|
Mommy Talk
October 2008
Friday October 31, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:27AM CST on October 31, 2008
I had to look up the date of my 6-year-old’s baptism the other day for a school paper he was filling out. I went to the upper shelf in his closet and pulled down his baby book. Then the guilt hit me. I wouldn’t be able to look up my 5-year-old’s baptism date. I never wrote it in his baby book. The fact that he even has a baby book with any information filled out, at one time, felt like an accomplishment. And then there’s my 18-month-old daughter. She doesn’t have a baby book. My mother is constantly after me about making notes in my children’s baby books about this or that. "Did you write that down in his baby book?" she’ll ask. "Marci, make sure you put that in her baby book," she’ll say. I don’t have the nerve to tell her my daughter doesn’t have one. Although, I guess I just did. Coming in to work Friday, I had no idea what I was going to write for Mommy Talk this week. I started looking back through the archives for inspiration. That’s when it hit me. Hello — I have the most complete and amusing record of my children’s lives ever! My co-workers and I started writing Mommy Talk as an online blog in September of 2005 when my boys were 2 and 3. Most of the stuff I’ve written over the years would never make it into a typical baby book, which only makes me love the memories more. Here’s a few of my favorites: The 2-year-old throws his vegetables. The 3-year-old has to go to the bathroom - three times. They don’t like my meatloaf, or my baked chicken, or my casserole. They won’t drink their milk. They won’t sit up straight. They won’t eat over their plates. They mash their mashed potatoes in their hands. They bang their forks on my wood table and leave scratch marks. (Sept. 2005) Pushing the Lil’ Limo through a crowded store while searching racks of clothes is hard work. By the time I got to the near-capacity filled dressing room, I was sweating. I expertly maneuvered the big stroller and the two pairs of pants I wanted to try on into the tiny stall. Just as I was about to unbutton my pants, my 3 1/2-year-old looked at me and said in the loudest voice possible, "You can’t do that, everyone will see your penis!" At first I was horrified. I thought the women around me must be wondering what kind of mother this child had. Then I heard a chuckle from across the stall wall, and then a few more. In a few minutes I was laughing so hard I was snorting. The whole way to the register, my not-quite-2-year-old sat in the back of the stroller saying, "Enis, enis, enis." Thank God no one but me and his brother could understand what he was saying. (Oct. 2005) My oldest son is honest to a fault. If I ask him if he did something naughty, he not only admits it, but tells me the whole story of what happened - knowing he’s probably going to be punished. My younger son is a completely different story. He will tell the tallest tales. The other day he told my husband that I put him in time out and poured ketchup on him. If it wasn’t so funny, I’d be irritated at him. (March 2006) Not too long ago my 4-year-old "fixed" the bathroom sink with a toy wrench. We had a puddle of water on the floor, and a real repair to make. (April 2006) I thank God every day that I taught my boys the Italian word for passing gas. They must say "peedatu" 15 to 20 times a day. They sing songs about "doing peedatus," and announce it to everyone who will listen when they "do a stinky peedatu." They think it’s hilarious. (April of 2006) We spent $21 on tickets, $11.75 on popcorn, soda and candy. We went into the theater. Our boys sat nice for the first 10 minutes until the snacks ran out. Over the next 30 minutes we took the 3-year-old to the bathroom 4 times and our 4-year-old to the bathroom once. They talked loudly, wouldn’t sit, and didn’t care about watching the movie at all. We left. (July of 2006) The boys have walked in on me taking a shower or getting dressed in the morning when they couldn’t wait to ask me a burning question about Pop Tarts or Batman. One day my 3-year-old asked me why I had such big armpits. (Dec. 