The Six Degrees of Friendship

This morning I took my little boy for the necessary, but completely unpleasant for all parties involved, task of getting his annual flu shot. My little stud took it like a champ and didn’t shed one tear…won’t his Daddy be proud of what a big boy he’s become! As I sat in the reception room waiting for the nurse to pop her head out of the doorway to the exam rooms and declare that we had indeed been chosen to enter, I got out my Iphone and took a minute to catch up on a little Facebook time. Ok, for those of you who are on Facebook with me, you know I practically live on there and really have no need to “catch up” but just go with it for the sake of this story. I clicked on my “notifications” page and was delighted to see that my dear friend from Colorado had commented on a Halloween photo of my little studmuffin. As I read her comment, I could feel myself getting choked up, as I always do whenever I think about or see anything from this particular friend. No other friend in my life has ever had this effect on me. Most people in my life know that I am a complete and total “non-crier”, unless of course I am really mad or extremely drunk. I started thinking about why this one person always causes me to react in a way that is so out of character for me. I realized that the reason is because she was my first “Mom-friend.” As I thought about this concept, I thought about how much your friendships change and evolve over the course of your life. I determined that there are about six different degrees of friends that I’ve encountered along my journey thus far.

The first group is my childhood friends. These are the friends who knew me before I became the blatantly honest and sometimes a tad bit irrational woman that I am today. They knew me in my innocence. They knew me when my top priorities in life were what Santa Claus was going to bring me for Christmas and whether my Mom was going to take me to the Burger King drive through after ballet class for a double cheeseburger and large fry. These were the kids that I couldn’t wait to play with after school, and I couldn’t wait to go over to their homes on the weekends for all-sorts of adventures and fun. That’s right, FUN. Remember when FUN was all that really mattered? For those of you from my generation or older, do you remember that we used to be able to play outside until it got dark and never worry that some psychopath was going to snatch us right out of our front yard? Yep, those were the good old days. I am fortunate enough to still talk to a couple of my childhood friends, and I’m lucky as hell that they still put up with me.

The second crew of friends that is absolutely impossible for me to forget are my high school friends. Do I really have to say anything else about how important your friends are in high school? I mean, they are totally like the only thing that matters!! I remember that my world 100% revolved around two things: the telephone and passing notes in class. I was in high school before email, before Facebook, before Twitter, before the next God-knows-what IT thing that will be the go-to social networking site for teens to indulge in. Hell, I didn’t even have a cell phone until senior year and the thing looked pretty identical to the one that Zach Morris carried around on Saved By The Bell. I had the time of my life in high school. I loved every minute of it, and there was just nothing I loved more than my friends. When you really think about it, how could life get much better than living under your parents’ roof for free, going to a place every single day where you were surrounded by your closest peeps, then spending all weekend getting into tons of unavoidable mischief? Whether it was stealing wooden statues of Petunia Pig out of someone’s front yard or sledding at midnight at the local elementary school with a case of beer on hand and not for one second worrying that the cops would show up, these were some of the greatest memories I’ve ever had. Though I may never talk to some of them ever again, my “crew” will forever be irreplaceable. And to my co-conspirator on the whole Petunia Pig incident, you are my one-in-a-million friend and I can’t wait till we check into the nursing home together someday. You are definitely a member of Friend Category #6. Read on.

Ok, on to the third degree of friends, COLLEGE BUDDIES! I can sum this category up pretty quick: Beer, football, frat row, Spring Break in Cancun, beer, band parties, a dorm room that looked like something out of an episode of Hoarders on A&E, late-night calzones from Bellaroma Deli, beer, FREE beer at those band parties, skipping class to watch The Price is Right, and let’s see…what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, BEER! My best gal from this category has recently moved into Friendship Degree #6. You know who you are so keep reading for your shout-out from me.

Friend category #4 is a funny one. By this point, most of us are out of college and married, and now we have the pleasure of having “couple friends.” Sometimes I think that finding good “couple friends” who don’t hit the floor and cringe every time their phone rings and they know it is me and my husband and they don’t want to get sucked into another agonizing dinner date filled with our lame jokes is much harder than finding a husband was. Searching for potential “couple friends” is a lot like dating. Typically, I meet the wife first and she and I really hit it off, because quite honestly there are very few women in this world that I don’t hit it off with initially. We then decide that it would be “so fun to get our hubbies together!”, so we set up the first introduction. Telling the hubby about our plans with our “awesome new friends” usually goes something like this: (note: all names are ficticious) “Honey, on Saturday night Sally and Jim asked us over to their house for drinks. If things go well, maybe we can have them over here for dinner next weekend!” After that first meeting of drinks with Sally and Jim, the hubby and I talk about the night the whole way home speculating on how things went. “I think that they really liked us! That Jim is a real cut-up, and Sally is SO sweet even though she is completely anal about using coasters on her Pottery Barn coffee table. Do you think they will call us???” To all the married couples out there, don’t lie! You’ve been through a scenario very similar to this one. In all honesty, my husband and I are extremely lucky. We’ve managed to find some top-of-the-line “couple friends” who seem to tolerate our antics just fine. At least I think they do!

