Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Beachy Clean.....

Today was a significant day in the year for me. Not because is was my 36th birthday, but because it marked the first day of the 2010 beach season.

I went to bed happy last night...knowing that today was going to be in the mid 80's, and I would keep my girls out of school so that we could experience the first beach day together. (ok, I wanted to be able to enjoy a little sun time while they chase the baby around)

The house was awake at about 7am...far too early for a non school day. As I opened the drapes, I was excited to see the sun is beaming in!

The first item on the agenda...I need to take a shower. Normally, I would not shower prior to going to the shore, however, a clean shave is required. Shaving for summer is dissimilar to shaving in the fall, winter and even spring. You see, in the summer, the most skin is exposed and reaches approximately 2 feet above the knee...all areas of which needs to be clean and neatly shaven. Not to mention, a bathing suit is going to be worn.....in pubic...I mean public. (bringing me to the real issue)

Anyone who has seen Sex and The City, (the first movie) can remember the scene is which Samantha is all over Miranda about the "situation"...and the horribleness of it. There will no "Situation" in this camp.

I should have purchased a new razor for the event....older razors tend to cause the job to take longer than necessary. As such, I figured a quick scissoring was initially required.

Unfortunately, the only scissors I could find were from my scrapbook box....and anyone who does scrap booking knows that scissors used for scrap booking do not have straight edges. The ones I had have a pretty wave and peak pattern...nice. (nice for paper, that is. I will leave it at that)

So, on to the rusty razor. The rusty razor cut me in 4 places. Which lead me to my bathing suit choice.

I have a bathing suit compulsion comparable to my shoe compulsion. I keep my suits catalogued in two drawers. Each suit is kept in a ziploc lunch bag. I have lone tops and bottoms as well which are kept in their own baggy's. I have drawn a picture on the bag so as to know what is inside. There are 108 baggies in all. Clearly a problem, I know.

Today's suit will not be one of the better ones, as I know the beach will not be crowded, and no sense wasting a super suit on a bunch of seagulls. I had little choice anyway.

Due to the bikini job that looked like it was done by Michael Meyers, I had to wear a skirted bottom. (not an old lady skirt, but a skirt just the same)

Next, I had to blow out my hair. Again, not something I would normally do. However I had to have my picture taken for my beach club ID. The pictures are usually small and grainy, however, I feel it necessary to look my best. I even put a little eyeliner and lip gloss on. I had to compensate for my license picture which is 7 years old and was taken 2 weeks after I gave birth. I had tried to bribe the woman at the AAA DMV for a new pic at last renewal, but she wouldn't do it (i had also done my hair and wore good makeup).

I walked to the office door of the beach club, hoisted my boobs up and a bit out of my bikini top to elicit some some cleavage ( in the event they made the picture) and proceeded in. Unfortunatley I wasn't able to get my pic done for issues related to the beach club.

SO, I made sure to have Ava take my pic on the beach so the effort I put in was not wasted (I could at least get a new Facebook profile picture).

The remainder of the day was filled with a sandy crotch, runny eyeliner, breasts flashed (thanks Emma) to an old man sitting in front of me, and a bunch of crabs. Happy Birthday.

I ponder how funny that my life has come full circle - ...the difference being that in my late teens, sandy drawers, runny eyeliner and exposed boobs were the result of a good date (the crabs.... a result of a bad date)

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Don't do that or else.....

In addition to scaring the shit out of my lil' ones in the hopes of keeping them safe, there are also just some things they shouldn't do....or say.

"Time outs" don't really work with my children...frankly, I never used this as a form of punishment. So many kids I know are in a time out at least 10 times a day. Common sense would dictate that CLEARLY, it has no effect if you need to do it more than once...maybe twice at them most. These kids are smarter than their parents. They know a time out is temporary, and really, once its over, its over. (until the next one)

No, something more effective was needed. Aside from physical violence...(which I only threaten in a worst case scenario) I needed to come up with something my kids would buy into.

First, at a very young age, the scene had to be set if you will. A little background per say so that when it was time to pull out the big guns, there would be merit to my words...at least in their minds.

I planted the seeds. The first, was Jesus. This is a good one seeing as though we ARE Catholic. Granted, I am a but of a hypocritical Christian as I do not regularly go to Church, however, i have always taught the kids my beliefs in Jesus. They believe he is good, almost perfect, and expects goodness from the people on Earth. Now, I did throw in my one little ditty's here and there.

"Ava, Liza.... Jesus will make the decision and whether or not you will go into heaven. He keeps a list and makes check marks when you do something good...or bad"

I, like many parents, used Santa. However, it occurred to me that Santa does not last forever, and therefore would be of no use to me once they caught on the there was no Santa watching them. I went above Santa...straight to the big guys son...Jesus. I figured out something that many wouldn't think of.

You see, eventually, and soon, the kids will not believe in Santa. And then you got nothing. I have Jesus. And Jesus will last a loooonnnggg time. Forever, even.

As such, I use "Jesus is Watching you"....and it works, the majority of the time.