2006) This morning my husband and I woke up to the alarm chime on our door sounding, telling us someone was going out or coming into the house. We got out of bed and found our 3-year-old outside in his pjs and socks in the backyard. "What are you doing?" my husband yelled. "Get back in the house!" "Dad, I was seeing that bunny in the yard and I wanted to go out and get it," he said. (April 2007) I went upstairs, plucked her out of the crib and laid her on the changing table, as she continued to wail. I opened her diaper, which was fairly dry and slipped it off. That’s when I saw it roll out from her pajamas: a pea leftover from dinner. After wrapping a new diaper around her bottom and zipping up her pjs, I set my baby girl back down in bed. She grabbed her fluffy and favorite pink blanket, rolled to the side and shut her eyes, finally content. "My God," I thought, "My princess was bothered by a pea." (Feb. 2008) "We’re going out to hunt skunks," my younger son says in a pretend-grown up voice. "We might get a little stinky out there." (August 2008) I spent most of my morning re-reading all of these old blogs and caught myself laughing out loud and marveling over how much my children have changed in just three years. Then I read this: Almost every night someone spills their milk. Almost every night they have to be reminded more than once to sit down. Almost every night someone refuses to eat something on their plate. Almost every night someone has to be reminded to keep their food on their plate. (April of 2008) Wasn’t that one of my first blogs? Wednesday October 29, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 5:23PM CST on October 29, 2008
Five reasons I love helping at my daughter’s classroom Halloween parties:
1. I get to spy on my child in her daytime habitat – see who she laughs with, who she sits by, who admires her surgeon costume, and whose costumes she admires. I’ve always believed that my children are completely different at school than they are at home – so any chance to spy on them at school is a sneak peak into their alternate selves.
2. I get to meet the kids whose names pop up during dinner table conversations and finally put faces with names. (Ah, so that’s the boy who was so nice when she was having a bad day. Oh, so that’s the girl who invited her to the skating party. OK, so that’s the new best-best friend.). Plus I get to meet other parents. If I’m friendly enough, maybe I can call on them to volunteer at the Valentine’s Day party, and the PTA carnival, and the fundraising night next month …
3. I get to make fun stuff like these cool monster cupcakes (I suggest Sour Patch Extremes instead of Circus Peanuts for feet and M&Ms make fine eyes), and I get to help with fun games like wrapping kids in toilet paper or running eyeball relay races.
4. I get to play “involved parent” even when I spend most of my days (and lately, evenings) at work. Since my daughters were born, I’ve struggled to balance my work responsibilities and my mom duties, and I haven’t always succeeded. So I love when I can sneak away in the middle of the day to spend a few hours with my daughter – even if I end up coming back to my desk when the party’s over. A mom friend spotted me today with icing up to my elbows and seven cupcake-holding first-graders needing help; she jokingly asked if I was running for Mom of the Year. “Yeah,” I thought to myself, “Some weeks I work so much that I don’t know what my kids eat for dinner. My children go to day care when there’s no school, even though ‘all the other kids get to stay home’. I’m always late to everything and never RSVP on time for anything. And I’m fairly certain my children’s stomachaches are because they’re internalizing my stress. Yeah, I’m Mom of the Year.” But I’ll admit: It sure feels nice to pretend for a few hours that I’m even in the running. Don’t we all deserve the title – at least for an afternoon?
How do you stay involved in your child’s school? Gummy grins
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 12:33PM CST on October 29, 2008
Henry's two weeks away from turning 1, and he's got no teeth. None. Just a bunch of gum.
