Age of Non-Innocence

Dear Age Three,

You are cordially invited to kiss my ass.

I cannot believe how freaking crazy you are turning out to be; how I want to kiss you with tongue one minute and taser you the next. 

You now know my name is not just Mommy; you heard people calling me Dana, and you figured it out.  So now YOU call me Dana. 

You ask me if I'm kidding you (no), if I'm serious (yes), if I'm for real (yes), and if you can have candy (no).

You don't push my buttons, you rip each and every one out of my body with your cold sharp nails and then you stomp on them, beat them with a stick, set them on fire and then smoke the ashes.   My buttons are shot.

You know everything, and it bothers you that I don't always agree.  {Editor's note: This one might be my fault.  I have a psych degree with a self imposed focus on child psychology.  Back in the 90s we were taught to treat the child like a real person, rife with choices.  Allowing your child to decide which shirt she was going to wear to pre-school would help her to say no to drugs as a teenager. (?? whatevs) As a result, Leah's grown up thinking she's an equal part in this family--someone who has the same say in all family decisions.  Au contraire, Carol Ann, this is my mine and your father's house and we follow my our rules, and I am we are in charge and I we make the decisions.}

Oh, Age Three, you are a sexy beast.  With your funny little conversations and your cute little faces.  And your propensity to throw your backpack at me and hit me when the mood strikes.  You are wonderful with kids that are younger than you, acting like an old grandmother who plops you on her lap and pinches your cheeks.  And you love to hang with the older cool kids, leaning up against the garage smoking and cussing.

You are pushing your boundaries right off the map and I am constantly re-etching the line in the sand.  I fight back and I lose.  I let you walk over me and I lose.  I attempt to stand up to you and we are two chaps from the wild west at a showdown in the Alamo.  Oh, and I always lose. 

You are a steamroller in a tutu--a Zamboni in lip gloss.  I grow four grays each time your teachers tell me you're an angel.  Most days I can't wait to get home to see you and most Mondays I skip to work whistling a tune.  

Age Three, you drive me to drink.  And I am trying to drink you in.  I am told that you're the toughest, until she's a tween, which has been likened to age three with hormones. 

I was told that parenthood was hard, and it would be the toughest road I've ever traveled.  And I arrogantly nodded my head and rolled my eyes and thought there is no way that something that is a half my height and like a sixth of my weight will even be a blip on my life-radar, let alone uproot my life and leave me a confused, befuddled, frustrated shell of my former life.

And yet, here I am.  Eating some humble pie.  Baffled at just how difficult parenthood is.  How the one thing that drives me up the wall and out of my skull is the one thing I'd give my life for without a second thought in a hot flat second.


Up Yours,

Dana


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In Deep Sleep

Usually Leah is running at 115% all day long and there is not much that slows her down.  It's non-stop from 5:30 a.m. till 8:00 p.m. with a two hour nap in between.  However, every once in a while she goes balls to the wall for hours upon hours and crashes during the day on the couch.  It happens so infrequently, I've been able to catch all occurrences on film!  Here they are:

and fin.

That's it.  Just once.

Quick Update

~Greg got a new job.  His last day at his old job was Sunday, and he took this week off to do yard work in preparation for Leah's birthday party next week.  It's rained every single day.  No yard work has gotten done.

~Leah starts her new school on Monday (provided that I actually sign her up for school.  What?  I'm busy!)  While I am excited for her to be in an honest to goodness school, I want to cry because we are sending her to an honest to goodness school.  With big kids and teachers and lessons and stuff.  She's only a little (3 year old, sassy, smartpants, fiesty) baby!

~Leah third and final birthday party for this year is on the 29th.  There is a LOT to do and not a LOT of time.  I will be freaking out from now until then.  Probably a lot on this blog.

~I joined Weight Watchers.  My sweaters were tight, my rings were tight, my shoes were tight.  Something had to give and it wasn't going to be my pants. 

~I'm going to miss wine.  It's no fun if I have to account for it and stuff.


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Everyday I'm Shuffling

Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring.  SLAP.