My second to last degree of friendship goes back to the friend who I mentioned at the beginning of this post. My first “Mom- friend.” There is no one else in this world who can ever be my first “Mom-friend” ever again, so I felt that putting her into her own separate group was the right thing to do. When I had my son, my husband and I were living in Colorado just south of Denver. We’d only been there a couple years and we really didn’t know anyone. Essentially, it was just the two of us and our little bundle of joy trying to make it through the first few months as brand new parents. I look back on that time and I can’t believe I’m still married. I’ve never loved someone so much one minute and completely loathed them in the next. In talking to other mommies over the past three years, I’ve found that this is pretty much the norm. And for those of you reading this who don’t have kids yet and think that your guy is the most wonderful man on the planet and you can’t imagine thinking a negative thought about him for a second…YOU JUST WAIT HONEY! Ok, I’m not going to get off on any tangents here, so back to my first “Mom-friend.” My son was born in March, and spring in Colorado is really gorgeous, so I spent most of my mornings out walking with the stroller to try and get my fat butt back into my skinny jeans! I remember the exact morning when I met my first “Mom-friend”, who I will refer to from this point forward as my Savior. I am not a super-duper religious person, but I do believe in God. I believe in talking to God and I believe that if there are things in your life that you can’t handle, giving them to God to take off your hands seems to work every time. This particular morning was a rough one for me. I was just feeling completely over-exhausted and especially lonely. I literally looked up to the beautiful blue sky above me and in my head I asked God to send me a friend. How pathetic is that? I mean, there are people who are truly suffering in this world and here I am, the suburban housewife, asking God to send me a FRIEND! Well, God must have thought my request was perfectly acceptable given my circumstances, and thirty minutes later, my Savior was given to me. I ran into another woman pushing HER stroller in my neighborhood and we stopped to say hello, introduce ourselves and chat. We wound up talking for about 15 minutes or so, and her little angel was only a couple weeks older than mine! To make a long story short, we made plans to meet up and go walking TOGETHER the next morning. That moment forever changed my life and I will never forget it. FINALLY, I had someone in my life who was going through the same challenges as me, having the same feelings of hopelessness as me, and just trying to figure out the new life of being a mom just like I was! Ok, it never fails. The waterworks have begun. Whether she realizes it or not, this girl absolutely SAVED me from complete and total despair and depression. The gift of her friendship is something that I will regard as one of the most precious gifts I was ever given. I miss her and think of her every day.

My last and final association of friends are also “Mom-friends” but they are more than that. These are my “Mom-friends” who are in my life on a daily basis and who are constantly putting up with my crap. These are those friends where NOTHING is off limits and there are just no-holds barred. These are my friends who truly “get it.” These are my friends for life…my “Lifers.” These women do not judge me and I do not judge them. There is just a general understanding that, “SH*# happens,” and sometimes this is quite literal. One of my “Lifers” became a “Lifer” within about a month or so of first meeting her. I remember the first time that I went over to her house for a play date. As I pushed my stroller up to her house, she was sticking her head out the front door and yelling at her dog. The poor little dog was in the front yard rolling around in her own turds. She was completely covered in poop when we arrived at the house. I know that my poor friend was completely mortified in this moment. I absolutely and honestly thought nothing of it, in fact I thought it was pretty humorous! I took my son out of the stroller, entered the house and sent him into the playroom to play with her little girl who was the same age. My friend was pregnant with her second child at this point, and she scooped up the poop-covered dog and put her in the sink in an attempt to clean her up. She realized that she was going to need the dog shampoo to complete this task. The dog shampoo was not under the sink, so she had to go upstairs to get it. I told her not to worry, that I would watch the dog to make sure she didn’t jump out of the sink while she ran up to get the shampoo. As soon as she went up the stairs, that little dog started trying to climb out of the sink. What did I do? I did what any good friend would’ve done. I went over, put my hands on the dog and held her down in the sink. Of course, now I was also covered in poop. May I reiterate that life as a Mom revolves around poop? Anyway, my friend came back downstairs, realized that I had her dog’s poo all over my hands, then realized that I was laughing about it and totally didn’t mind being covered in her dog’s poo. She looked at me and said, “Our friendship just went to a whole new level.” Not too long after that she had that second baby. The first time I went to see him, he threw up all over me. Yep, she’s a “Lifer” alright. We’ll be laughing about that dog poo long after our kids have gotten married. If things go according to plan, we’re hoping to be in-laws someday.