It's a delightfully funny smile, with the particular wideness that only comes from toothless babies. I've thought that he's getting teeth, oh, six or seven times now, but nothing. What signs did your kids give when they were teething? How old were they? Monday October 27, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 9:12AM CST on October 27, 2008
As if the weeks of robo-calls, campaign canvassers and campaign ads weren’t enough, my husband and I had to sit through two more stump speeches last week. Only these stump speeches came from our daughters. We were sitting in the sunroom enjoying a peaceful evening – my husband was reading, I was getting some work done – when surprise! Two more candidates entered the race. My 6-year-old grabbed her High School Musical microphone, climbed onto the ottoman and started yelling at us: “I’m here because I’m ready to be president of the United States of AMERICA!” she yelled into the microphone. “I’m on Barack Obama’s team and together we want to be president!” (Full disclosure: She was on Hilary Clinton’s team during the primary – “She’s the girl,” she explained then – but she’s since decided Barack Obama’s name is more fun to say.) “Here’s why I should be president,” she continued. “I’ll never lie. Presidents shouldn’t lie and I WON’T LIE. Right now we’re winning; we have the most scores. But if John McCain was here, he’d be winning, too. We all just need to DO OUR BEST.” Her stump speech continued for a good 10 minutes. I won’t subject you to the full transcript (although I was holding a pen at the time, and in typical obsessive-mom fashion, I scribbled down the entire thing). Rest assured, she addressed the big issues: Health care (“we all need to get flu shots even if it hurts!”), education (“just try your hardest!”), the environment (“clean up your mess!”). She also offered what I think is the election season’s best sound bite: “I’m voting for myself. But you know what I’m really for? MYSELF!” If only all politicians were so honest. ... (more)Friday October 24, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 1:27PM CST on October 24, 2008
Henry turns 1 in a few weeks, and we're having a party. It's been a long time since I've had anything to do with planning a kids' party and I could use some help.
What's the best party planning tip you've got? Best thing for cakes? Bakery or homemade (got a recipe to share?) Most fabulous easy food for a crowd?
Best place for party decorations and supplies?
Wednesday October 22, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 10:33AM CST on October 22, 2008
There are a lot of things I was completely unprepared for as a parent. I didn't fully understand exactly how many times a newborn needed to be changed, or how quickly it would feel like Henry had always been a part of our lives, or the joy that would come with watching him grow. But one of the biggest surprises? How often kids bring colds home with them. In the almost-year since we've had Henry there have been more illnesses in this house than in the previous five years combined. I swear. Babies are far better equipped for virus-management than we adults. Sure, our immune systems are better, and today, I'm feeling just about back to normal after about four days of ick while Henry's coughing his way through day 10 of the cold that never ends. But Sunday night, when I had just about lost my voice from coughing and Monday morning, when I was so plugged up I couldn't breathe or hear, I was miserable. I wanted soup, grilled cheese, bad movies on TV and ice cream. I wanted to be left alone to wallow in my misery while not moving a muscle. Henry, with the kind of constantly running nose that only seems to affect kids under the age of 4, was still full of energy. Crawling all over, discovering new toys, pulling himself up on things. Sure, he took longer naps that normal, but when he was awake, he was pretty much the same Henry that he is when he doesn't have a runny nose. Not me. I grumbled about doing the laundry, about how he was able to play and how I had to keep on watching him. I felt guilty about turning the TV on when he was in the room. There's really no way to rest when you've got a free-range 11-month-old. Even when he’s napping, I’m listening for the sounds of a too-strong baby cough. On Monday, when I decided to stay home from work, I kept Henry home, too. I wasn't going to send him to day care while I stayed home to rest. That's not any more fair than me coming to work bleary-eyed, sneezing, coughing and blowing my nose every five minutes. So we were sick together. We cuddled, we played. I folded laundry and Henry crawled over the piles messing things up. We discovered some new games. Henry loves to knock over baby puzzle pieces. He’s thrilled with a big plastic dump truck. I loved that they were far less energy-intensive activities than chasing him around the house saying “I’m gonna get you!” Not that the get-you game isn’t fun. It’s just not my favorite thing when it means I have to mop the floor afterward to catch all the virus he left behind. Or when the act of crawling after him makes me start coughing. I was grateful that I’d made a big pot of soup over the weekend when I needed to bring lunch to a friend. Instead of a single-serving of deliciousness, I had the perfect thing to buoy me through several nights where I was by myself, sick, and trying to take care of the baby. I was even more grateful when a friend offered to bring dinner over. I shouldn’t have turned her down, even though the veggie soup was in the refrigerator. I’ve learned my lesson. Next time, soup buddy, next time. And, while I can complain endlessly about being sick that day (Oh, poor me, I’ve got a cold. Who doesn’t, this time of year?), it wasn't all bad. I got extra time with runny-nosed, coughing, still-smiling Henry. A three-day weekend sponsored by Kleenex. Wednesday October 15, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 9:39AM CST on October 15, 2008
Last night Scott and I were having a discussion over dinner. I was frustrated, and he was listening and responding with his own take on the situation.
