Less is more - really!

I am not sure what your kids are like, but mine do not play with toys and do not entertain themselves. Not long enough for a phone call, not long enough for a load of laundry to be switched from wash to dry and certainly not long enough for a shower where I can shave my legs. (ok, who has enough time for THAT these days!) We have millions of toys, and one of my constant rants to the kids is "Find a toy and play with it!" Often, they cry when they hear this. Nice, eh? Like playing with a toy is punishment. I just assumed that my kids were 'less imaginative' and needed more interaction. WRONG! I first realized that something was awry when I took my children to a local children's museum and they flocked to the same train table that we have at home (yet they never play with). I mean, literally, they RAN to the table, picked out among many other choices and played there for an hour. SAME brand, SAME trains... I was stymied. Then I started to observe the table. Ok, it only had a few tracks and a few trains; the entire fleet seemed to be in the garage somewhere. The mini city of tracks were also missing. Hmmm... could I be on to something? A few more trips to local play areas and I observed the same thing: the less options there were, the more readily my kids picked a toy and played. Then, I looked around my own living room and I was horrified! Toys everywhere! No parts together, piles and baskets and stacks of toys! They were so overwhelming to me that I had ignored picking them up for weeks, and apparently, so did my kids. So, the cleaning binge was on! With some feedback from my boys and some elbow grease, I purged 5 trash bags of toys. Some were donated, some were sold and some were trashed. All in all, our living room toy inventory was cut but 65%. And guess what? My kids have never been happier. They actually use the toys that are left, use their imaginations and even attempt to puts their toys away at clean up time. Seriously - this is no place for bullshit! Less really IS more... who'd a thunk it?!

Taking the Lord's name in vain... yeah, I've done that

Christmas stress has finally gotten to me. Until today, I have planned, baked, wrapped and bought my heart out. Until today, I looked at gifts in the traditional way; you buy them in a store and, if you are lucky, you get them wrapped there too. But today is different. Today, we MADE our gifts; pinecones rolled in paint and sprinkled in glitter... then wrapped with a bow. At first, it seemed like such a sweet idea. We collected the pinecones, we dried them in the sun, we planned our paint color and our glitter color... But you see, it takes a very special person to be patient, and to let a kid put glitter all over their kitchen table. And, while I know that the process is the journey (not the final product), I still cringed at the globs of glitter glue that stuck to each cone. I complained that the bows weren't just right and I griped at J's color choices - mainly mixing every color of paint into one brown mess. At my breaking point, a tub of purple glitter paint had hit the tiled floor, and I all but screamed  'Jesus, why are we even doing this?!?!' To which J promptly and matter-of-factly replied, "because we need to make gifts for people." You see, he was not the least concerned about the mess, the spills or the clean-up ahead.  He merely wanted to make things that he thought people would enjoy. So, shame on me...I should take a page from his book and learn the true Christmas spirit. I should relax, enjoy the season  and do what feels right, Goddammit...And, maybe have a glass of chardonnay while I scrub the paint off the kitchen floor.......

Liar, Liar, pants on fire!

Ok, literally my pants are on fire. Tonight I blatantly lied to my kids and frankly, I don't feel THAT bad about it. You be the judge: Firstly, Baby G had a very short nap today. Secondly, J. ran around as if being chased by a tiger all day, and as such was cranky and tired. Lastly, I was feeling like my hubby (a.k.a. "H") and I needed some time alone. So, living in New England and all, I decided to be oportunistic and use the darkness as an advantage. While my kids usually go to bed at 7:30, tonight I faked them out. I fed them dinner at 4:30 (which they ate as if they had been starved for weeks) and at 6:00 I claimed it was 7:30 and put them to bed. Neither one of them complained, and both fell asleep promptly. Thus, leaving time for me and hubby, plus me and Mr. Sandman. Did I lie? Yes. Do I feel bad? Hmmmm.... What's my pennance, mommies?

Gluttony...sure!