For my college bud who has now moved into the “Lifer” category, I always knew she’d be a “Lifer”, but I knew it even more-so after she had her first child a few weeks ago. Now she’s a mommy too. Now she “gets it!” After reading my early post on “The Evolution of Poop”, she immediately emailed me to tell me how much she loved it, and also to tell me that her newborn had a bout of projectile diarrhea all over her bedroom floor at around 3am the night before. She also mentioned that she and her hubby were too tired to clean it up and just put a diaper on her and went to bed. I couldn’t believe she admitted it. Now THAT’s a friend! Hopefully she will still want to be a “Lifer” now that I’ve told her daughter’s story on the internet.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “Hold onto your “Lifers” Mommies! There aren’t many people out there who will truly put up with your CRAP!”

The Halloween Photo Shoot

Today is my son’s Halloween party at his preschool. I am extremely excited about this for a few reasons. First, this is his first year of preschool, so it’s his first Halloween party, and let’s face it, it’s probably one of the only school Halloween parties he will ever have since in the public school system, kids aren’t allowed to have Halloween parties anymore because of the fear of offending some whack-job who thinks it’s a sin to let little kids have fun and be KIDS for crying out loud. Ok, now that I got that out of my system, let’s go onto reason number two why I am excited. I am completely stoked because I happen to think that my child has about the cutest Halloween costume out there this year, not that I’m biased or anything. He selected it himself from the Pottery Barn Kids website, and he is officially a HAMBURGER!

This morning when I dropped him off at school, one of the other moms asked me if I made this costume myself. Obviously she’s never met me before otherwise she’d know that I don’t have a creative bone in my body when it comes to things like this. I also don’t know how to sew, that is my husband’s job, so no, I didn’t make the costume! When we walked into his classroom, his teacher’s jaw dropped in shock and awe. She got a big smile on her face, came over and hugged my son because apparently none of his teachers believed him when he told them he was going to be a hamburger for Halloween. My poor little boy isn’t even four years old yet and he’s already been labeled a fibber. He looked at his teacher with this expression on his face as if to say, “No sh*# lady! I TOLD you I was going to be a hamburger!” GOD I love that kid!

The final reason that I’m excited about his Halloween party today is because I woke up this morning to a gorgeous New England fall day, and I just KNEW that this was the perfect opportunity to get a classic Halloween photo to show off to my son’s Grams and Grandad who live out of state. Who are we kidding? Grandparents LIVE for this stuff, and these particular grandparents get EXTRA excited about it. I am their only child, and my son is MY only child, so this is their one and only shot at the whole bursting-at-the-seams with pride grandparent thing.

My son’s hair was an absolute MESS this morning. I don’t know why, but this kid gets “bed head” like you wouldn’t believe. In preparation for the big photo-opp, I took him into the bathroom and proceeded to splash some water on my hands in an effort to slick down the strands of blond hair that were sticking STRAIGHT up. I even wet the brush thinking that this would somehow solve my problem. I just couldn’t have the boy looking like ALFALFA for the Halloween photo! I wanted to resolve the hair issue before trying to set up the scene for the photo because I absolutely refuse to be the mom who spit-shines her kid right before taking the picture. I finally got those stubborn hairs to lay flat against his head, I threw the hamburger costume over him and was ready to head out to the front porch to take the picture. The front porch is such a great photo venue. We have stone all around our front door, which looks really pretty, and of course we have the traditional Connecticut fall decorations of mums and pumpkins on the porch. I realized that I had already put on my son’s shoes before we went out to take the picture. I have a pretty strict no-shoe policy in my house, remember, I’m a total germophobe, so I scooped him up under one arm, hamburger and all, grabbed my Uggs in the other hand, stuffed the camera into my back pocket and made it to the rug by the front door without dropping anything or anyone. Success!

Once we got outside, I told my little man where to stand and had the absolute perfect photo set up. I was just about to take the picture, when behind me I heard the kids across the street yelling hello to my son. Before I go any further, in case their mother is reading this…let me just assure her that she is a great friend and I love her kids and they play so well with my son and I am just so happy that we have such nice people living across the street from us. As a mother of five, she will absolutely understand where I am coming from on this one. My son was in the perfect photo taking position on those front steps, and now all of a sudden he was yelling “HELLO!” back to the kids across the street and waving his little hand frantically at them. It dawned on me that the kids were outside because they were waiting for the school bus. This means that I only had a couple of minutes in which to get this photo taken, get him back inside, and get in the car to make it to preschool on time. I told him to stop waving, and to “Look at Mommy and say cheese!” He was trying his best, but he kept sticking his little neck out, shutting his eyes and kind of YELLING cheese. It took me a good eight photos or so to get one that I felt was decent enough to post on Facebook for the grandparents. If this hadn’t been a school morning, I’d still be out there shooting.

