11
The Games Couples Play
How do you spell T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R-N-E-S-S?
The Dude and I love to play games with one another.
Chess, Scrabble, Backgammon, Spit, Poker, Rummi-Q, DJ Hero, and Guitar Hero….once our little guy is the down for the night, we let the games begin.
Once the Monkey came into our lives, the Dude and I needed to find fun activities that we could do at home that were both fun and stimulating [insert requisite sex jokes here]. Yeah, sure, that can be fun…but I’m talking about something we can do every night [insert more requisite sex jokes here]. No, that just ain’t gonna happen.
On the nights when we need a break from our regular TV viewing, we settle in for an evening of challenge and competition. It’s all in good fun though since we tend to laugh ourselves through most games. Unless it’s Scrabble. Because then things can get ugly. But that’s just what happens when you marry an Ivy-league lawyer who majored in Rhetoric. He knows more words in other languages than I know in English. Sad, but true.
Before the little guy came into our lives, our definition of fun was going out to dinner multiple times a week, cooking together, spending time with friends, going to shows, and traveling at a moment’s notice. Those are still fun things for us, but we just don’t have the opportunities to do them as much as we have in the past. When the majority of our nights are at home with a two year-old, the definition of fun has to broaden a bit. Spending alone time together was never considered the luxury it has now become since the Monkey was born, but we try and make sure every minute counts.
It wasn’t easy to get to this point. (continues…)
31
A Mama’s Year-End Review
It’s pretty common for those who work a 9-5 job to get some kind of annual year-end review. For those of us who work the 24/7 job, otherwise known as stay-at-home parents, it’s my belief that we should get a year-end review, too. The only problem is that our boss’s typically lack the verbal skills to express a year’s worth of achievements, failures, and everything in between. If my 26 month-old boss could actually give me a year-end review, I’m guessing it would go something like this:
Hi Mama. Thanks for coming into my playroom office for your year-end review. First, I would like to congratulate you on making it through what I believe has been a challenging year. I started the year with a tentative curiosity that has now morphed into a careless daredevil attitude. I leave you exhausted by the evening and wake you up at sunrise to play. I have become a picky and demanding eater and my table manners are still somewhat nonexistent. I may know how to use a fork now, but I can’t promise that the food will always end up in my mouth. My favorite words are “NO!” “NO WAY” and “NONONONONONO!!!!” which are usually expressed in, uh, a very spirited manner. I tend to treat you like a servant and yet you still smother me with love and kisses. Have you always let people walk all over you like this? If so, we may need to address your self-esteem issues.
While some goals have been met and some expectations have been exceeded, there have been some mistakes and even a few outright failures. The year started out great but things started sliding a bit around the first quarter. That’s about the time I started to actually sleep through the night, which apparently led you to believe that you could sleep more on the job, too. You picked up speed again until the 3rd quarter, which is when I understand you started a “Mommy Blog.” I noticed your work performance slacking a bit when I started getting an extra half-hour on my nap schedule and little extra time in front of Sesame Street and Olivia. Look, I appreciate your need to document “mommy” stuff online as well as your desire to communicate with people other than me, Elmo, and Oswald. I get it. The only reason I bring it up is that while I don’t mind your little side projects, I just want to make sure that you still manage to keep the vast majority of your energy on one thing, and one thing only…me.
For the most part, it’s been a good year. I know I’m not the easiest boss in the world. You’ve been a full-time, 24/7 on-call employee of mine for 26 months now. I have to say, you’ve been managing your position quite well overall, especially since you had zero job experience before you took on this position. Let’s be honest, despite your career and educational background, you knew nothing about what this job would actually entail. However, despite your lack of experience, I am a healthy, happy, and well-adjusted 2 year old. For the most part.
Let’s go over the goals from last year as well as discuss the goals for next year. I am happy to report that many of them have been met. Let’s review:
- Learn to say “thank you” : ACCOMPLISHED! (even though I pronounce it “danku”)
- Eat broccoli: ACCOMPLISHED! (yet you still call them “trees”, as if you think I’m arboristically-challenged)
- Sleep in a big-boy bed: ACCOMPLISHED! (although making me sleep on a mattress on the floor during the “transition period” felt almost criminal at times).
- Play well with others: ACCOMPLISHED! (you know I never mean to throw sand in other kid’s eyes, right? Right???)
- Get me into a sleep routine: ACCOMPLISHED! (I just want to add one thing – can we please stop reading Goodnight Moon all the time? That book makes me have weird dreams about old bunnies, jumping cows, and mush).
Now for the bad news. The following goals were not accomplished:
- Wean me off the binkies: FAIL
- Wean me off the bottle: FAIL
- Wean me off a night bottle(s): FAIL
- Potty-train me: (this one is almost laughable) FAIL
- Learn the alphabet: (seriously?) FAIL
- Learn to count to 3: FAIL
- Stop throwing food: FAIL
- Learn to say I LOVE YOU: eh, I can sign it, so I guess that’s a only a semi-FAIL
So instead of creating some new goals for yourself, perhaps you might want to just work on the items that didn’t get accomplished this past year. I’ve got to be honest. It looks like you got your work cut out for you next year, Mama.
