Grandparenting: It Isn’t For Everyone

June 3, 2013 by 45 Comments

Recently, I’ve been ignoring the love of my life (HG-TV) in order to devour The Honest Toddler: A Child’s Guide to Parenting. Between fits of giggles and poking my sleeping husband in the forehead to read him hilarious excerpts, I barely have time to put away the folded laundry that has been waiting patiently in baskets for the past twelve days.

Despite my affinity for The Honest Toddler, I have noticed a gaping discrepancy between her manual and reality:

The toddler believes the Grandparent, not cleanliness, is next to godliness. 

Look, my kids love their grandparents just as much as the next little ankle-biter, and rightfully so. Their grandparents, they’re good people; they spoil the kids with attention, they support me and my husband, and they’re always there when we need them. Does it get any better than that?!

Thing is, though, some grandparents…suck.

 

Wait! Don’t go!

 

Preschool drop-off, spring picnics, and countless birthday parties have thrown me in the ring with a plethora of parents this year, and I’ve heard some Grandparent horror stories that would elicit quite the “loud response” from The Honest Toddler’s red-drink-stained face.

Those of you who are all gasping, Stephanie! Have you no limits?! How dare you throw Grandparents under the bus?!, be about your business.

Those of you who are quietly nodding in agreement or who are resisting the urge to slow-clap, this is for you. It’s about to get interactive up in here.

Is there a Grandparent in your life who is less than grand? Does Grammy or Pappy need a reality-check? Are you a Grandparent yourself, presently preparing to leave a judgmental comment after this post? Excellent! Let’s take a quiz to see how bad you are failing!

 

Grandparenting

 

1. It’s your grandchild’s first birthday, Grandma! You are:

a. on your previously scheduled cruise. What?! Tickets were non-refundable.
b. holding the birthday child on your lap, smiling for pictures as though you’re working the red carpet.
c. puffing out your chest like a proud rooster for having purchased the most expensive gift at the party.

 

2. Your grandson’s mother is disciplining him for trying to ride the dog (again). You:

a. hurry into the next room lest your assistance be requested.
b. get in between mother and child and feed the boy raspberries straight from the carton until he is placated.
c. buy the dog a saddle and your grandson a helmet. Problem solved.

 

3. You’ve taken your granddaughter to the park to find the sliding board bully is there. When the bully starts cutting in front of your precious girl, you:

a. the park?! You don’t do the park. You have been confused with some sucker of a grandparent.
b. run to the rescue, gingerly elbowing the bully as you pass, and go down the slide with your granddaughter on your lap 37 times.
c. rent out the park for your grandbaby. If the bully won’t share, neither will you.

 

4. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve last seen your grandchildren. You’re feeling:

a. rested. They’re cute but exhausting!
b. concerned and weepy. How are they functioning without you?!
c. just fine. This is why you bought iPads in bulk. Facetime, anyone?

 

5. The grandkids’ parents are at their wit’s end. They could really use a break. You:

a. pfffft. You survived; they will, too.
b. rush to their aid with a home-cooked meal, Prozac, and a free-for-a-year Netflix subscription.
c. hire a nanny to help.

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If you answered…

Mostly A’s: You (or the grandparent in your life) are a Free Range Grandparent. Your motto is “I’ve raised my kids,” and you prefer not to rearrange your life for anyone thankyouverymuch. That doesn’t mean you don’t love your grandkids; it just means you love yourself more. You’re the distant cousin of the Kodak Grandparent who readily shows off photos of her grandchildren yet regularly forgets their names. You are the opposite of the Helicopter Grandparent, which has its perks because that means you’re not all up in the biz; however, it’s worth noting that some may perceive you as not giving a flying fart. Just trying to paint a complete picture for you.

 

Mostly B’s: The Resuscitation Grandparent, you believe you are a necessity for your grandchildren’s survival. While you are helpful, your motives are questionable: do you really want to nourish your grandkids or are you simply trying to one-up their mother’s cooking? Take a minute with that one.

 

Mostly C’s: Affectionately referred to as the Cash Cow, you have been known to “make it rain” at Chuck E. Cheese and your motto for gift-giving is “go big or go home.” The monetary assistance is certainly appreciated, although equally overbearing and insulting. The grandchildren prefer your love over your stuff. That said, nothing says L.O.V.E. like replacing a certain mother-of-your-grandchild’s iPhone that done busted when it was *splashed* with some water droplets. Apple is trying to rape me for a new one. EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! I’m sorry. That got away from me. The point? The Cash Cow Grandparent spends money instead of time.