Gonna be late. Make the coffee…pee…brush the teeth. Shower. Holy crud it’s cold! Where’s my towel, dang, where’s my towel??!! Oh, crap, wearing capris, need to shave. Back in the shower, shave. Back out. To the bedroom. My god it’s cold! Cover Greg’s head with blanket. Someone watching just this part would think I’m trying to kill him…hehe, funny. Ok, not really. Head’s covered, put on light. Open closet. What to wear? What to wear? What to wear? Everything sucks! Hate all my clothes! Am huge and fat! What to wear? What to wear? Oh fine, this will do. Underwear. Bra. Shoes. Jewelry. Give Greg a kiss. Sneak past Leah’s room. Oh man, why is that one floor board so friggen loud?!

Bathroom. Q tips. Deodorant. Face lotion. Perfume. Mousse. More hair crap. Blow dry blow dry blow dry blow dry-I vow to cut all of my hair off tomorrow!

“Hi Mommy!! I wake up!! You go to work?”


(Dammit! Dammit! I'm running late--WHY?!) “Hi Leah! You’re awake! Mommy’s in a rush so no juice right now. Ok?”

“I have juice I have juice I have juice I have juice I have juice I have juice I have juice?”

“Oh my lord, ENOUGH. Fine. Let’s go get your juice.”


Get juice. Back to bathroom. Concealer. Foundation. Don’t touch Mommy’s makeup, sweetie. Bronzer. Blush. Please don’t touch Mommy’s makeup, Sweetlove. Please. Highlighter. Leah-Makeup-NO. Eyeliner. Eye mousse. LEAH! Mascara. Geez, why do I need so much makeup. When did I get so old?

“Back to bed, Leah, here lay next to Daddy. Timmy Time!” (Worst show ever.)

Kitchen. Make coffee. Get lunch. Get cell phones. Get laptop. Get planner. Get purse. Get jacket. Get keys. Get gas money. Get out the door. Get in car. Get on road.


-------HOWARD STERN---------ohmmmmmm. ohmmmmmmm.

Park. Grab cell phones, briefcase, purse, lunch bag, coffee cup, jacket. Into office. Morning, Gentlemen! Empty bags. Answer emails. Answer phone. Return emails. Return calls. Meet with Super and Assistant. Deal with boss. Deal with co workers. Deal with customers. Take three Advil. More email. Unruly vendors.

Lunch: run to Walmart. Get gas. Get eyebrows waxed. Run to bank. Stop at Shop Rite. SHOVE lunch in mouth in 5 minutes. Back to work.

Answer emails. Answer phone. Return emails. Return calls. Meet with Super and Assistant. Deal with boss. Deal with co workers. Deal with customers. Take three Advil. More email. Unruly vendors. Pack up bags. Get in car. On the road. Rt. 78. Rt. 287. Rt. 206. WHY ARE YOU DRIVING SO DAMN SLOW! More traffic. Make phone calls. Charge cell phones. Check emails. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY YOU STUPID HONDA SOME OF US HAVE TO GO HOME.

Pick up Leah. Go home. Throw everything on counter.

“Go pee.”

"I no hafta go."

“Go pee.”

“No.”

“Go pee.”

“No.”

“Fine.”


Omg get these clothes off of my body. RIP bra off. Put on pajamas. Let dog out. Put tv on-find something Tinkerbell related. Let dog in. Wash off makeup.  Put hair up. What’s for dinner? Everything frozen.

“Pasta?”


“No.”


“Pastina?”


“No.”


“Macaroni and Cheese?”


“No.”


“Banana?”


“No.”


“Berries?”


"No."


“Candy?”


“YES!”



“Ha ha. NO.”



Ring. Ring.

“Beef fried rice and two vegetable spring rolls. 14 Birch Tree. Thank you.” Click.


“Mommy, I had an accident.”

(Ohmygod Dana, do not lose it.) Breath. Breath. Breath. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10.

“That’s ok. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll start the bath.”