I wasn’t 100% thrilled with the photo I got, but I was satisfied, so I opened the front door, took off my son’s sneakers and my Uggs, let him run loose and told him that we had to get ready to leave for school. I then picked up his shoes and mine, started to make my way from the foyer to the mud room, and dropped one of my Uggs bottom-side down right onto my nice, clean hardwood floor. It was at this moment that I heard an unmistakeable sound outside. THE SCHOOL BUS!!!! I picked up the boot, ran to the little corner bench in the mudroom, put my boots BACK on, got my son’s sneakers BACK on, and got both of us into the car and ready to roll. I opened the garage door and started up the car. I put the car in reverse and was just about to back out of the garage when I realized that the door had not completely gone up yet. I must have hit the button on the garage door opener twice, so I stopped the door mid-lift! Good thing I figured this out and was able to open the door all the way or else I’d have a garage door hanging from the top of my jeep…and we wouldn’t have made it to school on time for the big Halloween party. All for a stinkin’ photo! See Mom and Dad? I TOLD you I loved you guys!!

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: I think I’d better start setting up and preparing for the Christmas card photo now. For whatever reason, the cards seem to be stacked against me on getting that Kodak moment.

I Can’t Get No Satisfaction!

“Mommy, I need to go POOP!” This is a very familiar sentence that I hear almost every day of the week. The chain of events following this statement usually progresses in the same manner. My kid announces this to me, and then he starts running for the bathroom holding his bum like a volcano that is about to erupt. I quickly follow him, grab the Disney Cars potty seat and slap it onto the commode, and all the while he is yelling, “MOMMY!!! Hurry UP before I POOP MY PANTS!!!” I am slightly out of breath at this point since I’m in such awesome shape these days, and I grab him and sit him down on the seat. I intend to stand there and wait for the eruption, at which point he sternly says to me, “Mommy, get out of here! Give me some privacy please! SHUT THE DOOR!” If only my loving child would bestow this same courtesy upon me once in a while. Yeah, RIGHT!! The word privacy doesn’t exist in my vocabulary anymore.

I waited outside the door for my little man to finish and asked him every few seconds, “Are you done honey??” I kept hearing, “N-O-TTT Y-E-TTTTT accompanied by groaning and grunting. Ain’t that just like a man? Anyway, I stood in the hallway like a patient Mom, and then I heard an unexpected and very unwelcome phrase come from the other side of the door. “Mommy! My hands smell of POOP!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I entered the half bath and found my son sitting on that potty with his two little hands up, covered in the brown stuff. You see, he is getting way more independent these days and likes to wipe (or try to wipe) his own tush. He usually does okay, but this time something just didn’t go as planned. I told him to keep his hands up and not to touch anything, and to STOP putting his fingers up to his nose to SNIFF!! Oh my GOD! I am lucky I didn’t faint. Visions of Ecoli and other parasitic bacteria danced in my head. I tried to let my horrific thoughts go and got back to the task at hand. I leaned him over a bit, and there was the toilet paper completely stuck to his rear end and caked with poop. I’m still not sure exactly what went wrong in the wiping department, but I successfully cleaned him up and then immediately lifted him off the pot, hands still in the air, placed him on his little green stepstool, then LATHERED him in green Kandoo soap and made that poor little boy scrub his hands like it was his job. After his hands were sparkly shiny and completely free of any sort of brown residue, I gave myself a huge pat on the back for avoiding a potential bacteria crisis.

This latest poop incident made me stop and think about whether I like the fact that my son is potty trained, or if I really miss the days of diapers when at least I knew exactly where the poop would wind up, and it was never on my son’s hands. I made a list of pros and cons in my head and tried to compare the two.

Don’t get me wrong, diapers can be kind of gross, but I really had to give props to the convenience factor. When my son was in diapers, I never had to worry about pulling the car over on the side of the highway so he didn’t completely pee himself and his car seat and we didn’t have to spend the rest of the ride with the car completely smelling like pee. I also never had to worry about him having to poop on an airplane. We fly several times a year, and it never fails…every time the plane takes off and the fasten seat belt sign is still on, that kid has to take a dump.