In conclusion, you’ve done a fine job as my mom this past year. Since I don’t know anything different and I have nothing to compare you with, I’d even go as far as to say you’ve done excellent work. Keep it up. Oh, and one more thing. You know how I put my fingers in my ears when you sing me a lullaby every night and you think that’s so cute? Well, what I’m really trying to tell you is…STFU! Oh, uh, where did I learn that from? Ummmm, go ask your co-worker…that daddy fellow. Yeah. Anyways. Thanks again for a good year and let’s make next year even better. Now, go gimme some milk. Danku.
Happy New Year, readers! May 2010 be filled with love, joy, and happiness.
16
It’s Good To Be A Feminist Housewife
I only do 3 out of these 6 things. Hey, a Feminist Housewife still has her limits.
I am a stay-at-home mom. I am a wife. And I am a Feminist.
I am a Feminist Housewife.
No, that’s not an oxymoron. Welcome to a new generation of housewives. We ain’t Donna Reed, yo.
I don’t mean to ruffle any other housewives feathers, but I didn’t grow up necessarily wanting this job. Like many, if not most housewives I know, being a housewife was not my professional goal. I didn’t go to college or two different graduate programs to earn an M.R.S degree. I was already wearing suits and handing out business cards by the time I met the Dude. I didn’t cook and I certainly didn’t pick up after anyone else. I had changed maybe 3 diapers in my life at that point. If that. Nothing about me screamed *housewife-material!*. The Dude and I married with the knowledge that we are equal partners in everything that we do, and that includes raising a family together. We are partners and co-parents. Decisions are made together and we work hard to make sure we’re on the same page when it comes to our relationship and parenting. The Dude even calls himself a feminist, too. It’s good to be married to one of those.
I was raised in the 80′s, which was a great time to grow up for a girl. I wasn’t raised on Donna Reed, June Cleaver, or even Edith Bunker. I was raised on Mrs. Huxtable, Kate & Allie, and Murphy Brown. Those women were smart feminist chicks who could support their families and hold their own against any man. They were my feminist icons. But my biggest influence was undoubtedly my own mother. After my parents divorced, she was the one who stressed the importance of being self-sufficient and independent. She didn’t just tell me to be that way. She showed me the way. I watched my mom work her way through graduate school while raising three kids alone. It was not only impressive, but it made a life-long impact on me. I knew from a young age that the key to everything was through education and drive. Become your own person before you marry and have the means to support yourself…just in case, my mother would tell us. Her pragmatism helped shape us. My sister and I were not raised to believe that we were little princesses and that Prince Charming would come along one day to save us. Instead, we grew up with the drive to be educated and financially independent and the belief that if Prince Charming actually did show up, well, he better be willing to cook, clean, and change diapers*, too. (continues…)
24
It’s Hard Out Here For A Cashew
Yesterday was apparently National Cashew Day.
Yay!!! Finally!
It’s great to finally get some respect and recognition. Everyone else gets a parade and a holiday, so why can’t the Cashews?!?
From the early 1990′s, I called myself a Cashew. While I didn’t make up the slang term (or at least I don’t think I did), it’s been around for a while. Check Urban Dictionary if you don’t believe me. If you’re still puzzled, here’s the fuzzy math:
Catholic + Jew = Cashew
I know it doesn’t totally flow, but it worked. And I always thought it was kind of cute.
There are a lot of Cashews out there and the numbers just keep growing. There are also a lot of Pizza Bagels (Italian Jews), Jewbans (Cuban Jews), and Jewanese (Jewish Japanese). I’ve met quite a few varieties over the years and, I have to admit, it was (and still is) always nice to meet another one. It’s like a special club of some sort Unless you’re mentioned in an Adam Sandler song, it’s hard to know who is half-Jewish. I mean, did you know Gwyneth Paltrow, Goldie Hawn, Harrison Ford, or Paul Newman was half-Jewish? How about Lenny Kravitz? Uh, nevermind. I wonder how many people call him when they’re really looking for Lenny Kravitz, the kosher butcher.
I often get asked, so what’s it like being a Cashew? OK, not really. But in case you’re curious, I’ll tell you anyways.
It’s really not a whole lot different than being “half” of anything else. Growing up, it was hard to know where I fit in. Sometimes I felt ostracized from one side or the other. I spent 12 years in Catholic school, but I never really felt comfortable going to church and confessing my adolescent “sins” a few times a year. Sure, I was always glad when the priest let me off with a few Hail Marys for pinching my sister and calling my brother a name. My mother, however, was never that forgiving. (continues…)
19
Time Is Not On Our Side. It Never Was.
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
-Ferris Bueller
As a child, I would count down the days to school breaks or to family vacations. As a student, I would count down days until an exam or the end of a semester. Once I started working, I would still count down minutes, hours, and days - is it 5:00 yet? Is it happy hour yet? It’s only Monday? Ugh, I wish it was Friday. Time, it seemed, often consumed me and sometimes even paralyzed me.
I’m still consumed by time, but now I often wish the clock would just stop ticking. How I would love to recapture the feeling of too much time, but I fear it’s impossible. I’m much older and wiser now. I know better. My days fly by in the blink of an eye now. You can blame it on the busyness that adulthood and responsibility brings, but it’s much more simplistic than that. Simply put, life is too short. I just didn’t realize how short it was until I had a child. (continues…)