out or go run in traffic during rush hour. The other night, I caught myself saying something, and it made me think…what are the signs that scream “parenthood?”

After thinking on it the rest of the evening, I came up with a list that I felt fit the bill for my being a parent raising two fun-loving, crazy, wild and spontaneous children.

Here we go:

1.  You know you’re a parent when a trip to Target or the grocery store alone feels like a tropical vacation. Who ever knew I would take shopping at the grocery store for granted? I used to breeze through the aisles, hearing the kids screaming in their carts and silently thanking God it wasn’t my cart. The first time I snuck off to Target after having my daughter I was so distracted while ogling over the different paper towels I could buy that I failed to see the support post in the middle of the aisle. And I ran the cart full-force into that pole, oblivious to the pain I was about to experience as the handlebar of my bright red shopping cart violently pressed against my ever-expanding, milk-producing remnants of breasts. Remember, this was the first trip I had taken out of the house alone after having a newborn. Because of my blatant obtuseness, I had to stop in the aisle to catch my breath and pray I hadn’t sprayed breast milk all over the floor. Yes, shopping alone and wondering the aisles of my favorite store is definitely a quick trip to paradise, perhaps dairy-free next time?

2.  You know you’re a parent when your supportive, loving spouse opens the freezer to pull out yet another frozen casserole for dinner, only to find your freezer contains more breast milk bags than food. When our first child was born, I knew beforehand I was going to give nursing a shot. Whether it worked or not, who knew, but I had to try. Nursing the first time wasn’t as successful as when I nursed my second child. Maybe my body decided it was go-time or wanted to prove me wrong. But for some reason, my second delivery showed I was able to “reserve” and “store” extra bags of breast milk in our freezer. The best part was when you asked the friends who didn’t have kids yet to get something out of the freezer for you and then watch their eyeballs pop out of their heads. It’s a cheap laugh to have, but hey, parents will take them where they can get them. Let’s not tell them about the whole “pump and dump” scenario that goes along with having a night out and drinking some wine. That really gets them confused. No judgment, right?

3.  You know you’re a parent when, getting up from a table full of friends, you announce to all present you are “going to use the potty.” Parenthood’s arch nemesis has to be potty training a toddler. I am now in the midst of getting our 3-year-old son potty trained and it has been a haul of poop, pee and a lot of extra laundry. Boys are busy and feel okay with having crap in their pants instead of stopping their trains from delivering goods on the Island of Sodor. Seriously? Oh, it is so gross! And because I am full-force into potty-training mom mode, I found myself the other evening announcing (in a bar, yes, a BAR) to my gal pals in a sweet, child-like voice that I was “going to use the potty, can I take anyone?” Wow. Time for a martini with that one, extra olive, please.

4.  Speaking of potty training, you know you’re a parent when using the bathroom or taking a shower without an audience is a rarity. This happens EVERY DAY, my friends. The only time I can have five minutes of privacy in the bathroom is when my kids are out of the house. I swear they are born with special radars that alert them when you disappear from the room and close the bathroom or shower door. Before I can get my water to the perfect temperature I have my son or daughter swinging open the door and asking me what I am doing. I just give them the “what-does-it-look-like-I-am-doing” look, and yet, they still stand there letting all the hot steam out and waiting for a response. Being a parent means I have truly lost my sense of modesty without having a say in the matter. My kids took care of that for me, they just barge on in and start asking questions. I need better locks on my doors…maybe retinal scans would work?

5.  You know you’re a parent when the kids are FINALLY in bed asleep and you collapse onto the couch, hoping to catch a recorded episode of Homeland or Downton Abbey before your body wins out with sleep. Feet propped on a pillow, blanket gently laid on you, and remote in hand, you go in for the kill. But the screen shows none of your programs.