 

Let’s be pals! Find me on Twitter and Facebook! 

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Update: After publishing this post, The Honest Toddler actually started following me on Twitter!!! Why yes, that is my claim to fame. Don’t hate.

 

Another fun quiz that actually may help solve the iPhone Dilemma over at Jenn’s Something Clever 2.0

 




Filed Under: Parenting

Get To Mixing

May 31, 2013 by 3 Comments

Happy Friday, pals!

If you’re joining us for the first time, WELCOME! I’m Crazy and Exhausted, also known as Stephanie, and I’m coming to ya live from Pittsburgh, PA, also known as We Are Winning the Stanley Cupburgh. If you care to learn more about boring ol’ me, my Hiya Page has the goods. I also host a weekly series, aptly titled the Oversharing Series, in which lovely bloggers like yourselves share har-larious experiences that, sadly, we can all relate to. Waxing gone wrong, rouge chin hairs, feminine woes…Check out the Oversharing Page if you would like to read some of the funny or contribute some of your own. I would love to have you!

I have been co-hosting The More Than Mommies Mixer since its inception. The Mixer (#MTMmixer if you’re trying to get Twitter-y about it) is a great way to meet new bloggers and share the love. You want a few more Facebook followers? Well then link up your FB page! Hoping for some more readers? Add your blog’s URL! See what I mean about sharing the love? We’re kind of a big deal.*

*quote from Anchorman, but seriously, we are kind of a big deal.

Before I get to the rules, I need to announce the winners of the free kids’ game app I advertised a few weeks ago Drum roll, please…

Samantha
Dani
Vicky
Ericka
Anita

Weeeee! I’ll contact you ladies soon and get your iTunes info from ya. Congrats and thanks for participating!!

Here are the “rules” for the Mixer.

(Don’t make us post bouncers at the door.)

  • Follow your Hostesses – Christine and Janene from More Than Mommies

  • Follow our Co-Hostess – Stephanie at When Crazy Meets Exhaustion  <—- ’tis I

  • Follow the Life of The Party – Alicia at Moms Don’t Say That –  We will choose our next LOTHP from those who link up their twitter handle. Use our hashtag #MTMmixer when tweeting so we can keep up with you there!  We would still TOTALLY appreciate a shout out on Twitter if you don’t mind!  <— do it! It’s fun!

  • Follow our Mixologists – This week our Mixologist is Burcu at Practical Mama- Every week we will choose one participant to get our party started at the #4 slot.  All you have to do is link up under the first Linky (and follow the “rules”) to be considered!

  • Follow the person directly BEFORE you on the hop!

  • Finally, we ask that you post one (or both!) of the following buttons in either a post or on your sidebar to let other people know where you are partying today!

**The following images never, ever, EVER format correctly for me. Apologies, but you get the picture…**

MIXER BUTTON with Grab Box

SUNDAY IS FOR COFFEE BUTTON with Grab Box:

Link up your Blogs Here:

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

Link up your Twitter Handles Here:

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!!!




Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: ,

Here’s to the Good Students

May 30, 2013 by 23 Comments

Something about yesterday’s post didn’t feel right. I mean, I enjoyed writing it and giggled when I re-read it (don’t act like you don’t laugh at your own jokes. Liar.), but then I read some of the comments and got…sad.

It’s totally my fault. This time of the year is a little overwhelming, and I let my emotions get the best of me. I promise it’s not the last time that’ll happen. But I just have to set the record straight.

Listen, educators have it rough. Administrators can be puppets, school board members are “volunteers” with personal agendas, and standardized testing is kicking us in the teeth.

BUT.

If teaching were such an awful gig, so many of us wouldn’t have signed up for it. And I wouldn’t have missed it terribly while holding my beautiful newborn baby in my arms. I mean, that’s powerful, right? Rocking perfection in a quiet nursery, yet still yearning for your career? How many people can say that?!

It’s hard, but it’s rewarding. Isn’t that the case for everything worth doing? Exercising, day-drinking post-20s, parenting, writing…

Speaking of writing, I want to share this with you not to toot my own horn (maybe just a little), but to emphasize the good. The good students with good hearts who got a good education and who are doing good. No I didn’t mean well, but thanks for re-reading a few times to be sure. *Wink.

I received the following message a few months ago from a former student. He was one of my first students, actually, so don’t get all “damn she’s old” when you read that he is now a professor. Let’s just pretend I started teaching when I was 18, okay?