I remember one incident when we were flying from Washington National Airport to Jacksonville. I am Silver Preferred on USAirways, and me and my little barely 2-year old had been upgraded to First Class that day. We got out on the tarmac, he looked at me…then got up and stood on his two little feet, got into a squatting position, and proceeded to start making those groaning and grunting noises, and said with a reddish purple color on his face, “Mommmmyyyy I’m pooooping!” Don’t worry, he’s little and those First Class seats are big, so the seat belt was around him the whole time. He was in the window seat and I was in the aisle, so I was leaned over towards him trying to block him with my body in the hopes that none of the other First Class patrons would realize the events that were taking place in 3D and 3F. Right around this time, the pilot came on and announced that they were changing the direction of traffic taking off from North to South, so it would be a good 20 minutes before we were airborne. I was screaming inside my head. Everyone knows that you cannot get out of your seat while on a live runway, so my poor little man was going to have to sit in his own poop until that plane got up in the air. The anxiety was really starting to build at this point, because all I could think about was that First Class cabin reeking of my son’s crap. The next thing I knew, I looked over, and little man was fast asleep, diaper full of poop, looking like an angel. A sleeping baby for the whole flight? Free drinks in First Class for me? I did what any good mother would do. I put a blanket over him, gave him a “sniff check”, decided that I didn’t smell a thing, and proceeded to get out my book, order a vodka and take one for the team. Now WHAT on EARTH would I have done if that kid hadn’t had a diaper on and wasn’t allowed to get up and use the airplane lavatory? I shudder at the thought.

Back to the potty-trained kid. Sure, it takes a little effort, but any parent can’t help but feel a huge sense of accomplishment once you get your kid(s) potty trained. It brings about a whole new sense of freedom. Gone are the days of your garage smelling like an overflowing toilet from rotting diapers. Gone are the days of going to change your baby’s poopy diaper only to realize that the poop is halfway up his back. At least now it winds up in the toilet…well, at least on most days it does. A potty-trained kid is generally just much happier, definitely much cleaner, and is starting to turn into an independent child…not a baby anymore! Of course, now that my son is potty-trained, I’ve seen the inside of every single public bathroom in the Hartford area and anywhere we’ve traveled. A lot of them I’ve seen more than once. What is it about a public restroom that is so darn exciting to a kid? And don’t even get me started on the port-a-pottys that I’ve had the pleasure of visiting with him. I could write a whole separate entry about that experience!

I think that when it’s all said and done, the potty-trained kid absolutely wins. The pros really do outweigh the cons on this one. If this is true, then howcome every time that my nice hot meal arrives at the table when we go out to eat and my child looks at me and says, “Mommy, I need to go pee-pee!”, do I dream of the days when I could just look at him and say, “Just go in your pants!”, and then proceed to stuff my face with whatever delicacy is in front of me.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: Let’s face it, women are just NEVER satisfied!

Just Another Typical Morning

WOW! What an amazing morning! I slept in late today and actually laid awake in my bed for a while just thinking about the day and what it would bring. Whatever should I do today? It is kind of gray and chilly out, I thought, so this would be a great day to head to the mall! I haven’t been to Nordstrom’s in a while…I wonder what kind of cute new jeans they have in stock. A movie would be fun too! I have really been wanting to see Amelia with Hillary Swank. I finally pulled myself out from under the covers and made my way downstairs. I made a steaming hot cup of coffee with my Keurig brewer, sat down on the couch and turned on the news for a little morning relaxation before I got going. It was at this moment that I heard that old familiar sound, “MOMMMAY!!! It’s 7′o’clock and I’m UP!!” That’s right ladies, my perfect morning to myself was nothing more than another one of my wildest dreams. Here is how my morning REALLY went.

The little man actually did sleep in a little today. For him, that means sleeping till about 7:30. After about a year and a half of him getting up and being ready and rearin’ to go at 4:30am, this 7:30 business is a welcome change! We came downstairs and I turned on PBS kids for him like I do every morning. I did go and get that hot cup of coffee and then came to sit on the couch with him for a few minutes so I could try to wake up before the circus began for the day. I hadn’t come out of my slumber quite yet, and the next thing I knew, my son was sitting next to me and had dumped a medley of plastic farm animals in my lap. I sat there with my coffee mug, and he looks up at me mid-sip and says, “Mommy, where is the cock-a-doodle-doo chicken?” Again, keep in mind that I’m not fully awake at this point. I put my coffee mug down, look back at my precious three and a half year old and say, “Honey, it is just WAY too early for cock-a-doodle-doo!” The minute I said it I knew that I was in trouble. For the rest of you who have preschoolers, you know that eventually they will repeat everything that you say, no matter how out of line or in poor taste it is. I’m just waiting for the cock-a-doodle-doo comment to come out at the most inopportune moment. With my luck, he will forget to use the entire sentence, will look at one of his preschool teachers and say, “Mommy told me that it is way too early for cock!” Ok, I’m crawling in a hole right now.