Next. I always make it a point to tell my children about actual law. Crime. What is punishable by law. What will land you in the clink, earn you some community service, or hand over your birthday money as "fine" payment. Specifically, I enjoy throwing the word "felony" around...and a felony is punishable by a life behind bars or death.

So, in addition to Jesus is watching you, I have my next go to threat: "Don't do that.....its a felony".

Things that constitute a felony can be inappropriate name calling, wasting food, or walking on the playground mulch with shoes on. Police are far more scary than me at this point. Granted, not as good as Jesus...but works just the same.

I have made it very clear that unlike the "time out", pissing off Jesus is not temporary...and committing a felony means being taken away, and possible lethal injection.

My children are by no means the most perfectly behaved kids in the hood...not by far (especially one of them). However, I pride myself in the fact that when I sling a threat, it sticks...and the behavior usually ceases.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Its just a Baby...One Baby...

OK, so there is this show, on a cable learning channel, about the first several days home with a new baby. I am sure every pregnant woman sits with eyes glued to the screen, soaking in the good, the bad and the ugly in regards to new babies. This is particularly true for new mothers.

I am not sure why I continue to watch these shows, but I do.

Now, my commentary/opinion:

Bullshit. It is all complete and utter bullshit. Day one. The baby comes home. The mom, the dad, four sets of grandparents and a couple of cousins twice removed are all there cooking dinner and helping clean the house.

The mom and dad change the baby's diaper, together, about every 40 minutes. People...unless you are using cloth diapers, you seriously do not need to change the diaper EVERY pee. They are good for at lease 9 or 10 pees. You just squeeze the crotch...if its gel like, change the diaper. If not, then you're good. If it smells like poop, change the diaper. (And for God sake, the thing is like 7 pounds...if one of you cant do it yourself, they you are clearly stupid and shouldn't have had a baby)

I especially get a kick out of the episodes when the grandparents actually move in to help with the baby and tend to the home. When the baby wakes at night, every able body in the house is up...lights on, walking around the house, heating bottles, changing diapers, conversing about how hard it is. Its a freaking BABY....one little baby. Really.....get a grip. Women had babies in cotton fields on their lunch breaks...and then slung the kid on their backs and went back to work.

The portrayal is completely ridiculous to me. No one stayed at my house...no one got up with me. No one came to clean my house. I kept my supplies next to my bed which consisted of 2 diapers and a bottle of water. Period. No lights went on, no conversation was had. In fact I was alone. My husband has never gotten up with a baby a night in his life. (Occasionally, I would offer Ava a few bucks to stay with me...but she often declined)

After about a week of this nonsense, the most awful thing happens....the grandparents leave and her husband goes to work. Oh no. Whatever will she do? She sits, interviewed by the show and begins to spew about how she cannot wait until her husband comes home, how she is tired. Tired? You were one of 14 people up with this baby last night (??)

I know I am not the only one who feels this way about the programming....I have spoken to several friends who have the same impression, so I know I am not being bitchy (well, I am, but I am right this time)

Anyway, a warning to those who believe that this is what its like the first several days....it doesn't need to be the overwhelming circus the program makes it out to be. You husband may move to the sofa...and never come back. Your parents may pop in long enough to overstimulate the baby, and you will be no worse for the wear.

After about a year of this, you will be in marriage counseling, taking xanax, and threatening to leave on a plane or rent a one bedroom .....with your cat.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Operation Tweeze

Like so many of my things, my tweezers had gone missing. For some reason, I hadn't replaced it even though it had been on my agenda for the past several weeks. My eyebrows had been in the forefront of my mind for days, in and out of my thoughts at random intervals during the day. At this particular moment, I was having fun scaring the bejesus out of Emma with the good ole fashioned game, "Operation". (I would slowly stick the tweezers in the holes and then firmly hold it against the edges while it buzzed long and loudly. All the while, I shook from head to toe) I found it funny for the first few times until it occurred to me she was too young to appreciate a good electrocution...or seizure. I was wasting my humor on her measly 1 year old brain. Where are Ava and Liza when I need them.

Anyway, the operative word in the above paragraph is "tweezers". I looked at the game, and decided to drag the entire thing into the bathroom. I held the naked body part of the game in my left hand and the tweezers in the right. I knew it was impossible to do a full brow shaping, so I concentrated on the most obvious hairs. It worked, however it was difficult to grip. With NO PRECISION at all, I completed what I had set out to do and was awfully proud of my tenacity.

I will admit that it concerns me a bit that I was proud...and not mortified. I then forced myself to me mortified, made an appointment with Pam (my esthetician) and shamed myself with a big glass of wine and a prayer.

"Dear Lord, please stop what seems like daily lobotomy which strips pieces of my old self's brain into this woman who has also used a nasal aspirator to baste a chicken, nipple cream as lip balm and a diaper as a feminine hygiene product ..(I was desperate). PS. Thank you for the NEED for the feminine hygiene product. "

Later, as I was lying in bed with my newest appendage, I began thinking about the tweezing incident. And I laughed. And I took back my prayer. And I thanked God for the opportunity to be a little housewife cliche now and then.