Sometimes when I’m in the car with the kids, and they are being exceptionally loud, I turn on the GPS system and tell them they must be completely quiet so I can listen to the directions. It’s just that the soothing voice of British Simon directing me home is much more tolerable than screaming and fighting. Even if he is telling me how to get from the kid’s school to my home, or some other place I’ve driven a million times. The kids haven’t caught on to the ruse yet, and it buys me some quiet time.
We are officially back in our house after the Great Flood and Exile of 2010. We’ve been a little back and forth over the past week – packing up the hotel room, unpacking boxes at home, escaping to the hotel when there was too much construction going on here, and then retreating to our house at night when it was empty. We’ve all been coughing and hacking from the drywall dust. That or we have mesothelioma from all the asbestos we’ve been living with for the past seven years. Or black lung from the mold in the walls.
Or the consumption. I’m not sure what the consumption is exactly, but it sounds very Victorian and tragic. Yes, I think we all have the consumption.
It has been chaotic to say the least. When we were gone, every single one of our belongings was either taken to the hotel or put in storage. So getting everything back to its rightful place (with four kids running around) has been quite the task. The other night, amidst the boxes, the kids found a huge box full of heavy footed pajamas that I bought on sale at the end of the winter season. (Yes, I am THAT MOM). I had planned for these pj’s to be Christmas gifts, but once they found their respective character favorites on new pajamas there was no turning back. My kids have insisted on wearing these fleece footies to bed in what I believe to be the hottest week of the summer (in a house with no a/c), and then they wake up in the night crying and drenched in sweat.
Of course, it could just be their fever breaking from the consumption.
In other stories of misplaced things, there was a good week where I could not find any of my underwear. I packed them from the hotel to take home, and they somehow never re-emerged as I unpacked our suitcases. I had to make due (make do?) with a couple pair of non-everyday underwear for the last week. I don’t want to get too personal here, but when I say non-everyday underwear, I think you know what I mean. The kind you pull out for, ahem . . . special occasions. (Like going to the gynecologist). Not the kind you want to be wearing as you schlep a stroller full of children through Trader Joe’s.
(And as I’ve mentioned before, you ladies who insist that this kind of butt floss is really more comfortable? You are attention-seeking liars. Not to mention, I mean, really . . . should you be going around talking about what kind of underwear you prefer? Show some decorum, people).
Luckily, yesterday I finally discovered a forgotten suitcase in the back of the car, that contained all of my sensible underwear. Although, the reunion was brief because last night I had a fancy press event at a new restaurant at South Coast Plaza, so I threw some Spanx on and painted my nails just before hopping in the car.
The only thing is, just as I arrived to the restaurant and stepped out of my car, my Spanx (which were not real Spanx, but the generic kind from Target) completely rolled down. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. (And if you don’t, I don’t want to be friends with you). So my non-Spanx are heading south, and my nails are wet, and all I can do is try to suck in enough to make my stomach concave so that the non-Spanx will unfurl (as if), and walk in such a way that there is no further rolling of the Spanx. When I got to the restaurant, I said an awkward hello to the other bloggers and then high-tailed it to the bathroom where I did some creative adjustments with my elbows to avoid getting nail polish all over my dress. After which point, I returned to the table where each of us had a formal place-setting, and loudly exclaimed Dudes, someone put, like, eight wine glasses at each table!! And then someone quietly explained that this would be a six-course meal with wine pairings. And then I pretended like I had been kidding earlier, because of course I knew that’s why we each had so many wine glasses, because I am ALWAYS having multiple-course meals with wine pairings.
(no I’m not)
I must say, the Seasons 52 restaurant blew me away, and not just because it was fancy cuisine and I was without small children. When we arrived I perused the menu and noticed that it was pretty heavy on the rare and fancy meats, and I pulled the chef aside and asked if there were vegetarian options. Without missing a bit, he whipped up a vegetarian plate for me at each course, and it was truly stunning. This was the artichoke-stuffed artichoke appetizer. Because really, can you ever have enough artichoke? I don’t think so.
Seasons 52 relies on seasonal, healthy food that is locally grown. I was trying to describe the genre to Mark when I got home . . . sustainable gourmet, perhaps? Anyways, it was delicious and I seriously ate so much that I felt sick by the end. And then dessert came.
Um, yeah. I had a few Alka Seltzers last night. And this morning. It was nice to sit with some other bloggers and chat about the “business”. There was an interesting conversation about online privacy, and how to avoid sharing too much of your personal life with others through all of the mediums of social media. And I was sitting there feeling very proud of myself for how I present myself as such a professional and perfect woman, and never share too much information in this space or on twitter.
