Bringing A Little Bit Of My “Then” Into My “Now”

Recently I discovered the Boomerang Channel, and found myself transported back in time to the simpler days of my youth. I watched with my daughters as the Hanna-Barbera star spiraled onto the screen and I felt positively giddy.

There they were! The Smurfs. The Snorks. The Pink Panther! Remembering it all so fondly, I was excited to introduce my own children to those classics.

I know it’s not the cartoons I love as much as what they represent to me. They call to mind a short version of me hopping off the school bus, running home and being greeted by the smell of dinner already filling the house, and most likely the after school snack of cookies - made with love, by Mom. There were no responsibilities except that of keeping my own room clean…ish. The days seemed so long but so full of…just…everything. I miss them.

Yes, I am a child of the 80’s, raised by the cathode ray tube. I had Pac Man Fever and “Atari thumb”. I remember too well that it was video that killed the radio star. I know how important it is to “keep them away from bright light, don’t get them wet and never feed them after midnight”.

I watched Courtney Cox long before she was Friends with anyone. I sported a jean jacket with a multitude of different inappropriate pins and wore fluorescent shoelaces. I owned a Swatch. I knew Tootie’s real name was Dorothy.

Yes, I could kick your butt at tetherball.

I was a Toys R Us kid who was stuck on Band-Aids. I was an Electric Company fan, who later watched Rita Moreno doing sitcom guest spots and half-expected her to shout “Hey, You GUYS!”

I wanted to be a DoubleMint Twin. I tried the New Coke, hated it, and subsequently danced for joy when they came out with Coke Classic. I owned clacker-balls and Weebles. I danced my cares away down at Fraggle Rock.

I’m glad to have a sort of window into Mommy’s past through these shows. I did have a pretty happy childhood and seeing them again reminds me of more simple pleasures that my kids will appreciate because although those days are gone, they are not forgotten.

One more thing -
Gee, your hair smells terrific, but I sunk your Battleship!

Deal with it.

Just A Mom

 Being a mom is a tough job. Always knowing what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and why to do it (or at least giving the appearance of such) can be rather taxing on the ole bean. Sometimes I want to say to my children, "I don't know! I never know! I just make this shit up as I go along!" but of course I don't, because then they'll lose all faith in me and dude... that will happen soon enough (enter teen years) without me speeding it up!

I have found that as a parent, I am pretty clueless. I go by gut and instinct most of the time; very rarely do I really know they why's and how's and what-for's. I make stuff up all the time. I go with what feels right and stick to it, and hope that it actually turns out the way I need it to. I've been pretty lucky; most of the time, things turn out alright.

And I come out looking like pure genius. My kids look at me with utter adoration and admiration... love in their faces and words of praise for my brilliance... aaaand then I wake up. My kids really don't do that when things go swimmingly; they just take it as due course that once again, Mom knew what she was doing/talking about.

Good thing they don't read this blog, or I'd be in deep shit.

The Start of Baseball Season in New England

It's a bit early for baseball, you say? No Way! The Sox are at Fort Myers for training camp - signalling that it is time to prepare for the official start of the Regular Season. There are jerseys and tee shirts to buy, new players to investigate, stats to read... plenty to do until April 6th!
For the first time since 2002, the season opener is not an away game. The 6th of April is Opening Day, right here at Fenway! The Sox are playing the Tampa Bay Rays. Revenge?

The Evil Empire comes to town on April 24th. I'm sure the Fenway Faithful will give them the same welcome as always - mocking the Yanks' off season issues (and there were big ones... again!) and welcoming A-Roid and his buddies back to town. However, the Yankees are still respected - you have to respect a team with a record like theirs. I'm curious to see how the New Yankee Stadium fares as a playing field - the Yanks won't have much of a home field advantage this year.

I've had the pleasure of witnessing a Sox vs. Yankees game at Fenway in person. It is one heck of an experience! It of course didn't hurt that the Sox won in extra innings, either. The collective sigh when Papi strikes out, Sweet Caroline, the cheering, the beers and the raucous screaming and hugging when the last run is scored - it is a close to religious experience. I hope to again get the chance to see the Sox play.

