Savin' up

Oh, the fun things you find on the internet. Not the smut or porn or Target's bags that are only avaiable online, no...the fun stuff!

Like at Perpetual Kid which is one of my all time favorite websites. I was looking for something for my niece and saw these cute little boxes.

I may just buy them all.

This one - no need for it anymore, but I know someone (or someSEVEN) who would love it. Mommy Makeover anyone? 

Because I've been kicking ass at the gym - for fitness, not just vanity. But new jeans would look divine on this ass...

This is actually for my kids. I'm quite sure they'll each need one after being raised by me...

No. Further. Explanation. Needed.

Dating, take 2

While I was thinking about that Freak of Nature 4 year old G who liked to crawl and whine like a dog *shudder* I realized that if I had actually Dated him & his mom before inviting the kid over, we could have avoided the entire situation.

It could go like this. Mom leaves a note in your son’s cubby, gets my e-mail from a teacher, e-mails or e-mails again (repeat 6 times) – stating her son G would really love to schedule a playdate w/ your son Big Kiss. Instead of just giving in right away (I’m a rookie!), we could have actually, you know, gone on a DATE. Like out in the open, where others were visible, my husband could have been the pre-planned “911 call” if things aren’t going well…all that jazz. Because CLEARLY if we had gone on said date I’d have witnessed this crack head behavior first hand and wouldn’t have let the nutter into my home. Boys can play just as nicely in a park or the McDonalds’s Germ Pit.

Another type of dating that really needs to be addressed: The co-worker. The one who you meet and on her first day wants to be your friend and have lunch with you and go to the gym with you and make copies for you and OHMYGOD GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE kind of co-worker. Before this atrocity, you could have dated. You invite this co-worker to lunch. With a group. Maybe you’d talk about likes and dislikes. Again, though, you’d have the public setting and the perfectly timed “blackberry alert” that you could ignore if you enjoyed the person’s company or answer it and exit hastily saying “emergency error in the balance sheet, gotta go!” The flip side is, if this person actually is cool and you have things in common, you can totally take the dating to the next level: Happy Hour!

Speaking of the next level, don’t you really wish you could have dated your OBGYN before your first appointment? Not necessarily with the whole “likes and interests” conversation, but at least you’d get to see if he or she has nice hygiene…do they have that nice soothing voice or is it all nasally and irritating (which would totally make me cringe – not good when a speculum is involved)…do they have hang-nails [because, um, No]…do they have really hairy arms…if male, is he hot and therefore you’ll be shaving *everywhere* before the appointment and may have to hide the excitement in your girly bits (whew, got carried away there for a sec *fanning my face*)…these are all things I’d have loved to know before meeting my very first Yuck Doctor. I mean, it was technically my first lesbian experience, letting her get to 3rd base without so much as buying me a drink.

Now tell me, Who would you date?

Dating

Recently I said that we don’t “schedule the shit” out of our kid’s weekends, I guess I lied a little bit. We do sometimes have play dates w/ other lil' monsters…it breaks up the monotony and for 4 yr olds, it’s pretty easy.

On Sunday, Big Kiss’ buddy G came over. They used to go to daycare together, but then G got all “smart” or “advanced” or whatever and he now attends a Montessori school so Big Kiss doesn’t see him much. He’s been asking and asking and ASKING to have G over but I’ve been putting it off.

More like, putting his mother off. She’s so damn annoying, I can’t stand it. I mean, like she’s using her kid to try to get a “mom-friend” and to be honest? I have enough and it’s not easy to plan time with them as it is. Not to mention, she wants all the gossip on other kids (parents) and it’s just not my thing (snort – I just don’t want to spill it to her).

After her 6th e-mail asking when the boys could get together, and after sufficiently rolling my eyes, I just asked Big Kiss if he wanted to have him over and he said “sure.”

Well, I guess he was actually pretty excited and talked about it non-stop all weekend and went to bed asking “how many more hours til G comes” and “will he like my BatManClub” and “can I show him my new train from Santa” but what I really heard was “how many hours til this annoying mother drops off her annoying kid and when can I grab a cocktail?”