“Wait, I know I set the timer on Scandal. Why didn’t tonight’s episode record?” you ask in a panic-stricken voice. “Oh my gosh! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

And then you hear it, the first couple of notes of “Thomas the Train” and it hits you. Your show was NOT recorded because a previous recording had been set and no one noticed when the TV asked you to cancel or switch your shows. My friends, when you become a parent, your DVR will always contain more episodes of Doc McStuffins, Mickey Mouse, Thomas the Train or Caillou than you care to admit to (and why does Caillou still lack hair at the age of 4?). Parenthood means your television no longer belongs to you when the “miniatures” are in the house.

6.  You know you’re a parent when you purchase items at the store simply because it contains a “Box Top for Education” label. Ah, the old “box top.” I used to pride myself on my shoe collection. Yes, shoes have always been an addiction of mine. But who needs designer heels and boots when you have Box Tops? I have seen these things plastered on various items in my home, ranging from Kleenex boxes to protein bars. But I never realized their demand until our daughter started grade school. So now, I am full-blown into box-top hunting. Forget the bow-and-arrow or 22-gage shotgun. All you need is a keen eye and a sharp pair of scissors to complete the mission. Do I need 20 boxes of zip locks or animal crackers? Well, yes I do if it has a box top attached! Once removed and nicely tucked away in one of those zip-lock bags I will have for the next 10 years, my child will think I am the hero because we collected more box tops than Little Susie or Billy Bob in the classroom. Oh, and before I forget, send me your box tops!

7.  You know you’re a parent when you eliminate the color white from your wardrobe. White, cream, pale pinks, pale blues and anything else that can be washed on “delicate” are usually weeded out after the first year of birth. I myself found this out one lovely day when our daughter, who was only 6 months old at the time, decide to vomit her entire lunch of sweet potatoes and green beans on my newly purchased white halter top (it was July). Needless to say, that garment ended up in the trash can after about 10 bleaches. Instead of these rather lovely pastel and clean palette colors, parenthood has you choosing more food and snot-resistant clothing like black, dark blue, dark brown, charcoal. Did I say black? Maroon can work to in certain lighting.

8.  You know you’re a parent when you base your lunch or dinner destination on how clean the play-yard is at various fast food restaurants. I love good food way too much to consider fast food a means of sustenance. But since having kids, I have had to get creative, but as clean as possible. That means I have staked out the few places near me that my kids can crawl, play and burn energy without picking up a case of Ebola. Yes, I am the mom that has stashed hand sanitizer in her purse, various places in the car, by the back door and in my children’s backpacks. Hey, every little bit helps, right? I knew I was a parent when I found myself sitting in the room of an indoor play yard while surfing Facebook or playing Candy Crush on my phone. All the while my children are climbing in bare feet (which isn’t allowed), running around and not eating the $5 kid’s meal I purchased for each of them. Oh, why can’t I be sitting in the tasting room of a Napa vineyard??

Those are just a few things that I found to define me as a parent. Parenthood has been full of wonderful moments, first words, huge hugs and lots of laughs. Parenthood has also shared some dark sides, such as yelling matches, time-outs and cancelled babysitters. But it is a role, a task that I have to respect because it shapes me everyday, like a child shapes a container of play-dough. I am far from being perfect as a parent, but I figure if I give it my all then I have to do something right along the way. For you parents out there, I know you have your own “you know you’re a parent when…” and I would love to hear your stories. Please share with me, so we can laugh together at what life has thrown us.

If you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing your DNA reproduce with arms, legs and a brain that contains opinions, I hope you read this and laugh with me, because I am one of those people that have to laugh through life to drudge through all the muck and junk that comes with it.

Despite loosing 401K’s for college funds instead of designer shoes, or becoming obsessive compulsive over the wipes being out after your kid’s massive explosion, parenthood is a truly off-the-cuff experience. Perhaps this is why you find so many self-help books at the library. In the words of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, A.K.A. Will Smith, “sometimes parents just don’t understand.”

I would offer a wine tip, but in my brutal honesty as a parent, you just have to find a wine (or drink of preference) you enjoy to help you unwind from the day of telling little ones “no,” or “stop that,” or “I said no kicking!” I am not going to judge or dictate on the wine or drink of choice. Just take what you need to wind down from one of the tough days at the “office of parenthood.”