All cock-a-doodle-do comments aside, I had to get on with my morning. Today is Tuesday. Tuesdays and Thursdays are preschool days. School starts at 9am, so we have to leave the house at exactly 8:40am to avoid getting stuck behind the school bus. When my child sleeps till 7:30, and I need a good two cups of coffee to fully function, and of course I need to check my emails, Facebook, etc. (I do have priorities!), this means that I wind up with about 20 minutes to throw on some clothes, put on some makeup and fix my hair (I moonlight as a spa/beauty consultant so I can’t drop him off at preschool looking like crap), get him dressed, and then get out the door. Let’s not forget that now I have to factor in that damn car seat as well.

Today was no different than any other preschool morning. By about 8:15, I was doing everything in my power to persuade that kid to come upstairs with me so we could get ready. It is almost like he knows how stressed out I am going to be if we get stuck behind that darn school bus. He knows if this happens, then Mommy winds up with white knuckles from grasping the steering wheel with all of her might so that she doesn’t shout out a bunch of unnecessary expletives at that bus. Maybe he can see the vein bulging on the side of my forehead, who knows? At any rate, you catch my drift, the simple act of getting dressed in my house seems to be a full-on WAR on school days. What is it about getting dressed that makes a little kid want to run and hide? Doesn’t he realize that if we don’t get dressed, then we can’t leave the house?? Oh GOD…the horror of yesterday’s panic is starting to come back. I need to move on. I pulled it together and told my son that I was going up to get dressed without him. This little trick works every time and he winds up following me upstairs whimpering like a lost puppy. YEAH! I win.

Somehow I got the seat belt buckled in only about five minutes time today, a new record!! The drive to school was uneventful. We were about to make the right hand turn onto the street where the school is, and I look and there is a sign that says, “Road Closed to Through Traffic” along with a big yellow excavator that is blocking the entrance to the church that houses the preschool. The vein in my head starts bulging again, the knuckles go white. It is taking everything in me not to completely lose control, open my window, yell at the big yellow excavator man and tell him what he can do with his bucket. Of course, my little one is completely in awe over this excavator and is yelling, “MOMMY!!!! It’s an EXCAVATOR! It’s an EXCAVATOR!” My trash is this kid’s treasure. Thinking that I was going to have to drive around the block and enter the church parking lot from the other side, I hastily made a left hand turn into one of the OTHER church parking lots in an effort to turn around and go the other way. It was at this point that I saw one of the other preschool moms pull onto the street in her mini-van. Yellow excavator man MOVED aside for little Miss Mini-Van, but he can’t move aside for me? HOLD ON A MINUTE…little Miss Mini-Van is going to beat me to the preschool and HER kid will be on time. What if mine isn’t?? I went into a frenzy, did a nice big U-turn and followed that mini-van right down the street. HA! I was in!

I was so pleased with myself for making such great time today that I treated myself to a nice large coffee from McDonald’s for a buck. It’s the little things like this that put a smile on my face. I’m home now, finally enjoying a little ME time…all the while wondering if the excavator is going to be out of the way when I go to pick him up. If I am more than 10 minutes late to pick him up, then they start charging a dollar a minute for every minute you are late. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought that cup of coffee. I may need the buck if big yellow excavator man is still looming around. Uh oh. I can feel the vein starting to bulge.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: Buy a mini-van if you want to get to school on time. My Jeep Liberty didn’t make the cut.

What a Workout!

I realized just how out of shape I was today after trying for a good 10 minutes to strap my son into his new booster-style car seat. I mean, it’s pretty bad when you break a sweat and pull your ab muscles in the process! Seriously, isn’t it supposed to get easier with each car seat you graduate to? Hold on…I need to take a break as I’m still out of breath from trying to wrangle that darn seat belt.

Ok, I think I’m still functioning. As I prepared to go out and run the day’s errands, I was really looking forward to trying out this new booster seat. Actually, you could even say that I was EXCITED about this. For months I had been hoisting my kid into my SUV, the middle seat no doubt, and buckling him into that five point harness. I’m lucky that I never threw my back out chucking a 32 pound kid “up and into” the car! I realized on Saturday morning that he was big enough to move to the booster seat, so the hubby and I got to Babies R Us as fast as we could and bought the “big boy” seats. The milestones are much farther apart these days, so yes, we were congratulating ourselves on this new and improved (or so I THOUGHT) phase.