Sunday at 3 arrives, they’re fashionably late (not really, they were 5 minutes early) and Big Kiss and G instantly hit it off, like they’d never ever been apart (cue the Titanic music).

That lasted for about 20 minutes. Big Kiss asked for some space. Um, Ok – but how the hell am I supposed to make this thing work for another 102 minutes?? I tried a snack. While hoping he’s not all earthy crunchy and doesn’t do sugar or something, I set out the juice boxes and cookies.

Turns out? He realllllly shouldn’t do sugar. Apparently it had a hand in G turning up his volume, which was already at screetch level. And? Jaysus, I can’t make this shit up. He decided to crawl around and bark / whine like a dog. For the next 40 minutes. Even Lil Kiss - who would do anything and everything to be like his big brother and friends – high tailed it to Manland to hide with, I mean, watch football with Daddee.

Big Kiss is trying to hide from G, I’m trying to smooth the situation by asking if he’d like to pretend he’s human again, all of us watching the clock tick…And Tock…and TICK some more. It was getting a tad bit dark, but we kept the blinds open and as soon as her car turned the corner I said all sing-songy “Look, G, you’re mom’s coming, let’s get the puppy’s shoes on, hurry up, you don’t want to make her wait!”

Big Kiss was never more happy to have a play date END.

In my quest to find the sliver lining in “all things mundane” lately, the Plus Side of the play date? I did NOT have to wipe an unrelated toddler’s butt. Seriously. If G had to drop a deuce, I’d have been calling his mother ASAP. I do enough wiping of crap w/ my own kids. Oh! Another one: hopefully we no longer have to “date” this kid again.

Or his mom.

Saturday Stories

My husband and I both work full time. Which means the boys are in daycare full time. Which means that on the weekends, we typically don’t do a lot. I mean, we don’t schedule the shit out of their mornings with soccer and tee ball and play dates. They have plenty of time to do that when they’re older. So we run errands and hike in the woods and color and play and eat. We eat a lot on the weekends. Snack. Like all day long. I wonder how those kids survive a week-day when they’re not eating every 20 minutes.

Anyway – Saturday we had plans to go out. I know, CRAZY, right? It was Mr. Kiss’ company Christmas party. Or I should say “winter celebration” or whatever PC term I’m supposed to use. So we lined up the babysitter and I was on Cloud 9 all day. That doesn’t usually happen unless A) I slept like 12 hours the night before or B) I’ve had a nice dose of xanax…

Whatever.

To prepare, I went to the gym in the morning while the boys – all of them – got their haircut. This is a constant issue in my house. All 3 “boys” go, takes them 30 minutes and costs $40.

Total.

Me? I went in the afternoon, it took 3 hours and I shelled out $200. Hey, Momma needs to be spoiled sometimes. I got hilites, read my book, napped (no lie) and was served champagne during my blow out. THAT earned her an extra tip, fo sho.

This party wasn’t fancy, but it’s still nice to put on real clothes. You know, other than the leisure suit that is my weekend uniform. And when Big Kiss compliments me – well, that kid melts my heart. I came downstairs to his big smile and heard him whistle and say “Hellooooo Gorgeous!” Pretty sure he learned that from Alvin & the Chipmunks.

Babysitter arrived, told me she coveted my shoes and we were off. To drive. GAH. Nothing like a 45 minute drive to kill the buzz.

Longer story short, we had an amazing time talking with other adults, minor ‘lite chit chat’ about kids and jobs and all that jazz, but mainly laughing and drinking and enjoying life.

The whole “getting to bed at 2am thing,” tho? That can bite me. While Momma needs to be spoiled, she also needs her beauty sleep and on Sunday, after being poked in the eye at 7am, Momma was a bear.

Roar.

longing...

I sure am missing summer. January is a LONG month in New England...

Just The Facts - a repost

I've been feeling nostalgic reading some old posts...this is from June of 2008! Yowza. but it made me smile so I'm resharing. Happy Friday Eve, yo.