Anyway, I asked this fabulous student if I could publish his words, and he kindly granted permission.

GoodStudents

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Hey Ms B. or J. or whatever I should call you now, (Editor’s note: my married name threw him for a loop)

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being a positive influence on my life. I was just reading some of your blog entries and it made me sad to think you aren’t in a classroom anymore (granted for the best reason you could have). I never was a very vocal or outgoing person in high school, but I have grown into a man who believes in saying the things he thinks and feels. Thus, I felt like sending you a message.
I was teaching some of my students last night (they are first semester engineers at the University of Virginia)  and they started asking me about my educational background. To say the least, they were speechless to hear about (my high school). The fact that the person they’re entrusting to teach them physics at a collegiate level is someone who went to a low-income school district and is one that they normally would look down upon was astonishing. A few of them even apologized to me.
I never have really stopped to think about how lucky I am to be here because failing has never been an option. They made me reflect, reflect about how many times I could have just quit, said enough was enough, got into drugs, listened to the notion that nothing good could come out of Valley (Editor’s note: that’s our high school’s name)… Hmm, out of the Valley, kind of poetic now that I think about it…(Editor’s note: get it?!! Brilliant.) I could have just never left to follow my dreams.
But then there were people like you and others (Editor’s note: teachers’ names removed for privacy), that never really let that thought slip into my head. For that hour we had class it didn’t matter that we were a “bad” school district, we were going to learn and that was that. I don’t really know where I’m going with this but I just wanted to let you know that I have fond memories of that freshman year English class I took with you and it was the first “accelerated” class I ever took. From that point on I don’t think I’ve ever looked back. I hope some day you find your way back into the classroom though, because I’m sure there are others out there like me that just need someone to push them.

Thank you,
Dan

P.S.- I totally owned one of my boarding school, elitist buddies last week in a conversation about The Cask of Amontillado and The Most Dangerous Game. (Editor’s note: swelling with pride)

********************************

 

I literally cry every time I read that bad boy. I want everyone to know students like Dan exist. They are going to be doctors and physicists and teachers and lawyers and parents. They are articulate, bright, hard-working. They see a challenge and they face it head-on. They don’t allow a low-income school district or personal obstacles to prevent them from achieving their dreams. They are do-ers, givers, scholars. They are hope. They are our future.




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The ABCs of Succeeding in High School: A Student’s Guide to Getting What You Want from Your Teacher

May 29, 2013 by 35 Comments

Hello, high school students, and welcome to class!

My goal is to help you succeed in our course and, ultimately, in life. I have dedicated myself to your progress as a student and as a person, but despite my 100% commitment, you will need to meet me at least halfway. I understand that some of you hail from less than stellar circumstances, and some of you do not have a support system at home. The good news is that everyone is created equal in my classroom and I’m a fantastic cheerleader. I love my job and want to help you overcome any obstacle that stands in the way of your education, which, by the way, is currently free. Word on the street is that if you dive into this thing now, future academic endeavors may be paid for by a third-party. Awesome, right?

So let’s get this party started. Today’s lesson was designed with you in mind, and by following these tips, you are ensuring your success. Or at least that I won’t hate you.

ABCs of Succeeding in HS


Always ask questions and voice your concerns (about course content, not a yeast infection <— that really happened). I’m here to help, but you have to tell me what you need. And if what you need is a gynecologist and/or to keep your pants on, for the love of GOD shut up.

Be proactive. If you know you’re going to miss class, give me a heads up. If you’re going to be out on a week’s vacation to Disney World because your parents didn’t get the memo that Mickey is available June – August, you’re taking all of your work to the Magic Kingdom.

C-Rules, as in The Rules of the 4-Cs:

a. Cursing: don’t do it. One of you submitted an essay with the title “Fuck This” emblazoned in 46-point font on the title page. Aside from the obvious (it should have been italicized and not in quotes), the use of an F-bomb is generally frowned upon. I’m as liberal as they come, so if I’m saying it, you know it must be real talk.

b. Capitalization: unlike cursing, i encourage this practice.

c. Communication: I’m sure your mother is a very nice person; however, I do not wish to spend all of my free time on the phone with her. Especially if she is an ignorant bitch which, consequently, is often the case. You will earn respect by fending for yourself instead of sourcing out all those dirty jobs like talking to a human being.