So why Chardonnay and Olives, you ask?... When I was single (and also when I was newly married), I worked in Boston at a highfalutin job where work and social status were grossly intertwined. For dinner most nights, I would stay late and have a 'Smart One' meal: microwaved and pastey and fine. But, on Thursday or Friday nights, watch out! After working late, I would meet my peeps at the local bars and socialize myself - hopefully, and sadly often successfully - into the next higher position. Because I am cheap, weight conscious and, frankly, embarrassed to order a meal when noone else is eating, I often just ordered my drink and asked the bartender for a bowl of olives from the garnish tray. The olives kept my stomache at bay and the wine made the stress go away - at least temporarily. Now when I get stressed, I revert to the 'good ole days'....a glass of wine and a few olives after the kids go to sleep. Then, it's back to to the land of stress...

If cleanliness is next to godliness, then I will see you in hell!

Today I watched a mom at the Food Court of the mall. She and her husband had two small children and were, apparently, buying lunch. While "dad" went to Johnny Rockets to buy a burger, "Mom" went biserk. She pulled out Clorox wipes and first wiped down the table, then the chairs. Next, she sanitized her hands with what I guessed was Purell. From here, she broke out two sticky placemats that taped to the table so that her kids would not have to eat off the now Cloroxed table top. She pulled out her own straws and plasticware, then sat her kids down to eat. I watched in awe as my own kids sat in unsantized chairs, and ate off the unsantized table with the plastic silverware that everyone and their mother probably touched. What are your thoughts on this? Am I a huge slacker for not carrying child-protecting wipes? or does she have OCD?

What would you pay for a song?

Forgive me mommies, for I have sinned.... I am cheap, well, cheap-ish. Oh, and a procrastinator. Whatever, you be the judge. I took my three year old son, at his request, to the Build a Bear store a mere three weeks before Christmas. Sure, it sounds indulgent but we had a gift card and I am certain to see the relatives who gave us the gift card over the holidays. I figured that it would look bad to say "Um, No... I haven't had time to take my child to the toy store and buy him the present that you thought you gave him a year ago. Why, yes you are right, I don't work... Why yes you are right, I guess I DO have the time... " and so on. You get my point... Anywho, we walk into the store and immediately J picks the Rudolph. The overly sweet woman who has been assigned to J then asks if HE would like the deer to sing the Rudolph song.  She is quick, but I am quicker. Before he could answer I chime in "Does it cost extra?" The look of disgust she gives me is blatant... but I am not afraid. We stare at each other for a moment and then she speaks first: "Yes, but only $6.00". It goes on as follows:

Me - For $6.00 I expect to get a REAL reindeer, complete with pen and food set up in my back yard. I will then charge all of the neighborhood kids to see him, claiming of course that he is one of Santa's herd. I will not stop until I recoup my $6.00, plus a little extra Chardonnay money.  And besides, there are a gazillion radio stations playing Christmas songs 24/7 and I am betting one of them is playing the song for free every 5 minutes.

Sales girl - okaaaaay (in a sassy and judgemental voice)

Ok, fine... so that was my fantasy response. It really went like this:

Me - No thanks, I prefer that my child plays with non-animated toys to foster his imagination.

Sales girl - okaaaaay (in a sassy and judgemental voice)

And then I proceeded to watching my son stuff cotton into a deer, grinning like a fool. Oh ya... it doesn't get better than this!

You know who you are....

When people ask me if I enjoy staying at home with my kids, my immediate answer is an enthusiastic: Yes! I love it! I am fortunate to be able to spend these years with them, my cherubs! And I really mean it... almost all of the time. You see, my boys are 3 and 1. They are beautiful, active, healthy and intelligent. They also spend every waking minute with me (and a few sleeping ones in the wee hours of the morning). And I mean every minute; I am considering installing stadium seating in my bathroom for all the spectators. I am a good mom by most standards. I spend time planning activities that will stimulate their little brains, I endure mom's groups and playdates and playground politics. Therefore, I feel that I am entitled to a little treat or three on those days. You know, the days when your three year old decides to ask the sales clerk why she is so fat, or when your one year old poops through two onsies and a pair of pants on the only day that you don't have 15 spare diapers? Yeah, THOSE days. A cold glass of Chardonnay and bowl of olives after the kids are alseep make it all better. Oh, don't balk...you know who you are....You might pick chocolate and Merlot, or chips and Pinot Grigio, but we are the same. I am just writing about it. My name is Tara and these are my confessions....