I was brushing my teeth to avoid eating a snickers bar and whilst doing so, some random shiznit popped into my head. So I'm sharing - Lil Known Facts about Momma Kiss.

I brush my teeth in the shower. And I brush when I pee, too. But I don’t pee in the shower.

I hate being called Ma'am. "Miss", "Mrs." "Hey dipshit" - all better than Ma'am.

I love French fries (preferably McDonald’s) dipped in ice cream.

My middle name used to be Arlene. Named after my mom’s sister, who’s also my Godmother. I hated it because she is miserable and had no spiritual influence on me. I changed it when I got married (now my maiden name graces the middle).

I have short, fat thumbs that look like big toes.

I am fiercely stubborn.

My absolute favorite part of my body is my feet.

I’m scared shitless of raising my kids wrong.

I’m positive my mother felt the same and hey, she didn’t totally screw me up.

My favorite piece of unsolicited advice when pregnant: “Pray for a boy. With a boy, you worry about one dick. With a girl, you worry about thousands of dicks.”

I love baking.

I obviously also love eating the things I bake.

I sort of regret cutting my hair short. I like the ease of it. I get lots of compliments on it. But my long hair was “me” for so long. And I feel like Mr. Kiss thinks I got a “mom cut.” It’ll grow back, but I’m a lil insecure these days.

I have not had a real conversation with my sister in 2 years.

In the past 2 years, I have added a zillion real conversations with my 3 older brothers.

I love the smell of my freshly bathed baby.

I also love the sunscreen and sweat smell of my 3 year old – means he played hard that day!

I was a “flag girl” in a marching band when I was 9. My mom was the bass drummer. We toured the Midwest for 2 summers and even got to march at Six Flags!

I love being blond, but dayum, I’m going to have to start paying for this color soon.

I skipped a year between high school and college, lived in Montana and worked for a travel agency, Dairy Queen and Jiffy Lube. All at the same time.

When my little brother died in a car accident, I was on winter break and did not tell my mother where I was staying. It took her 12 hours to track me down. I was the last to contact but the first one home.

I’m starting to love Go Diego Go (shhhh).

My ebay identity was stolen once and I became a “seller” of motorcycles and cars, asking the purchaser to send money, via Western Union, to South Africa. That was fun.

I would get a massage every single day if I could afford it.

I’m obsessed with paper products. Planning my wedding (making all invites, etc.) was like a paper orgy for me. There’s a store that enables me – The Paper Source. HEH-ven!

I love doing laundry. I hate folding said laundry.

Since work shut down my IM, I hit the “check mail” button about 239487987 times an hour.

I don’t always wash my hands after changing a diaper.

I always wanted to be a social studies teacher. I’ve even checked into going back to school to get certified.

The first time I touched the ocean I was 24 years old.

I hate salt water.

I have been married for 2,076 days. (don't make me do the math to update this)

I have been a mother for 1,106 of those days. (or this one)

I love camping. Did a 10 day east coast trip w/ a girlie friend once – drove from Boston to the Outer Banks. And a family reunion at a campground when 34 weeks (and insanely huge) pregnant.

I would eat cereal for every meal if I could.

Don't furrow you're brow at me. Unless you're singing.

I’ve figured it out.

The reason my forehead has new wrinkles.

It’s NOT because I’m on the “other” side of 35. Nope. No way.

It’s the way I sing! You know, like in the car, when you’re all alone, and you’re belting out tunes?

I furrow my brow.

Like I’m some bad ass, although is it really bad ass if it’s Ingrid Michaelson? Or the Princess & The Frog soundtrack? Whatever.

If my lips weren’t moving along w/ the words, I’d bet a hundred bucks I do the “white man overbite” too.

Don’t lie, you know you do it, too.

Next time there’s a major riff (is that a word, you know, when there’s just a musical interlude?) Anyway – I’m totally going to be more aware next time I hear that musical part and see if I’m doing the overbite. And head bop. You know I do the head bop, too.

“Like Yeah.”