d. Cheating: another no-no, but not for the reasons you think. Sure it’s dishonest, can be a form of stealing, blahblahblah. But do you have any friggin’ idea how long it takes me to straighten that shit out? I’ve got to find the original source (including hyperlinks in your final draft is helpful, and I thank those of you are committed to this practice), make copies of the original and your work to give to my principals and your helicopter nightmare of a parent who, despite the glaring evidence, will blame me for “making you feel the need to cheat,” and then I’ve got to give you another chance. I don’t so much mind the latter, as life is about second chances. Let’s read that sentence again: …life is about SECOND CHANCES. Not third, sixth, or fifteenth chances. Yet, I’m professionally bullied into enabling you. If you’ve submitted the same essay four different times plagiarized four different ways, and included a hand-written note that reads, “This was really tough but I did my best!”, you’re obviously headed for a career scraping carrion off of the freeways; why should I bother reviewing proper MLA formatting with you? In sum, I’m busy. Don’t cheat, mmmmkay?

And because you’re always looking for some extra credit, I’ve added a bonus portion at the end of our list:

Don’t be a dickhead. This is an invaluable piece of advice, yet some of you don’t heed its weighty benefits.

There you have it, The ABCs of Succeeding in High School. I wish you all the best and remember: I’m here to help. Go get’m, tiger.




Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: , , ,

Red Circle Days

May 28, 2013 by 22 Comments


It has been months. Maybe even a year. But I’ll never forget being moved to tears over a blog post, and leaving a comment begging the author to write a book because her words were so beautiful, so poignant. I wanted more.

Is it any surprise that the author bought a sponsor ad here on WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion, became wildly popular, and published a book?*

*Events may not be listed in sequential order. 

Leah Vidal’s work appears weekly on her blog, Little Miss Wordy. Her writing covers a range of topics including current events, health and wellness, parenting and daily tribulations. While she enjoys writing about each of these, she is most at home when adding a personal element to a broad topic by sharing life’s little moments…those that plant the thought-provoking seed of self discovery. She believes it is these moments that are life’s biggest lessons.

Enter: Red Circle Days. I downloaded Leah’s book on a flight to North Carolina a few weeks ago and knew immediately it was a bad idea. I don’t like to cry in public. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

The book is a perfect quick read as it’s less than 100 pages and written in vignettes of all different topics.  But much like my toddlers have proven, little packs a big punch. Red Circle Days is a culmination of the dates that remain despite the waves of time eroding other memories. Birth of children, death of loved ones, holidays. Leah eloquently muses on all this and more, and at the end of each passage, engages the reader by asking her to connect with the piece: do you have a special place for photos? Is there a superhero inside you just waiting to come out?

My favorite vignette is on a subject that comes to the surface several times over and, in my humble opinion, is where Leah’s writing and heart shine: her dad. He passed away when she was in her early twenties, but regardless of the years that have come and gone, Leah remembers with clarity and the stinging kind of love reserved for those we miss terribly the “Milk Duds on Their Pillow.”

You see, her dad would put Milk Duds on her pillow to “…remind her of her strength at the end of a tough day, willed her to work harder when a particular grade needed improvements and comforted her through many a broken heart” (12). I like the guy because he obviously knew chocolate can fix everything.

“My Summer Valentine” is quite possibly the sweetest love story I have ever read, like EVER–and it’s true story. Leah’s parents were an unlikely couple from the start, but undeniable love overcame age difference and geographic distance. You have to buy the book to read the rest and have your heart swell and come *thisclose* to bursting. It’s worth it, I promise!

In addition to her novel dropping recently, Leah’s Memorial Day piece Soldiers of the Same Name was featured on BlogHer just this weekend, and her blog has been Freshly Pressed on WordPress and featured on Fitness and Parenting sites. She’s pretty bad ass and if you haven’t already, connect with her on her blog Little Miss Wordy, Facebook page, or Twitter @LeonyVidalCarr.

So add these things to your to-do list today:

1. Buy Leah’s book Red Circle Days

2. Purchase a sponsor ad here on my site because you’ll become rich and famous*

*Rich and famous are relative terms. BUT I do write a dedicated post about something I love about my sponsors, so seriously, buy one.

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Leah paused her career in Public Relations to raise her two children and has never looked back, except on the days when it would be nice to have an office to escape to or at least a desk to hide under. Her family currently lives in Puerto Rico, where she is a fitness focused (physical, spiritual and mental health), homeschooling mom of two, and wife of one, who enjoys combing the beach for sea glass, avoiding the kitchen, and making words come to life.

 

 

 




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I Peed My Pants At Wal-Mart and Other Tales of Mommy Incontinence

May 27, 2013 by 38 Comments

“If peeing your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis.”