Henry was in his high chair, eating grilled cheese and being a cute little baby. He finished his meal and was drinking water from his sippy cup (and playing with a few pieces of grilled cheese left on the tray) while Scott and I talked. Then Henry decided to join in. He looked at me and went baalblbalalaabahahdggaa a a a aaaa aa aa, while waving his left hand in the air. He paused, looked at Scott and went babaablLAALllalallbaa aAAAAAA Aa bankahhaa, while waving his right hand in the air. Looked at me again, same thing. Looked at Scott again, same thing. He did this a few more times. I was amused, but then it hit me. He was imitating our conversation. Mom talks, Dad talks, Mom talks, Dad talks. We burst out laughing. He imitated that, too. Later that night, I called my mom and told her the story. She reciprocated with one about me when I was not too much older then Henry. She said she and my father had been having a similar dinnertime discussion. He was frustrated about something and told my mom that the next time it happened he was going to "give him a piece of my mind." My 2-year-old brain (That's how old my mom says I was. I don't remember this.) took that sentence in and mulled it over for a few minutes. "Daddy, does your mind come apart?" I apparently asked. "No," he replied. "Then how can you give someone a piece of it?" I asked. I'm not quite sure how they explained it to me. But Henry obviously got the gist of last night's dinner discussion. Scott asked Henry "Is that all this is to you? Blah blah blah blah blah?" as he went over to give him a snuggle. Henry looked up and said "Blaahlbahabaa," and flapped his little hand. Do you have any stories about how your kids (or you!) interpreted "grown-up" talk? Monday October 13, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 8:57AM CST on October 13, 2008
Here’s what I think: I think we moms go through nine months of pregnancy, hours upon hours of labor, and months of hooking ourselves up to breast pumps so that later, when the water’s too cold, we can sit by the edge of the pool. At least that’s how it happens in my family. My husband, hero of a dad that he is, is the one who jumps in and freezes his butt off. "Nope," I say. "It’s too cold for me." There’s no argument. There’s no whining. I sit, he swims. I stay warm, he lets our children climb on him like a pool toy. I read my book, he does push-ups in the kiddie pool, our shrieking daughters hanging on his back as he splashes up and down in the water. I’ve spent enough time poolside to know that I’m not the only mom who pulls this. Pools at hotels? Dads. Waterpark pools when the water is fffrrreeezing? Dads. This summer we spent a night at a Chicago hotel with an ice cold pool. "How’s the water?" I asked a fellow mom when we walked in. "It’s freezing," she answered, then gestured to her husband in the deep end with their three kids. "That’s why I’m sitting here and he’s in there." "You go ahead," I said to my husband. For us – and for many other couples, it appears — swimming in a cold pool is HIS job. Making sure my daughters have swimwear that fits? That job is mine. ... (more)Friday October 10, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:12AM CST on October 10, 2008
Last Friday I sat at my desk at work and thought of my kindergartner. I wondered if it was his snack time yet and if he was sitting there watching his classmates take out the nutritious snacks lovingly packed into their bags by their moms and dads that morning. I wondered if he felt sad that I had forgotten — again. It’s been four weeks this week since my 5 and 6-year-old sons started a new school. They have already adapted to their new schedules and expectations. It’s taking me a little time to catch up. There are just so many new things to remember: They both have gym on Monday and Wednesdays. The oldest has to bring his gym clothes to school on Monday and bring them home Wednesday. The youngest doesn’t change clothes, but leaves his tennis shoes at school. Monday is the day the 5-year-old’s library books are due. First graders exchange them on Tuesday. Cold or hot lunch today? It’s cold. Note to self: Remember to give them milk money. The kindergartner needs a snack every day. Is it in his bag, on the kitchen counter or still in the pantry? And all that comes on top of remembering to finish homework, wash school uniforms, go