Let it Shine

Yesterday, January 17th, I woke up with a knee in my back. That of a 4 year old. We slept together in the spare room so Mr. Kiss could get some good sleep. He's been a bit stressed. 

I made coffee, made omelets and toast, got the kids fed and dressed and grabbed my phone for a weather report. That's when I realized the date. And for the first time in 16 years, I did NOT wake up thinking about "the date." You see, January 17th, 1994 was a Monday. The last day of my little brother's life. On that day, on his school lunch break, he was driving on an icy bridge and was hit by an out of control mini-van.  And although there are many many days that I DO wake up and think of him, today was not one of them.

I don't know if that's good or bad.

I'm at peace. I miss him like mad, but I'm at peace. 

I did some typical Sunday things. Went to the gym, hauled some firewood, supported my husband in his job worries and then I just wanted to sit. To sit and have a drink "with" my brother.  When  I really feel like being close to him, I light "his" candle.  We had a white pillar candle lit at our wedding to represent my little brother's spot as a grooms man and I still have it. I tend not to light it for very long, guess I never want it to burn all the way or something.

Anyway, last night before dinner, I kicked the kids to Manland and asked for a little bit of quiet time. I knitted and talked to him. I raised my glass in a toast to him. I told him I miss him and that I'll see him again someday. And I sang this song (in my head) like we used to sing in church together - mocking the old ladies...

This little light of mine,

I'm going to let it shine!

(you know - rinse and repeat).

And then Big Kiss came upstairs, hugged me and said he had to pee.  Cest la vie, right?

The dress

March, 2006. We had an 8 month old baby. Mr. Kiss and I had a rare date night out for his birthday. Some drinks, home to pay the babysitter, and then some rare nookie (like I said – 8 month old baby). Fast forward 2 weeks, I’m pregnant. We were SO not ready it. The baby was a crap sleeper. It was busy season for me at work. Mr. Kiss was building his empire at his own job. A new baby wasn’t planned – yet. But, we knew we wanted 2 kids eventually, so once that shock and awe wore off, we were happy. Thinking “We can totally do this!” The non-sleeping 8 month old would be 18 months when the new baby arrived, too young to know we rocked his world but hopefully walking and becoming a lil more independent. We decided to just accept it and get ‘er done.

In April, we had a friend’s wedding to attend. One of Mr. Kiss’ college friends. April in New England can mean snow or sunshine, so the dress had to be functional. All weather and hide the tiny belly that was already expanding. Why does the belly do that w/ the second kid? Expand all early and shit? Damn.

So the dress had been found and I have to say, it was perfect. Springy, complimented my skin tone…I even got the shrug to go with it so I’d be presentable in church.

The morning of the wedding, I was getting my hair done and felt…I don’t know…not right. I have picture of me that day, taken by the stylist, with a gorgeous updo and a big smile. Funny, the things you remember when you look back at pictures. I got home to tell Mr. Kiss that I felt like something was going on, I was spotting a little bit, and felt crampy and didn’t know what to do. We talked about not going to the wedding – but I figured why sit home and be miserable – the wedding would be a good distraction.

Turns out that us going was a blessing in disguise, we were in Cambridge and my doctor was in Boston. I had to leave during the ceremony due to heavier spotting. I just sat in the car waiting for Mr. Kiss to make an excuse for us. I called the doctor, who said that I was “most likely having a miscarriage” and that we should go to the emergency room. There I sat, alone in a green Chevy Blazer. In a church parking lot. I was crying a little bit and I guess saying good bye to a baby that wasn’t initially wanted. Did I cause it because I felt that way?

We got to the emergency room and watched the comings and goings. I wasn’t in critical condition, wasn’t dying, so I was lower priority. There was a sick toddler. An old man in a wheel chair. And me, in a beautiful dress, losing a baby. No one knew what I was there for. How could they? But I sat and prayed and held Mr. Kiss’ hand. When I finally got back to a room, I was given scrubs to wear and the dress was shoved into a bag, along with my swanky shoes and clutch. We had to call the babysitter and tell her that I was in the ER and we weren’t sure when we’d be home. She’s a friend and I told her what was going on…which was the first time it set in that I was no longer pregnant.