–Old Farm Lady on Billy Madison

I heart Sarah because she regularly Overshares on her blog The Sadder But Wiser Girl, which is where today’s post was first published. Sarah’s inability to control her bladder and her willingness to then write about it make her tops in my book. Here for your amusement, please welcome:

OversharingPresents.SadderButWiserGirl

 

We’re avoiding Target as much as possible these days because it’s just too darn fun.  Target just goes from 0 to $100 in no time flat.  It’s those dang end aisles, the clearance, and stuff that is just really cool!  Any list you bring in there somehow disintegrates or gets extra items added to it.  Therefore we’re forced to go to my least my favorite place in the world, Wal-Mart.  On the list today is the biggest bag of dog food for the smallest price and pasta that helps us poop. Sounds like a fun trip, doesn’t it?

Upon inspection of the dog food prices, it looked like the 50 pound bag of Ol’Roy was going to be the best deal.  Less than $20 for 50 pounds of dog food?  That’s, um, less than 50 cents a pound (don’t ask me to break it down more than that).  We’re used to buying the 17 pound bags of Puppy Chow with a coupon.  But this is MUCH cheaper.  I don’t know why we even bother, the dog would rather eat trash or steal our food than actually eat dog food.  I sat and watched him eat a stick today.  Really?

Of course now that I have made the decision that yes indeedy this is what we are going to buy, I realize that it may be difficult to get it into the cart.  How do other people buy that stuff anyway?  Do you go find someone and ask for them to haul it up front?  Oh wait, that’s Target.  Repeat after me, Target is BAD.  It has the hypnotic eye.

I study the bag carefully.  It’s only 50 pounds.  I’m not a professional weightlifter, I just say it like that because I have kids that weigh not much less than that who still insist on being carried.  But this bag is just so, BIG.  I figure I can probably slide it onto the bottom part of the cart.  I pulled on the bag, it slid towards me pretty easily.  I grabbed hold of it with all of my might and pulled it off the top of the pile.

And as the bag came off and into my waiting arms, I peed my pants.  That’s right, I dribbled right into my own undies.  I was now at Wal-Mart with a wet crotch, staggering around with a bag of dog food that weighed more than my seven year old son.  I really hope the “People of Wal-Mart” cam didn’t happen to be following me right at that moment.  If so, I can assure you that I am wearing adequate clothing and no children were buried under things in my cart.

I admit it, I’ve dribbled in more places than a leaky garden hose.  Thanks kids.

Ah the joys of motherhood.  It’s amazing how a body that can hold another human being inside of it can’t contain it’s own pee.  It’s not a new problem for me, I’ve had it since I gave birth to my son.  It’s not like I just pee my pants randomly though, there’s always some sort of force involved.

Have you ever walked down a hallway, stopped and crossed your legs because you knew a sneeze was coming?  I call it the “Antipee Maneuver”, because when you have those issues you have to make some adjustments to anything that involves moving around and muscle contractions.  Take the gym.  I used to go to exercise classes religiously at 5:30 in the morning two or three days a week (yeah I don’t know how I ever did that either).  It was ok except for anything that involved jumping.  I am unable to do jumping jacks without wetting myself.  So I do a sort of half  jack where I don’t actually spread my legs.  It’s more like just jumping while I wave my hands in the air. I also can’t jump rope.  When we would do jump roping, I would have to do it one leg at a time.  Fortunately no one else caught on that I was struggling.

It doesn’t stop there.  My husband knows darn well that he can make me pee my pants.  He knows because he’s seen me do it.  He’s been known to pick me up and shake me, tickle me, or sneak up and scare me, all with the same result-a little bit of tinkle in the nether regions.  This evening he thought it would be EXTREMELY funny to sit on me and tickle me.  I warned him about the consequences of said tickling-in other words I shrieked, “I HAVE ALREADY PEED MY PANTS ONCE TODAY, DON’T MAKE ME DO IT AGAIN!!!!”  He quit, but more because I wasn’t being any fun than it was from my threatening voice.

At thirty eight years old, I know by now that it pays to be prepared for most situations.  But since I am ADD, I tend to NOT be prepared unless it’s that time of the month.  I just forget until it’s too late.  I’ve been known to have to buy new underwear when out and about for the day.  I’ve also been known to go home and change my pants and come back.  You’d think I’d learn to have either pantiliners or emergency underwear handy, much like I have extra underwear for my kids just in case.  Nope.