through fund-raising paperwork, clip Campbell’s soup labels, remember to sign and return important forms and ask if the oldest wants to join Cub Scouts. A few weeks ago, Liz wrote about getting organized with a central calendar system in her home, which she referred to as "the wall." I have a wall already. It’s a regular calendar on a bulletin board in my kitchen. It tells me when the kids have field trips, when there is no school, when parent/teacher conferences are, when we have a birthday party to go to, when relatives and friends’ birthdays are so I remember to call them, when my husband and I have a wedding/party to go to, and when everyone in the family is next expected at the doctor or dentist. Pheeew! It makes me tired just to think about it. But the one thing my own "wall" doesn’t tell me is the day to day stuff. Are you kidding? Just about every little daily box is already filled with my notes. If I started adding weekly reminders about hot and cold lunch, milk money and gym clothes, I wouldn’t be able to read anything. The result is that I have forgotten the 5-year-old’s daily snack a few times, milk money for both boys once and to return a class project once. On the car ride to school Monday morning, I was preparing to add: ‘Forgot the oldest’s gym clothes,’ to that list. About five minutes from home, working with a very tight drive-time schedule, I realized I had not remembered to put the gym clothes into his backpack. As my 6-year-old is a perfectionist and becomes very anxious at the thought of not having/doing what he is supposed to for school, I began to cautiously explain that we did NOT have time to turn around. "I forgot your gym clothes, but don’t worry," I said. "Dad can come to school on his way to work and hang them in your locker before gym. It’s no big deal." I checked his face in the rearview mirror. He was looking at me blankly. Then he said, "Mom. It’s OK. I packed them." "What?!" "I packed my gym clothes." "Did you get the bag with your tennis shoes off the dryer?" I asked, still not quite grasping that he had done it himself. "Um-hmmm," he said with a nod. "Where did you get the clothes?" I ask, worried that he had packed the wrong thing. "From the folded laundry on the shelf," he said, referring to the clothes I had laundered and folded, but not yet separated to put into each child’s dresser. "Great. Thanks," I said, in disbelief, wonder, pride and a big heap of astonishment. I was absolutely floored. HE remembered. Son-of-a-gun. I DON’T have to think of and remember everything. The daily stuff — the stuff about gym and library and lunch — THEY should be responsible for remembering. Who knew the solution could be so simple? Imagine, actually making children be responsible for remembering their own stuff. It’s so old school. I love it. --Marci Monday October 6, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 11:35AM CST on October 6, 2008
In some ways, it was so much easier when I exclusively breast-fed Henry. There was less mess and less time involved. So long as I was around, food was always available and he was never looking for anything else. When he was about 5½ months old, we started adding solids to his diet. Applesauce, oatmeal, bananas, mangos, zucchini, sweet potato, avocado, peaches, apricots, green beans, peas, squash. He ate just about anything we gave him. If he really enjoyed it, you couldn’t shovel it in fast enough. He’d take a spoonful, swallow and open his mouth back up like a baby bird. “Feed me, mama! Feed me!” As he got bigger, we started giving him some finger foods. He loves graham crackers, Gerber’s little fruit and veggie puffs, banana slices, bits of grilled cheese sandwiches, shredded cheddar and slightly smashed peas. The more he can eat himself, no matter how messy and slow, the less he seems to want us to feed him. One particularly frustrating mealtime found me singing “I love peas and rice. I love peas and rice. Mmmm! Peas and rice! Mmmm! Peas and rice!” with every single bite. Somehow, the little ditty got Henry to open his mouth up so I could feed him his veggies. Scott, my husband, asked me what melody I was singing to. I didn’t know at the time, but I’ve since figured it out. It’s a variation of Monty Python’s “I Like Traffic Lights.” No clue why that melody came to me that night, but it did. The other night, I mixed up some veggies and cottage