Especially because earlier this week there was a particularly hilarious story that would have been fun to share, involving Jafta’s footie pajamas and a tragic re-enactment of a certain scene from There’s Something About Mary, but I held back from sharing it because 1) it is too personal, 2) it is inappropriate, 3) it would be getting a cheap laugh off of something painful for my kid, 4) it might present a crack in my strong feelings that circumcision is wholly unnecessary, 5) the use of the term “frank and beans” might bring me some unwanted google searches, and also might be considerably offensive to many of my readers, and 6) This particular movie has become Something That Shall Not Be Named in our family ever since I took my inlaws to see it when I was first married. While Mark was out of town. Just me, sitting in between my new father-in-law and mother-in-law, and a veeery long scene of Ben Stiller’s alone time in a bathroom as I wonder why in the world I didn’t check the content rating before suggesting the movie. I’m shuddering just remembering the awkwardness of that moment. So, yes. I’m glad I maintained my boundaries in holding back on that story. Aren’t you?
Although I do feel compelled to issue this warning to mothers everywhere: if you are gonna let your child zip up their own footed pajamas, take care that they are wearing underwear first.
Incidentally, I haven’t done a “keeping it real” link-up in a while. Got a post where you overshare? Link it up here.
But something tells that, while the specifics may vary, we’ve all been there.
I absolutely loved reading through all the links last time – thank you so much to all of you who played along!
For my own confession this time around, I’d like to highlight some of the technical challenges that I live with on a daily basis. First of all, my phone. Not even sure where to start with this one. I started using a Palm Pilot back in the 90’s, when it was considered to be an up-and-coming gadget. (Don’t judge me. So did you). I was first in line when Palm started making a phone combo. The problem is, I have never converted. My Palm has all my work contacts, my friends’ addresses, my schedules and birthdays, and I am just way too intimated to switch to another phone. EVEN THOUGH I KNOW THEY ARE BETTER. Also, my carrier doesn’t even make Palm phones. So I keep buying used Palm phones on ebay, and they keep breaking. (Or I drop them in water. Same diff). Currently, I have one semi-working phone, that often powers off in the middle of conversations. But it doesn’t charge the battery. So every night I pull the battery out of the (semi) working phone and pop it into an older model that no longer works at all, except to charge the battery. Classy? You betcha.
And then there is the state of my card reader.
Our family television has white lines that cover half the screen. The DVD player breaks every couple of months and we have one techy friend who graciously fixes it for us. The rest of the time we plug in the kid’s portable DVD player.
Also, my photo-editing software? Microsoft Paint. The one that comes free with the computer. That’s all I know how to use.
(Let’s not talk about how long it took me to convert to itunes).
Nevertheless, I’ve been playing around with my cutting-edge graphics stuff, trying to come up with a new button for this little series. I really wanted to capture the perfect shot of Karis, mid-meltdown. Which means that I’ve pulled out the camera and taken a picture of her every time she’s cried. Here are a few of my favorites:
I think these were nice, but they didn’t capture the full two-barrel snot cry as well as this one did:
And why are her lips so red, you may be asking? Oh, that’s because she likes to eat magic markers. And I find her (or Kembe finds her) huddle in a corner eating a magic marker every day. Since we’re keeping it real, let me also confess that she has often gotten through several colors by the time she is discovered.
All right, your turn. Let us in on some of your real moments. It can be a new blog post or one you’ve written in the past. (Doesn’t have to be about technology, just has to be honest). The final button is below, if you wanna grab it for your own post.
I have a love/hate relationship with mom blogs. On many levels, I love it, because it allows me to feel connected to other moms during this season where I am rather isolated at home. I appreciate hearing that I’m not alone, and reading that others are having similar experiences. At the same time, I am also aware that blogging can become a medium for us to present our “best selves”: from detailing homemade crafts to posting stunning photos of our kids, a blog can become a show-and-tell for moms that glosses over the hard parts with good lighting and soft filters. I love reading blogs and feeling inspired – really I do – but I sometimes wonder how all of this is setting up our expectations for the daily grind of motherhood.
But something tells that, while the specifics may vary, we’ve all been there.
So, I’ll start. My “keeping it real” moment this week occurred when I was attempting to clean out my garage. Posting pictures of my garage alone could suffice – I believe I could be a candidate for a Hoarders episode with my garage in its current state. I was trying to at least pave a path for the children to play, and Karis was crawling all over the place, finding stray leaves and twigs (and silverfish? perhaps?) and attempting to put them in her mouth. I thought that I should go grab the excersaucer so I could have a way to keep her contained. But the excersaucer was all the way in the house . . . and so bulky and heavy . . . and here I was in a garage full of plastic boxes . . .
So what do you think I did? I put my baby in a box. In the corner. And then I let her play with a knife. BECAUSE IT WAS THERE, AND IT MADE HER HAPPY.
(Please also note the graveyard of infant carseats behind her).
So that’s my shining moment for this week. Well, one of them anyways. Wanna play? Just link back to your own blog below. Write a post, or find an old post, and give us your best moment. Or should I say not-so-best moment.
I will keep this up for about a week, and post another one in a few weeks. Or months. Or I might just get distracted and forget about it completely, but for now I’m a little giddy about the spree of mediocrity this experiment might inspire.
You can copy the code below into your post to get the title graphic for your own post. Or not. The bar is very low here, gals.