Early last season was interesting for the Sox - with the Flu epidemic that ran through the clubhouse. There was a lot of improvisation on the field, with player shuffled to different positions. Thankfully the Sox have a wonderful Farm program to pick from. They called up several players, including Justin Masterson - who made his Major League Pitching debut at Fenway on April 24th 2008. He did a great job, allowing only two hits and one run in six innings - not bad for a 23 year old kid who plays for the double A Portland SeaDogs in Maine, especially since he only had 24 hours notice! Now Masterson is a core player on the team.

The new players are looking pretty sound, and I'm interested in seeing how Ramon Ramirez and Takashi Saito fit in with the Sox Bullpen. Lets hope this Ramirez brings less drama than the last. Thankfully Mike Lowell and Jason Varitek stayed with the Sox. I love Tek.

My little man, Connor is learning words left and right - so I've got a list of words he should learn for baseball season! Tek, Go Sox, Baseball, Red Sox, Yankees Yuck, Home Run, Go Papi... We'll expand from there.

The Ultimate Torture Device

I've been fighting my weight for about 3 years, now. It goes up. It goes down. It goes up again. Then, it goes down, but not so much as last time. Then it goes up again, a whole lot faster than before. It's really rather disturbing to see my body mutiny against me like this.

I used to be proud to be able to honestly say, "Nah! I don't own a scale. I judge my weight by how well my clothes fit." God damn, that sounds pretentious as all hell! Maybe I deserve this weight war for ever having uttered those words.

Today, I finally gave up on being that person ever again. It's gotten to the point that I CAN'T judge my weight based on my clothes. I've got clothes for all weights! On the rare occasion that I want to gauge how much weight I have or have not lost, I put on my size 8 black slacks. Or rather, I TRY to put them on. Depending on how far up my thighs they get tells me how I'm doing. Except that it really doesn't tell me how I'm doing. It makes me reach for the closest chocolate edible thing and whoof it down jealously like a starved dog guards a bone.

Somehow, I can usually look at myself in the mirror and rationalize the extra weight.

"Geez! These jeans must have been washed in warm water. Hmm..."

"Gah! I just hate it when I retain water like this!"

Or, my favorite,
"At least my boobs are plump when I'm overweight."

I've completely given up on the old Mom's stand-by excuse of, "It's baby weight." My youngest child is a 4-year old.

I've had it with the excuses, the rationalizations, and even the legitimate reasons as to why I have not taken this weight off! It's about time that I keep track of the numbers and really monitor how much I weight every day.

So, I bought the dreaded scale. The most evil torture device ever created. Of course, I stood on it as soon as I got it home. I was expecting somewhere between 180 and 200. It was 184. My ideal weight is 150. I'd like to get down to 145, but 150 is still perfectly healthy and slim for my body. If I were 150 pounds, I could wear size 8-10 pants again. I'm in a 14 right now, with not much room for the girl scout cookies that I love so much at this time of year.

I think I really need to commit to this weight loss thing. I mean, really commit. I'm thinking I may even price the local gym and see if it's in the budget. It would give me some time away from the kids and husband, something that is just for ME, and I would feel good about it. Not that I wouldn't feel good about curling up with a book, a Hershey's bar, and mug of creamy vanilla chai tea, but then I'd still have to face the scale sitting obtrusively near the toilet every time I go in there.

So, we'll see how this all works. Who knew that such a relatively inexpensive hunk of metal could make me feel so inspired and so resentful all at the same time?

Oh, come on! Really?

What’s with the jug of powdered pancake mix at the grocery store? The commercial of a mom who fills the jug with water, shakes and pours out the perfect pancake onto the griddle. Is it that difficult to buy a box of Bisquick? Or, wait!! How about taking some flour, eggs, milk, a little sugar and salt, some butter and making them yourself? Have the kids help. It could actually be *gasp* fun, and maybe even a little educational.
I admit I have indulged myself in the 3-second dinner when my husband is out to sea and the children are crawling on the floor begging for food. The Banquet Homestyle Bakes Creamy Chicken and Biscuits rocks! My point here is how companies have taken convenience to a completely new level. Some things simplified to the point where the container in which the product is, well, contained, is ten times more expensive than the product itself. The unit to cost ratio is out of control!!