Until next time, cheers.

Oct28

The Letter

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I was searching through some old files on my ancient laptop, the one that has been in the closet for several years and I have yet to figure out how to transfer stuff.  I found a treasure!  I wrote a letter to my unborn child when I was pregnant the first time.  I barely remember writing this, given the fact half my brain cells are warped from motherhood.  I just loved reading it, especially now that the letter’s recipient, my soon-to-be 7-year-old daughter, has grown and changed so much since my early days as a first-time parent.  Many battle wounds later, I still read the letter with the same hope and optimism I had 7 years ago.  For you soon-to-be moms, I highly recommend taking time to do this for your own child.  You will treasure it always.  My daughter was born a month later, almost to the day.  She came January 6.

Cheers!

December 5, 2007

To My Unborn Child:

Your arrival date is approaching with lightening speed, and both your father and I are so excited to see your beautiful face. We have no idea if you are a boy or a girl, and it has been fun keeping all your family members guessing for this long. I’m writing this letter because I know that once you arrive, things will be hectic. I will be learning all about you, caring for you, feeding you, and loving you.

I feel you kick and move around inside my belly and I know I will miss the comforting sensation that you are safe and with me at all times. You are our first, and I am thrilled God gave us such a wonderful gift in our lives. Before you even take your first breath, so many people already love you. I worry each day about raising you, praying that I make few mistakes. I wonder what your personality will be like, and whether you will have my eyes or your father’s. What will you become one day when you are all grown up?

Before you come into this world, I promise these things to you. I promise to always love you, and to give you hugs and kisses everyday. I promise to try and help you become your own individual. I promise to support you with whatever task or activity you choose in life, whether it is sports, music, the arts or whatever else tickles your fancy. I promise to teach you about respect, faith and honesty. I promise to hold your hand when you are scared or lay your head on my shoulder when you are sad.

I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and feel those tiny fingers wrapped around my own. You are truly a gift from Heaven, one that we will treasure for the rest of our lives.

I love you beautiful child.

All my heart,

Mom

Jul28

Dog Days of Summer

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I feel like it has been an eternity since I last posted on my blog. Oh how I have missed the chances to write and get my head cleared. Now summer is starting its slow descent into Fall, and I am actually looking forward to getting on a more regular schedule. Two kids under the age of 6 at home has made for some interesting days…and a lot of wine drinking!

As I look back on my summer and try to decide what I want to post about today, I have to say it is my kids. I truly felt the pressure and strain it takes to be a stay-at-home mom. And yet, I also experienced the joy and laughter. Motherhood is such a myriad of emotions and experiences. Each child brings about different circumstances, dramatizations, tribulations and triumphs. The kicker to all this is knowing that what I consider the hardest job in the world doesn’t even come with a pay-check or a 401K!

This post isn’t going to be extremely long only because I can hear my children in the other room trying to dismantle the T.V. remote because I have it on lock-down (the day is beautiful and they need to burn some energy off outside). I just want to wave the white flag out there to let people know that I surrender. I surrender to sticky popsicles on my favorite shirt, plastic golf balls caught inside my car’s exhaust pipe, skinned knees, broken bike chains, leaky swim diapers, fights over bedtime, poop on the carpet (not the dog’s-eek!), sunburns, ice cream mustaches and endless playtime in the pool. I surrender to being a “summer mom” who doesn’t have her you-know-what together, EVER.  Yet, somehow I still get those bedtime prayers in before collapsing in bed…oh wait, I still need a shower…only to get right back up.

For those of you who are moms, whether you are seasoned or just in the beginning stages, you should realize that nothing is ever going to be perfect again. Don’t get me wrong, it is a HARD realization to swallow at times. But it is okay because motherhood is all about bumps, bruises, mistakes and “ah-ha” moments—and that doesn’t even include what the kids go through! (This is the part where you should laugh! *wink*)

Being a GOOD mom is a true sacrifice. Mostly a sacrifice of personal time, but also a sacrifice of a part of who you are…that part before you had kids. Whether it was a bubbling career or whatever your thing was before the miniature ball-and-chain came out of you, motherhood is a sacrifice. Do I think it is worth it? Absolutely. Do I sometimes scream into my pillow while locking myself in the bathroom so “they” can’t find me? Pretty much every day. And yet, when I hear the “I love you mommy,” or “You are the awesomest mom alive,” it makes being this person I have morphed into a little easier to welcome home.