Once you’re given that news – that clear medical news – that the pregnancy has terminated, they still have to do tests and ultrasounds and blood work…which, really? Just let me go home already. Hours passed and we were finally told that there were no more physical signs of the fetus and were released.

The physical aspects were gone. Just like that. But it takes a while for the emotional signs to fade. I’m not sure they ever fully do go away. What would that kid have done in this world? Boy or girl? Would Big Kiss have been close with him or her? Would the baby have red hair like Little Kiss now does?

Anyway, just the other day I saw the dress. I was cleaning and there it was, still in the hospital bag, in the back of my closet. I have no idea what to do with it. Can I donate it? Knowing what IT went through that day? Do I wear it again? I have no idea. I guess it’s the last physical sign I have that I was pregnant in March of 2008…and I can’t give it up yet.

For the record...

...I'm FUCKING HUNGRY!

you know, in case you were wondering...

also? I had myself a Jersey Shore overdose this weekend. Bet your sweet ass I'll be watching that shit again tonight. After The Bachelor. Because when I watch the fucked up shit on t.v. - I feel less fucked up.


carry on.

A Mom

So I have a sinus infection. Again. I guess it’s better than some sort of other bodily infection (ew) but I state the fact that I have sinusitis so as to set the scene here…

I’m hopped up on meds.

I’m sitting at my desk after many many days off.

I’m feeling nostalgic and sentimental.

I’m about to get heavy.

Not fat heavy, but deep heavy. You’ve been warned.

Somewhere in the middle of November, maybe closer to Thanksgiving, I was doubting myself. My roles in life. As a wife, as a mother, as a career woman, as…well, as Me. It wasn’t some huge V8 moment where I just fell to the ground and cried “WHO AM I?” - it just sort of snuck up on me. The Mom role, especially. I started thinking about it one day in the middle of telling Big Kiss to do it “because I said so.”

Really? “Because I said so?” And there was a lot of tossing around “Santa’s watching you” and “Just wait ‘til I tell your father” and “Please stop licking your brother” and “No, I don’t want to see that you wiped your butt really good.”

Who says those things? A Mom, I guess.

I’ve been questioning things like why did God choose me to be a Mom. And to be these boys’ Mom. Any twat can give birth and become a Mother. But I’m their Mom. I say things like the above. I think ahead 47 steps if one of them has a fever and what will it mean for daycare, work schedules, will the other one get sick, how much pain is he in and do we have Motrin. I always pack a diaper and paci in my purse. I buy clothes for them before me (mostly).

But how did I learn to do and say all of that? Is it instinct? Did my own Mom teach me without realizing? And would they be better served with someone else as their Momma? Like someone who didn’t work? Or didn’t have so many emotional issues going on? Or someone who adores playing BatManCave 27x a day?

It’s really hard for me to grasp the fact that I’m 30. OK, Fine, I’m 35, you assholes. A 35 year old, married for 7+ years, 2 kids, house in the burbs, all American yellow-lab owning woman. That’s the profile of an Old Woman.

Not me.

Not the hottie w/ big firm boobies and hips to match! Not the smart, driven work-a-holic who could put in 60 hours a week and still manage to enjoy a happy hour. On a Tuesday. Not the carefree friend who could jump on a flight for a weekend getaway on 24 hours notice. Not the adventurous 26 year old who moved cross-country for a job and slept ‘til noon on the weekends.

When did my “old” profile leave me, and when did I become this…this…current Me? I know we all have to grow up at some point. But I really can’t believe that I have 2 small children who depend on me to make them waffles and to raise them to be good. To kiss their booboos. To care for them unconditionally, even w/ dirty stinky bums.

Alas.

I’m leaving this open ended, for me to revisit when I can, because I have no answers yet. I guess I just continue to do what I can. To be the best Mom I can because I’m all they got. (Don’t tell Mr. Kiss – he’s the “good cop”).