Drive-thru liquor stores. What in the world are these people thinking? Isn’t that like an oxymoron or something?
*Deep Narrative Voice*
“Handy Dandy Andy’s Drive Thru Stop and Go. Stop and go without even getting out of your car. We have everything in a convenience store you are looking for. While your here, you can even get your Bud Light! Beer not your thing? Maybe some Disaronno Amaretto and have yourself a nice cold sour when you get home.”
*disclaimer: in a fast quiet voice*
“We do not condone drinking and driving. Please drink responsibly.”

12 items or less. Do I really need to say anything about this? 12 means 12. This does not mean 13 or 20. In addition, no, your 10 for $10 does not count as 1 item. It is ten items, meaning you are only allowed 2 more and that’s your limit!

Carpool lane, left lane and right lane. Ya, I am not even going to go there.
However, when 2 lanes converge down to 1, are you the person who stays in the correct lane? Are you the person who whizzes past everyone? Truthfully, it does not really matter except for the rudeness factor. Everyone zippers eventually.

Friends do not always agree...

I am a lucky woman.

Most people choose to surround themselves with people that share similar values and ideas concerning life. I, however, seem to have a majority of friends and loved ones whose ideas vary vastly from my own. While, at times, this can drive me crazy- it also keeps me in check.

In order to maintain my relationships, I have to think about what I say. I have to wonder if it will upset a person or if it is unfair to say in their presence. I must also be true to myself and my own feelings. Therefore, I must know what I am talking about and I must be tactful in explaining my view points. This has, over time, created some great conversations.

I do not feel myself stifled by these encounters, but rather more open and aware. Both in regards to understanding my friend's views as well as more confident in my own. Their influence has given me much to think about- whether or not they sway thoughts and feelings. Their friendship has made me a better person and a better mother. I hope that I can impress upon my children the importance and power of understanding. Friends are a wonderful asset.

Thank you all- your attributes, lifestyles and knowledge make me a better person.

Hair Wars

For several years now, my son Nigel has been lobbying for long hair, preferably a razor-trimmed, shaggy skater-type look. Unfortunately for him, a herd of cows invaded my uterus and licked his head for nine months and genetics handed him thick hair that has a certain "Bendaroo" quality, so when his hair gets longer than a few inches, it begins to have a life of its own; the sort of life that Don Quixote would enjoy taking a poke at. Back in October of last year, both children were going on a fantabulous trip to Pittsburgh with their grandmother, so I insisted that Nigel get a short, military-style haircut. He was less than enthusiastic about it but acquiesced under his father's promise that he would be permitted to grow his hair until summer swimming season. Four months later, the kid's head looked like a dandelion gone to seed.

Having suffered under my own mother's rigidly-held hairstyling philosophies that included a lot of ultra-short, super-tight bad home perms, I have sympathy for my son's hair wishes, but the flat fact of the matter was, he looked like Oliver Twist when he was hanging with the street urchins. My mother offered to bribe him into getting a haircut, but even the prospect of cold hard cash wasn't budging him. I wanted him to look nice, but I also wanted him to do it on his own terms. Every time I saw a nice-looking kid on a television show or in a movie, I'd point out his haircut and ask Nigel if that looked like something he could live with. Nothing was ever quite right, except of course for Chef Gordon Ramsay, whose hair closely resembles Nigel's "dandelion do" due to Ramsay's near-constant frustrated fondling of it while searching for fresh, local produce.

Nigel's hair continued to grow while we argued gently about haircuts week after week. I began Googling "short boy's haircuts" and showing him pictures of both The Naked and The Jonas Brothers, Freddie Highmore, Haley Joel Osment and young Macauley Culkin. No dice. And even though he idolizes Michael Phelps, there was no way he was adopting his look.

One morning we were looking at YouTube videos of various sporting events such as that quadruple-amputee kid from Ohio who is a wrestling champion and the sweet autistic kid who nailed all those three-pointers recently, when we happened across a video of David Beckham. Nigel gasped audibly. "That's it" he said "that's the haircut I want!" David Beckham's "faux hawk" had made the cut, so to speak. So we printed out a picture of Beckham with his trademark "do" and off to the salon we went.

So now, every morning I see Nigel in the bathroom dampening his hair and putting in a little dab of "product" and carefully spiking and shaping it up and giving it that little twist that Beckham has, which the lady at the salon showed him how to do. Nigel likes his new haircut, which makes all the talking and waiting and searching worth it. He had to get a haircut, but at least he got to choose it and to a seven-year-old, that means everything.