Hang in there moms, summer is winding down…and there is always Vodka to get you through (preferably Grey Goose or Titos)!

Until next time, cheers!

Feb14

Valentine’s Day: Thoughts and Admirations

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Valentine’s Day, a day I have always liked to pull a Scrooge and say “Bah Humbug.”  It has never been one of my favorite holidays.  Maybe because for most of my life I never had a “Valentine.”  Maybe because I see this holiday as something created by a candy company as a way to sell a bunch of nasty-tasting chocolates.  Perhaps the “card” company, you know the one I am talking about, created the holiday to put a little spice in the winter months and sell sappy cards.  But wait, I don’t want to loose you as a reader…just hear me out on this.

I know this is a bit pessimistic, and pessimism is one thing I hate.  But how many of you will find yourself happy, sad or stressed out over this simple holiday in the middle of winter?  I am not saying it is a bad holiday; just that it isn’t one of my favorites.  I am a sentimental person, so I can’t even explain why February 14th has never been a day of anticipation for me.

I remember junior high and high school, seeing all dating couples celebrate this one “day of love” and just thinking to myself, why does “love” have to exist on one day?  Why do we feel the need to really show love to someone we care about on a designated day?  Can’t people feel this way every day of the year? Or show the love more than once?  Then again, maybe I am putting too much thought into the entire scenario.

I also find it ironic that the one holiday I really could care less about is the holiday that marks the death of my beloved father.  This Valentine’s marks two years of not having him here on this earth.  Death is an interesting thing, a total life experience.  It is something that can be hard to really put into words-it can only be felt first-hand.  Kind of like a hard slap in the face by someone you love.

But I still feel the need to celebrate Valentine’s Day because of my husband and my children.  Especially my oldest; she is 6.  She views it as a day where she has a classroom party, eats lots of candy and gets out of school early.  I feel the need to give my children little tokens of my love for them, sign a couple cards and try to find a unique gift for my husband.  I am torn between two strong emotions, love and grief.  I grieve because I still remember ever inkling of learning how my dad passed, all the horrible moments to follow.  Yet, I love celebrating that special bond I share with my loving husband and my children.  Life is like that, though.  Pulling and pushing you in two different directions, making your head spin around like the girl in movie The Exorcist.

We all have parents, some of us are fortunate enough to know our parents, perhaps be extremely close to them.  Wherever you fall in this category, when you loose one of your parents it really takes a toll on you emotionally, even physically.  For two years I have tried to cope with the fact that I can never hug my father, never hear his calming words.  Never see his twinkling blue eyes full of laughter.  It is gone, sealed shut in a grave marked by a plaque and flowers.  And this makes me think about the kind of parent I need, should and want to be for my own children.  It makes me cringe at the mistakes I have made along the road of motherhood.  It makes me feel good when I know I have succeeded at something.

Being an only child, I grew up extremely close to my parents.  I had wonderful relationships with both my mom and my dad.  And I thank God everyday for the wisdom and guidance they both gave me in life.  Holidays will never be the same without my dad, and I know my mom struggles with this.  Dad touched a lot of lives and served the community in his medical practice.  I just hope that I am not the only one who misses him, who feels that void in the heart.

I don’t know how you will celebrate this Valentine’s Day, but I know how I will always celebrate mine.  I will toast my family, give cards to my husband and kids, but I will always have to hold back those tears I want to shed over loosing my dad.    I dedicate this post to his memory.  I dedicate this post to my mother.  I dedicate this post to my family.  I dedicate this post to YOU.  Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.