Hey I bet you’re wondering what happened to the bag of dog food.  Oh I got in on the cart.  I had to pretty much lay on the floor of the aisle and shove the bag on to the little part underneath the cart.  I also managed to somehow get it out of the cart and into my trunk.  It’s still in my trunk.  My husband can bring it in, because I bet he won’t pee his pants doing it.  Guys have it so easy.

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Sarah Almond is the mom of two kids and the wife of one evil genius.  She roams the earth in search of dark chocolate and caffeinated beverages, but can also be found tap tap tapping at her keyboard writing the wildly unpopular blog The Sadder But Wiser Girl. Read all about her adventures in motherhood and ADD on her blog
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 * HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY TO YOU AND YOURS. *




Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: , , ,

Letter from a Friend

May 22, 2013 by 82 Comments

Dear Stephanie,

I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. Whatever happened to us?

Remember all the good times we had in college?! We were so tight! Sleep was fleeting, classes were tough, and the dating scene was intense, but we worked together and accomplished so much. We graduated with a degree and true love. And confidence.

And how about your wedding day?!  You didn’t see you the way I saw you; strong, capable, peaceful. You looked so beautiful in your gown. I don’t want to make this all about me, but I wish you had been prouder of our relationship that day.

I supported you through both of your pregnancies. I was strong for both deliveries. I was patient during both recoveries. It seems like the more I give, the less you appreciate it! You know I’ll never leave you, but if you don’t start making me a priority, I promise that you will regret it.

It’s like you don’t even care about me any more…

I can’t remember when we last spent quality time together. I know you’re busy, but I’ve always been there for you. Is it so wrong to want some reciprocity? I feel I’ve earned it and I know I damn well deserve it.

Oh, and I heard what your son said yesterday.

You didn’t think I caught it, did you? Muffled under his napkin at the dinner table.

Mom’s fat.

Yeah, I heard. I don’t blame him, though; I blame you. Little ears hang onto every word, and you’re constantly disrespecting me so how can I possibly blame the 3-year-old for repeating the words he hears every day?! You teach your kids to speak kind words to one another; what about to themselves?! Start setting an example now or you’re going to raise children who look for flaws instead of beauty. Ugly insides are far worse than a little junk in the trunk, don’t you agree?

If you’re that upset with the way you look, let’s start working out together again! DUH! Why not jump on the treadmill? Use that spinner for something other than hanging wet towels? The ball is in your court. I’ll be waiting, as usual.

Lay off the ice cream,

Your Body

 

BodyWroteALetter

 

Kim Bongiorno’s reaction to her daughter telling her, “Mama you have fat legs” is something I’ll carry with me forever. Note to self: love me more. 




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Oversharing: Put Your Knees Back By Your Ears

May 21, 2013 by 15 Comments

Today’s Oversharing is from Pursuit of Normal‘s Vicky. She’s waxing (tee hee) philosophical on a topic Kim discussed earlier this month; these crazy ladies are willing to put their hoohas on the line, er, table for the sake of swimsuit season and blog fodder, and for that, I commend them.

OversharingPresents Pursuit of Normal

There have been a few times in my life when I’ve heard the phrase, “Put your knees back by your ears.” I will say, however, that two of those times babies suddenly appeared.  Well, I wouldn’t say “suddenly.” There was a bit of work involved beyond using my forearms as hooks.  There might have some pushing and grunting on my part.  But within a few hours, there were babies.

So when I was once again lying flat on a bed and again heard “Put your knees back by your ears,” my first response was, “Um, I’m not going to leave here with a newborn am I?”  I was assured I would not.  “No, no babies. It just makes it easier for me to reach all your nooks and crannies.”  Oddly enough I found that less horrifying than the idea of a baby.

I’ll bet you’re wondering how I ended up counting the tiles on the ceiling while performing some yet to be named yoga pose, right? It all began with chicken dinos.  If I had a dime for every time I’ve said that phrase I’d be a rich woman. You too? I thought so.

My BFF and I were standing in my kitchen preparing lunch for the kids one afternoon when she turned to me while distributing grapes on each plate and asked, “Have you ever had a bikini wax?” I should tell you that I have a bit of a hair issue.  As my husband loses it from his head, it seems to somehow grow like wild flowers on my face, arms and places that really shouldn’t have hair.  But I had to answer honestly and tell her that I had yet to have that part of my body waxed.  Ironically, though I had recently heard on the radio that Americans spend more money on hair removal than any other country in the world! It think it’s safe to assume I am a large contributor to that statistic.