cheese (something Henry’s liked in the past) and gave him a spoonful. He took one bite just fine. Bite number two was a little more work. Bite number three never happened. Henry gave me his “No thanks!” face. Tiny mouth all pursed up. Scrunched up eyes. Head quickly turned to the side. On the second try, I got the face plus a left hand thrust out to knock the spoon aside. What’s this? When did my good little eater turn into Mr. Picky? When he figured out that he can do it himself. So, for dinner, he had peas, puffs and shredded cheese. And lots of water from his sippy cup. Not an altogether bad dinner, but that’s going to get old really fast. I don’t want to raise a picky eater, but how is he going to learn to like anything if all I can give him are the six or seven foods he can eat by himself? One of the traditions of my childhood that I fully intend to implement is the concept of “the food.” My mom allowed everyone in the house to pick one thing that we never had to eat. My mom didn’t eat pears. Dad didn’t eat canned tuna. One sister didn’t eat squash; the other avoided wax beans. I swore off mashed potatoes. Henry’s a bit too young to tell us what food he can’t stand. Judging by his recent actions, he’d probably tell us to stop giving him mushy stuff. He’s a big boy now, darn-it-all, and he wants to do it himself. Now I’ve got work to do. I’ve got to figure out what he can eat, and what he can’t, plus what he will eat, and what he won’t. I’ve got to find time to experiment. Will he eat couscous? Eggplant? Pasta? Meatloaf? I think I need to add a cookbook to my collection, one that focuses on good foods for families with itty-bitty kids. If I could make one meal for everyone, things would get an awful lot easier. At least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself. Friday October 3, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:14AM CST on October 3, 2008
I was really proud of my oldest son when he learned to tie his shoes. It was just shy of his fifth birthday. He was in his last year of preschool and was among the first of his friends and classmates to learn. I can remember the babysitter being impressed, telling me her son took forever to learn to tie his shoes. And I could tell my son really liked being able to tell his teacher he didn’t need help when his shoe would become untied during school day. My first child has always picked up on stuff like this quickly. At age 3 he could buckle himself into his car seat, even though my mom still hadn’t quite figured out how to do it. He never had an issue learning to button his pants, zip his coat or put on a belt either. His younger brother is a different story all together. My kindergartner continues to want help buttoning and zipping his pants, tying his shoes, putting on his coat and buckling himself into his seat belt. And it doesn’t stop there. He learned a long time ago how to pump his legs on the swing, but will only do it when my husband isn’t around to push him. He wants to be carried up the stairs to bed most nights, and will sometimes still ask for help putting on his socks. In part, the fault for this lack of interest in doing things for himself lies squarely with me and my husband. Our second son was the "baby" for so long, we did these things for him a lot longer than we did for our oldest. But about a year ago I started insisting he do things on his own. I stopped helping him button and zip his pants. He threw several fits and would sometimes leave his pants undone for an hour at a time until he realized I was NOT going to do it for him. I stopped buckling his seat belt for him, insisting he learn to do it himself. Then I had to convince my husband to do the same. We spent many 15-minute blocks, idling in the driveway as my 5-year-old tearfully struggled to secure his seat belt. About three months ago, when he turned 5, I told my son he had to start putting on his shoes himself, and he was going to start practicing tying them. We’re still struggling with this, and it’s a pain. Especially when we’re rushing out the door in the morning to get to school and he walks up with his shoes in hand. He KNOWS there is not enough time to wait for him to do it himself! Part of me is convinced he’s just lazy. Part of me believes he just wants attention. It’s hard being the middle child isn’t it? His older brother knows how to read, subtract, pour