Jan31

The “Annabelle-ism”

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My daughter, the first-born child in our family, is known to be a little dramatic at times.  Okay, that is a bit of an understatement.  She is EXTREMELY dramatic.  In fact, during one of her “fits” I often find myself saying out loud, “Annabelle would like to thank the Academy….” She doesn’t think it is very funny.  Oops.

When Annabelle first started talking and putting thoughts together, I decided to start a continual document on my computer called “Annabelle-isms.”  I record every single funny, embarrassing, out-spoken thing this child has said in her short six years on this planet.  And I absolutely love going back through them, reminiscing on all the face-squishing moments this little girl has caused me over the years.  But one story in particular I feel the need to share because it still brings tears of laughter to my eyes when I read it.

This story takes place when Annabelle was a little over three years of age.  I did not have Addison, our son, at this point in time.  Just Annabelle-and believe me, she was enough to handle.  The day was pretty typical for the two of us, visiting the gym, running errands and getting groceries before heading home.  Naptime was quickly approaching, but Annabelle and I had made it all the way through the store without a major meltdown (thanks to me opening up a package of Oreos).  Now, I don’t know about your grocery store, but our checkout aisles are junked-up with magazines, candy racks, gum and the occasional cigarette lighter paraphernalia.  I pick an aisle that had as little as possible for little hands to grab.  Annabelle continues to sit in the front of the cart eating Oreos as I begin to load my items on the conveyor belt.  All of a sudden she starts to yell, “Mommy, Mommy!”

Now, for you moms out there, I know when you hear the word “mommy” you let it go in one ear and out the other unless it has that specific “tone.”   The one which lets you know the child is hurt or in trouble.  It is the difference between a whine and an actual call of alarm.  This specific “mommy” Annabelle was saying over and over had the tone of “I want your attention, and I want it now…but my limbs are still intact.”

I glanced up at Annabelle to give her my attention when she started pointing at all the miscellaneous things in our particular aisle.  “No Annabelle,” I began.  “You can’t have the Pez candy dispenser!”  This is where it gets good.  “No Mommy, I don’t want that.  I need my lighter.”

“Your what?”  I ask her, stopping in mid-air with my unloading.  “Your lighter?”

“Yeah, my lighter,” she continues in this innocent voice.  “I need it for my cigarettes.”

Oh. My. Gosh.  The first thing that pops into my head is how does she know lighters and cigarettes go together.  Oh wait, my mother is a smoker.  There you go…insert literary eye roll.

Now, as the words so eloquently come out of her mouth I notice a nice young gentleman behind me waiting to check out.  And I make the mistake of locking eyes with him.  I see scorn and judgment in them.  Sweat starts to form at the base of my neck.  This guy seriously believes my kid knows what she is asking for right now?  Has he ever heard the phrase “kids just say the darnedest things?”

I give him a nervous laugh-you know the one I am talking about, right?  The kind of laugh you used when you had to explain to your parents why the car had a busted light or why the vodka bottle was filled with water.  It was one of those laughs.  He continues to just stare and judge-Mr. Personality.  Meanwhile, my devil-of-a-daughter is still yelling for the cigarettes and lighter!  Oh Lord, help me now!  I see a “coming-to-Jesus” session with my mom over this one.  Can the floor just swallow me up right now?  I wanted to scream at the man behind me, “I don’t smoke, it’s my mom who smokes!  Yes, I give my kid high fructose corn syrup, but not nicotine!”

By this point in time I was basically hurling my grocery items towards the kid who was starting to bag stuff up.  I desperately needed to get the heck out of dodge.  Annabelle’s rants were starting to draw more attention around me.  I looked at Annabelle and said in what I hope was a calm and orator-like voice, “Honey, stop.  You don’t smoke (oh really?) and you don’t have cigarettes (another genius statement, Samantha).”  I continue on as if I’m scolding a teenager caught smoking under the school bleachers.  “No one in our house smokes.  Let’s go.”