After hearing this info I did a bunch of research.  Translation: I Googled it. And lo and behold, it’s true. We Americans are a hairy lot and spend a lot of time and money mowing our body lawns. There is an extensive variety of hair removal options out there for us wooly mammoth types: waxing, sugaring, threading, laser, creams, plucking, and even a few that I think would have taken me to “other sites” that were not for my innocent eyes. That’s when I discovered the Brazilian wax.  Simply put, it’s a very thorough bikini wax.  And when I say “very thorough” I’m talking, “Hey look! I’m 11 years old again” kind of thorough.  You get the picture.  And if you don’t get the picture, go to YouTube.  I’m constantly amazed what people will put on the internet… says the girl writing about waxing her intimates.

Back to me and BFF in the kitchen, it was decided that we were going to do this. Why, you ask? I’d say it was a little bit of curiosity and a lotta bit of “this would be great for my blog.”  I’ll do anything for material.  I’m an intelligent woman, although you might be doubting that at this point, and I had to make sure I was prepped and ready. So I did my homework. Before: let the hair grow long, but not too long and do not exfoliate 24 hours prior to procedure.  No problem.  Let’s move on to aftercare: Take ibuprofen- makes sense.  Purchase numbing gel- uh, ok.  Wait 2-3 days for swelling to subside- WTW?! Swelling? Why would there be swelling? But the appointment was set, promises had been made and there was no going back.

So on waxing day I arrived at BFF’s house, where her husband proceeded to roll his eyes and say, “You two need your own reality show.” Which by the way is an idea that I have not completely tabled… And off we went to the spa for our first Brazilian wax and that was how I found myself flat on my back with my knees by my ears having my nooks and crannies explored by someone who was not a doctor.

Oh, and the other times I heard the phrase “put your knees back by your ears”… I’m not going to tell you about those.  I do have a little bit of decorum.

Vicky is a Southern California mom trying to grow up herself while raising 2 boys and a husband.  You can find her looking for confirmation that she’s “normal” on her blog The Pursuit of Normal, sharing her family’s random thoughts on Facebook and desperately trying to edit herself down to 140 characters or less on Twitter. 



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What I Learned at Bloggy Bootcamp

May 20, 2013 by 43 Comments

I like rearranging and reorganizing rooms and even drawers in my home. I’ll try different hair colors at each appointment with my stylist (I should be bald by 50), and my face is always in a book (or Google) trying to learn something new. If I had the chance to pick up and move tomorrow, I probably would. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the things in my life; it’s just that I’m insane. I’m not content just being, which has it’s advantages, but it certainly comes at a price. Mostly, my husband’s sanity.

I often wonder if I’ll ever be that elderly lady on her front porch rocking in a white, wooden chair, satisfied smile on her wrinkled face. Sigh.

Despite being drawn to a crazy state of flux, there have been two constants in my life that, regardless of struggles or circumstance, I have remained 1000% committed to: people and writing. That’s why blogging is so appealing to me; I’m writing when and how I want, and meeting some amazing people along the way. I’m as loyal as I can be to the blogs I love (I’ve been MIA lately–I’ll be back, I promise!), and I’ve been fortunate enough to have that loyalty reciprocated. I’m in awe over the influence and sense of community I’ve come to know through blogging, and that’s part of the reason I wanted to attend the SITS Girls Bloggy Bootcamp.

A brief side note: I was worried about the conference because I think I suck at networking. I can’t fake it, ya know? I felt anxious at the prospect of handing out my business cards. Hell, I felt anxious making the damn things! Like, who am I?! Who wants my card?!  

WhenCrazyMeetsExhaustion Business Card

It is cute, though!

My worries were soon squashed with travel pals like Christine & Janene and Amanda by my side, and the fact that Keurig and Mirrasou signed on as sponsors didn’t hurt. Free coffee and wine?! Thank you kindly.

I chatted with the other ladies. Listened to a few presentations. Learned some new things. And then Tiffany Romero commanded the room and my heart by sharing something my husband has been trying to tell me for a few months now: Calm the hell down already. Okay, so Tiffany didn’t say it exactly like that, but her point? Sometimes we have to close the laptop and focus on life.

Don’t get me wrong, my family isn’t neglected, but if you’ve been blogging for any length of time, you understand how quickly it can consume you. And if you’re really into it, it can become a full-time job. And if you already have a full-time job (parenting certainly falls into this category), then you’re pulling out your hair to keep up. And only showering every other day.