Back to this morning and my unexpected workout. I placed my son into the car no problem…I was giggling to myself at how easy it was! It was only after he was sitting there like the little man that he is when I realized that getting the seat belt buckled around him was going to be a bit of a challenge. For whatever reason, my naive self thought it would just click right in. Silly me for thinking that a seat belt should actually work properly. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get that sucker to CLICK! The next thing I new, I was LAYING, yes LAYING over my poor son with my feet sticking out of the car, butt in the air, and all the while he’s saying, “Mommy, what are you DOING?” over and over again. It was at this moment that complete and utter panic started to set in. The sweat was beading up on my forehead, and I just couldn’t seem to get two scenarios out of my head:

1. “If I don’t get this child buckled into this damn car seat then I can’t get to TJ Maxx today. If I can’t get to TJ Maxx today, then I can’t buy up each and every single bottle of the discontinued Goldwell shampoo that I absolutely LOVE…and got for only $3.99 the other day. I HAVE to get to TJ Maxx NOW, because I know that there are other hoarders out there and they might beat me to it and steal all of my Goldwell. I mean, it is like the only shampoo and conditioner that doesn’t weigh my hair down but still gives it a little bounce…and let’s face it, I need all the bounce I can get these days. Holy CRAP!!! If I don’t get this thing buckled, then I actually can’t get to TJ Maxx until at least Wednesday, because my husband is in NYC until then.

2. Panic scenario #1 immediately gave birth to panic scenario #2: “OH SH*#!!!!!!! Hubby is in NYC till Wednesday. Forget TJ Maxx…if I don’t figure this stupid thing out, then I cannot leave my house for the next TWO DAYS! For all the other Moms out there, we know that not being able to leave the house could be used as a form of torture.

It was at this point that my hysteria just started to build and build. I made one final attempt to jam it in, my butt still in the air, and pulled my ab muscles in a way I never knew was possible. I was literally about to burst into tears, when I got the bright idea to go around to the other side of the car and try and get it to work that way. I think that God knew that panic scenario #2 would completely put me over the edge, so I was cut some slack and finally got it buckled! I jumped up and down for a minute, got in the driver’s seat as fast as I could, and totally high-tailed it to TJ Maxx.

I am a happy camper now. For those of you who were curious, yes, I got my Goldwell. I made a beeline for the hair product shelf and unloaded all of the Color Definition Shampoo and Conditioner into my cart. Hee hee hee…some other hoarder is going to be bummin’ at the end of today. Guess I’m a better seat belt wrangler than she is.

I saw a friend of mine last night who has been going to “hot yoga” for a month or so now and she’s looking smokin’ and toned. I am supposed to go with her on Wednesday. Let’s hope that “hot yoga” isn’t as much of a challenge as the seat belt. And let’s hope that she’s prepared to carry me out of there if the need should arise.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “Start doing those crunches now girls. You’re gonna need your core strength after kids.”

Give It To Me Baby!

Last night was a typical Saturday evening in my household. We had purchased the Wii Resort at Target earlier that afternoon, which was happily occupying our son. My husband and I had some time to ourselves while our little one was distracted by technology. We both got that look in our eyes…one thing led to another…and the room was filled with sounds like, “Ohhhh…mmmmm…ahhh…GROAN…Oh yeah, Ooooooo, OH MY GOD”, all accompanied by heavy breathing and sighing. Yep, you guessed it. Our house was once again filled with the sounds of the hubby and I enjoying two absolutely delicious large pizzas. A meatball and a barbeque chicken to be exact! To any passerby, you would’ve thought another baby was being conceived, but alas it was just a married couple of six years enjoying the guilty pleasure of a good meal.

There is a definite shift that happens to your love life when you produce offspring. Before kids, you and your mate absolutely can’t keep your hands off each other. The very thought of being apart for more than a few hours makes you consumed with anxiety and sexual frustration. My husband and I dated long-distance for a year before getting engaged. I can remember calling each other about 5 times a day…and one last time at about 12am “just to say good night and I love you one more time.” Excuse me while I pause and go throw up.

I don’t have time for that crap these days.

In fact, it seems that I don’t have time for any extracurricular activities anymore. Between preschool, playdates, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking dinner, and trying to raise and develop a well adjusted three and a half year old so that he doesn’t turn into some sort of freakazoid one day who winds up on America’s Most Wanted, the only thing remotely extracurricular that I HAVE or even WANT time for is SLEEP! Since having my son, my priorities have completely shifted. A good example of the shift? Let’s go back to those fun weekend getaways when my husband and I were dating/married before the bundle arrived. We would check into our hotel room and be absolutely elated to find a huge king sized bed complete with fluffy pillows and the most cush comforter you can imagine. The luggage wasn’t through the door yet and we were already breaking that bad boy in! I mean, what other purpose do hotel beds serve? They literally scream DO ME!!! Ok, on to the present tense. Nowadays, the hubster and I are lucky when we get an overnight getaway to ourselves. When we do…we check into the same hotel rooms with the same huge king size beds with the same fluffy pillows. The difference is that we are absolutely overjoyed at the thought of putting on our pj’s, getting into that big bed and reading a book, and sleeping completely through the night and not being awakened by the sound of a little boy on a baby monitor yelling, “MOMMMM-AY!!! DADDD-AY!!! It’s SEVEN o’clock and I’M UP!!!” Yep, that’s right. You’ve made the shift to parenthood when sleep absolutely 100% takes priority over any sort of funny business. And don’t even get me started on food. Give me that meatball pizza any day of the week and I’m SPENT!