I pushed the cart Annabelle was sitting in towards the bagger so he could load our groceries.  Then I planned to pull a Florence Joyner and sprint out of the store.  The entire situation was embarrassing and hysterical, all in the same moment.  A typical Off-Broadway satire that only a mom could truly appreciate.  I am sure anyone who witnessed the entire scene was left scratching his or her head in confusion, wondering what the heck just happened.  Oh, and did that kid really ask for cigarettes and a lighter?

And for the guy behind me in line with the dagger-shooting, disdain-filled eyeballs (who obviously didn’t have kids), I have this to say.  One day you will have a child, girl or boy, and in your mind you will have a vision of how this child will carry his- or herself in public.  And this said child will completely pull that figmental rug from under your feet, wrap it over your head, then proceed to perform a “Dutch Oven” on you (if you don’t know what is, look it up and laugh).

So there you have it, one of my best “Annabelle-isms” to this day.  But I am sure as time rolls on and she learns more vocabulary words, witnesses more inappropriate cable commercials and acquires new “habits” from her school friends, my Word document will just keep getting longer and longer.

Now, if I have to compare my daughter to a wine in this world I would have to choose something with pepper and spice.  What better wine to serve such a purpose than a red Zinfandel?  Don’t confuse this wine with the light pink version on the markets.  Yes, that wine is made from the same Zinfandel grape, but it has been mixed with white varieties and sweetened up a bit.  The wine I am speaking of is robust, not anywhere close to light-bodied or sweet.

I am new to the world of Zinfandels, but when I had some a few months ago at a tasting I fell in love with their spicy undertones.  They completely surprise the palate, hinting at blackberry and currant when you first sip, but then blasting your tongue with a bold spice that could stand up to any meal you serve on the table.

Zinfandels have their biggest presence in California, but you will also find some from southern Italy and even Australia.  I would go to your local liquor store or wine shop and try a few different bottles, compare their likenesses and differences.  You don’t have to break the bank to find some good labels.  If you want to try a trusted name, Rombauer (California) makes a Zinfandel that would cost you around $30.  One label I have had is Quivira (California).  Their Dry Creek Valley Zinfandel will only cost you about $20, and it held up nicely to this particular grape’s heritage.

Until next time, cheers!

Jan21

Toddlers are…

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July 24, 2011

*I wrote this piece two years ago with the intention I would publish it.  Better late than never, right?*

Having a daughter is an interesting experience….one that changes on an hourly basis.  One minute she is sitting in my lap telling me how much she loves me and saying things like “Happy Mother’s Day,” or “Happy Birthday,” to only be talking back and yelling “NO!” at the top of her lungs.  *sigh*  Does it get any easier??  When does this crazy yo-yo attitude even out a bit?

And the kicker to it all?  I have another child coming in October….What?  Oh boy.

You know what my biggest fear is about having another child?  I feel as if I am failing at raising the one I already have, so what business do I have bringing another person into the world?  Okay, maybe not completely failing, but I do feel as if I come up short a lot of times as a mom.  My problem is trying to keep up with what all the “smarties” out there trying to tell me what to do with my child.  Have her learn this, make sure she knows that, yadda, yadda, yadda.  But you hear that stuff enough and you start to believe it.  Like drinking the Kool-Aid.

Well, let’s just hope that God gives me an extra dose of patience for this next child, or maybe for just the one I have now.  I certainly will need it while trying to nurse, change, and play with a new baby while keeping a toddler entertained and feeling loved.

For you moms out there wondering how you are going to make it to the next day, here is my advice.  Take a deep breath and remember Rome was not built in a day (sometimes it helps to have a glass of Italian wine in hand to really believe this statement.)  And for you moms who seem to have this gig under control?  Give me some pointers, and quick!

As for Italian wine?  Well, my favorite reds tend to come from the Piemonte region, which is located just at the base of the Swiss Alps.  Look for wines from Barolo or Barbaresco, or wines made from the Nebbiolo grape.  These wines age very well, over decades, and have a spicy fruitiness that holds them unique to the region.  Don’t be afraid to try one, most wine and liquor store owners can guide you towards a bottle without completely breaking your budget.

Until next time, cheers!