Another brief side note: I sat next to a retired army officer on the flight home and he told me a story about how when he was stationed in Germany, his wife bought a laptop so they could keep in touch. When he came home, they continued their relationship via technology; he had to email her from another room to communicate with her. Raise your hand if that sounds eerily familiar…P.S. God obviously put this man next to me for a reason.

The conference offered tips and take-aways, and featured ridiculously awesome speakers like Robin O’Bryant. <— I’m adding ya’ll to my western Pennsylvania dialect because of her. I was surrounded by talented, lovely women (and one adorable baby I couldn’t take my eyes off of #LonelyUterus), and invaluable opportunities and information.  There was also free coffee and wine. Have I mentioned that? Of all the lessons to be learned and content to process, Tiffany and the retired army officer’s message was what I circled and highlighted and drew stars around in my notes.

If I didn’t have the people in my life, I wouldn’t have a blog at all. 

Some of the ladies were making plans to attend their next conference, and others left with a clearer vision of their end goals. I was not among them. All I wanted to do was get home into my man’s arms and wipe my kids’ noses and squeeze in a nap because good LAWD I’m not 21 any more. Bloggy Bootcamp was an invaluable experience for me because it gave me something that I was lacking but desperately needed: perspective.

I have no friggin’ clue what I want from this blog. I’ve no idea where it will take me, if anywhere. I don’t know what my purpose or my “niche” is. But today, I’m ignoring the ginormous list of unread posts on my Bloglovin’ feed (sorry, pals), and focusing on my living and breathing constant. If I do end up in a rocking chair on a porch somewhere, I’ll want someone beside me.

Special shout-out to Meredith for sharing her funny on Friday while I traveled. I appreciate you, friend!

 




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Terrorized by Neon

May 17, 2013 by 19 Comments

Happy Friday, pals! I’m out of the office today, so one of my favorite bloggers (and people) offered to cover for me. She’s here all weekend answering phones and making you laugh; it’s the lovely Meredith from The Mom of the Year! She’s also in the hilarstical (new word, Merriam-Webster?) momthology I Just Want to Pee Alone. I’ve obviously left you in good hands.

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I have a confession.  I am scared, very scared of neon.  This isn’t something I say lightly.  At first, I didn’t even realize it was happening.  I had innocently placed one of my obsessively regular orders to Carters, the mecca of young children’s clothing.  The package arrived and I tore it open in the gleeful anticipation.  What 24 mo. treasures had Carter’s delivered for my daughter?  I ripped open the plastic bags with bated breathe, then promptly screamed in pain as the glaring hues permanently seared my eyeballs.  What had happened?  I ordered pink and received blinding horror.  WHAT IS UP WITH THE NEON??

It would have been easy to assume that my fav clothing company had sold me out, or at least placed some color-blind chiquita in charge of design for the season, but then I started to see neon creeping up in other places at an alarming rate.  We went for dinner; the pretween at the next table was rocking a fluorescent orange mini-skirt.  I went to Target to quickly grab a new jacket; nothing but neon denim.  Had the 80s officially made their re-debut and no one had told me??  Darn, I knew I was screwing myself by being too lazy to read my latest Star magazines…

The good news: this phase will likely pass before my children are old enough to select their own clothing.  The bad news:  Holy-heck-Almighty, pass me my sunglasses!

M_neon

Until this phase passes, it is probably best that I avoid Gap like the plague.  (My budget agrees with this.)  Many people have fear of lovely, normal things, like spiders, or snakes or impending doom.  I fear neon.  Don’t get me wrong, I love me a good Wilson Phillips tune as much as the next gal, but the side pony-tails and their complimentary neon t-shirts are going to have to step aside because my retinas are limited, and let’s be honest–the hot colors are just hideously ugly.

Your adorable matching prints and/or pastels?  OBSOLETE.  It is time to go hideous or go home.  If you can’t drink the Kool-Aid and rock your squint-worthy hues, join me hovering in fear in the corner.  I have extra sunglasses–and the really good dark ones you can totally put over your regular glasses.  We will hide out together and ride out the trend.  Here’s to 2013 in all it’s 1980s glory.

Meredith blogs at The Mom of the Year, dedicatedly earning her title one epic parenting fail at a time.  When her kids aren’t busy pummeling each other with legos or requiring their 16th sippy cup refill of the day, she tries to offer quick, relatable laughs for fellow parents of the world and all their empathizers.  She remains entirely terrified by crafts, promises to never share any useful household tips, and is fully committed to a less serious look at the world of parenting.  Social media is beyond her comprehension, but she makes a pass at Twitter and Facebook.




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