I used to be so turned on by red wine, roses, curling up in front of a fireplace and holding hands, you know, all that romantic garbage. You know what gets me hot these days? When my husband suddenly decides to clean the entire kitchen and even sweep the floors without me asking him to. Or when he shuts the bathroom door…even BETTER! When he cleans out and reorganizes the pantry? OHHHHHH I may just pass out from complete ecstasy at the thought of it. Throw in him taking our son out for the day and letting me have the house to myself for a few hours? Ok, let’s not get carried away. I’m starting to feel like an addict. That’s right ladies. Bring on the pizza. I could go for Round 2 right about now!

The Mommyologist’s Last Word to all you kid-free ladies: “Get thee to a hotel room – STAT!”

Invasion of the Body Snatcher

“It ain’t that bad for someone who’s had a baby!” At least that’s what I told myself this morning after checking out my rear end in the mirror after cramming myself into a pair of fresh-out-of-the-dryer Seven jeans. After pulling them up a little higher to avoid the dreaded “muffin top”, I started trying to remember the last time that my body actually belonged to ME. It was a pretty easy realization…right before I got pregnant!

From the minute of conception, a woman’s body has officially been taken hostage. Don’t get me wrong, I expected to look and feel much different during my pregnancy, but I really wasn’t prepared for the aftermath. The baby was out of my body, but the invasion was far from over!

Let’s start with the boobs. If men really understood what happened to a woman’s breasts during and after pregnancy, he wouldn’t want to touch them ever again. What once were two great assets that you used to stuff into a push-up bra in a low cut shirt so you could “strut your stuff” now had one sole purpose. FOOD! My son had not been out of my womb for five freakin’ minutes before the nurse was trying to attach him to my boob. As all of us moms know, if you aren’t breast feeding or at least attempting to right after giving birth, the Wicked Witch of the Labor and Delivery Ward, (a.k.a. Lactation Consultant) is pacing back and forth in front of your room huffing and puffing and giving you looks of complete disapproval and utter disgust. Am I wrong?

I wanted to give the whole breast feeding thing a shot, and it seemed to be going ok at first. My son latched on fine and other than feeling like I had this baby permanently attached to one or both of my boobs, I figured it wouldn’t be so bad. After about two weeks of feeding him every hour for an hour at a time and feeling completely exhausted, my husband and I decided that we needed to get our son on a bottle so that he could help me with feedings in the middle of the night. Again, trying to do the “right thing”, I decided that I would just pump my breast milk but feed my baby from the bottle. I was SO relieved that I would finally have some assistance and thought to myself, “This is GREAT! I am getting my boobies back!” WRONG again sister! I had been pumping for a couple of days and realized that about 4am, my breasts felt like two rocks that were about to pop out of my chest. I set the alarm so that I could go downstairs and pump out some relief. I remember the first time that alarm went off. The house was completely quiet, both of my boys were fast asleep, and suddenly I found myself in our kitchen sitting TOPLESS at our breakfast bar hooked up to this contraption like some sort of dairy cow. What’s wrong with this picture?? I was almost fast asleep sitting up when the device started to make some weird gurgling sounds…and then proceeded to quit for good. Yep, that’s right. My top-of-the line pump was dead as a doornail.

I had never known what true 24 hour discomfort felt like until I had to go cold turkey on letting my milk dry up. Holy COW…no pun intended! I mean, seriously? You could’ve cracked eggs on those things they were so hard! I was absolutely miserable, so I googled home remedies for relieving the pain. The best one I found? Cabbage. Tearing off leaves of cold cabbage and putting them in your bra seemed to do something to help the swelling. Before having a child, I would call my husband while he was on his way home from work and ask him to pick up a bottle of red wine and a romantic comedy to watch. Now I was calling him and saying, “Honey, could you please pick me up a head of fresh cabbage on your way home?” Let me tell you, there is just nothing sexier than the scent of wilted cabbage coming from your bra. To any men reading this…do you still wanna touch ‘em? I didn’t think so.

Ok, ok, so my breast feeding days were short lived and are long gone, but this body is STILL not the one that I remember. Again, I tell myself all the time “It ain’t that bad!”, but I’ve finally accepted that things will never be in the quite the right place ever again. If you hear of a doctor who does a good “ass-lift”, let me know. Every time that I see some cute-as-a-button twenty-something who is far from the land of breast pumps and cabbage and has a perfectly tight little tush, I just laugh a little to myself. YOU JUST WAIT HONEY!! Give it a few years and you’ll be begging for the ass-lift too!

The Mommyologist’s advice for women who haven’t had children yet: “Flaunt it now, or forever hold your G-string!”