milk without spilling, call his Nanny on the phone, tie his own shoes, fold laundry neatly and find all the good DVRed cartoons on TV. His baby sister still has someone to get her dressed, feed her, carry her down steps, buckle her into her car seat, clean up her toys, help her with her coat, and push her on the swing. In all fairness to my pickle in the middle, we probably didn’t start demanding he do things for himself until his sister was born. But at age 4, we realized he should be. And even if we played a part in his reluctance to learn to tie his shoes, etc., he still HAS to know how to do them. Right? Yesterday he came home from school with his shoes untied. He said he walked around like that for half the day, because he didn’t know how to tie them. My husband worked with him on tying for a while, but he still hasn’t completely gotten how to do it. How do you deal with a kid who would rather sit back and let everyone else do things for him? It’s an AWFUL habit that I would really like to break now. -Marci Thursday October 2, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 12:25PM CST on October 2, 2008
I’ve decided it’s time to rethink the concept of “baby weight.” I’ve decided “baby weight” actually becomes an issue five or six years into motherhood. Yes, five or six years. Follow my logic:
First few months after having a baby: The weight might linger, but it’s OK because for goodness' sake, you’ve just had a baby.
Next few months after having a baby: The weight begins to melt away because A) you don’t have time to eat; B) you’re running up and down the stairs between bassinet and bottles; and C) you’re still nursing so you're burning a bazillion calories that you didn’t have time to consume in the first place.
First few years after having a baby: The weight stays off because you're A) constantly chasing your toddler through stores or down the sidewalk; B) signed up for every Baby & Me gymnastics or swimming class you can find; and C) taking daily walks because the stroller is one place your child will actually stay and be happy.
And then comes years 5 and 6. In years 5 and 6, you’ve succumbed to the pitfalls of parenthood: You’ve stopped making organic baby foods and watching food pyramids, and you’ve given in to sugar and fast food. You order pizza so often that your youngest shouts “Domino's!” anytime the doorbell rings. You’re eating at McDonald’s every weekend because you’ve got two soccer games and three birthday parties to rush to. And you’ve always got snacks in your purse just in case, but your children have outgrown whining for them, so the goodies stay in your purse until YOU find them at work and chow down.
All the bad food habits of your youth have returned to your cupboards – chips and Cheetos and sugary cereals and Oreo cookies – only your metabolism is two decades slower. Plus, you’ve ordered 16 pies from the latest school fundraiser and somebody's got to eat those.
Instead of Baby & Me classes that get you moving, you’re on the sidelines for all of their activities: You SIT through their soccer practices, ballet classes, swimming lessons or gymnastics meets. You SIT in the car driving them from one activity to another. You SIT at work without taking the half-hour mid-day walk you used to take because you have to leave early to get the kids from school. And at the end of the day, you SIT in front of the TV or the computer just to unwind. (Plus, you eat ice cream every night because it’s delicious and you’ve had a hard day.) Moreover, playgroups have graduated to “Let’s get a drink because we pulled off another book fair!” groups, so instead of pushing someone in a swing, you’re SITTING at a local restaurant with other moms drinking margaritas (also delicious).
And because of all this sitting and driving and meeting and eating, you no longer have time to move. I’ve been trying to get to a new gym for a MONTH to use a free week’s pass to find out if I want to join said gym. If I can’t get there to try it, will I ever actually get there to work out?
So yes, I hereby move that we redefine “baby weight.” Who’s with me?
And how do you squeeze in time to work out?
|
About This Blog
Mommy Talk Blog
  6 rating(s)
Categories
Older Posts
Current Entries
November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007
Latest Entries
Loading...
 |
Leave a Message
Leave a Comment
Request a Friend