Water running, toys dumped, shampoo, bubbles, soap, wretched bathtub markers, Mermaid Dora. Wash the hair, please stop crying. Rinse the hair, please stop crying. Time to get out, please stop crying. Food’s here. Where’s my money? Keep the change. Comeon, out of the tub. Pajamas on. Brush hair, please stop crying. Put on slippers; you’ll hurt your feet.

Sit down. Time to eat. Please sit down. The TV is going off. Come sit down. Leave the dog alone and come and sit down. You want a different bowl? Coming right up. You need a different spoon? Ok, here it is. You don’t want milk? Have some water. You want the napkin with the butterflies. Here. Please just take a bite. How about you take a bite. Just one bite, please, now? ONE BITE LEAH ONE STINKIN BITE JUST ONE OH MY GOD JUST TAKE A BITE. You’re done? Fine. Just go watch TV.
Clean up dinner. Empty dishwasher. Make my lunch. Make Leah’s lunch. Put dirty dishes in dishwasher. “Yes! I did see that! Caillou is so cute!” UGH. Feed dog. Feed cat. Give animals water.
“I hurt my foot!”


Do not scream. Do not scream. Do not scream. Let me see it. I’ll give it a kiss. Let’s put your slippers on so that it doesn’t happen again. (Just like I told you a half hour again.)

"And I want a snack."


10 MORE MINUTES TILL BED!

Run downstairs. Put clothes in wash. Run back up stairs.


5 MORE MINUTES TILL BED!

Gather toys from around the house. Put in play room.


2 MORE MINUTES TILL BED!


Gather 6 (really, 6?) pairs of shoes; bring to their respective rooms.


OK, LET’S GO!! TIME TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!

Brush your teeth.  Brush your teeth.  Stop pinching the dog and brush your teeth.  Please just a little faster?  Please.  Ok, great, now go pee.  I don't have to, yes you do, I don't have to, yes you do, I don't have to, if you don't go I won't read you a book, but I don't have to, sit on the toilet, but there's nothing there, just let it out, but, Oh, look at that--I'm peeing, Oh dear lord don't lose it.  Ok, done?  Toilet paper, pull up underpants, ok, great!  Let's go!  To the bedroom!!
 
Here's your pull up; put on your pjs.  Get in bed, get in bed, get in bed.  Put down the lip gloss, just get in bed.  Ok, please leave your hat where it is just get in bed.  Oh, the very same book we've read every night for the past two months!  Who Stole that Damn Cookie From the Cookie Jar??!!   Not Ethan, Jacob, Isabell, Aiden, Samantha, Matthew, or all the rest.  Spoiler alert: it's the mouse.  Ok, lay down.  Here's your teeth medicine.   Lip gloss.   Lotion.   Lay down, rub your back, rub your belly, rub your legs, eyes, nose, teeth.  EVERYTHING IS RUBBED DEAR LORD PLEASE LET THIS BE ENOUGH RUBBING.  Walking out, closing door.
 
Ok, half hour.  Here we go: facebook, fold clothes, update blog, pay bills, fill out deposit slip, vacuum living room, mop kitchen, clean toilets, brush teeth, face lotion, Wordfeud, brush teeth, dog in cage, cat fed, doors locked, text Greg, run down hallway, close blinds, grab blanket, pull down covers, get in bed, set alarm, set other alarm, plug in phone, turn off light, put down headzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
 
Ring Ring Ring Ring Slap.

Running On Empty

By Thursday, I'm pretty much running on fumes.  I'm exhausted, no matter how much sleep I get.  I am rushing to get everything done at work before the weekend.  (Seriously, "end of week reports" are lame and whoever thought it would make sense to make people complete them is stupid.)  I am looking forward to the weekend, but not always looking forward to the many outings and events I have planned.  I am losing my last nerve with my daughter, yes--sweet, innocent Leah, since at this point, I haven't seen Greg since Monday, due our ridic work schedules. So, suffice to say, by Thursday I'm not my usual cheery, fresh faced self and could probably use a glass of wine.  And a facial.  And some botox.  Perhaps a Xanax.

But, I'll tell you who never gets tired.  Who is never on top of her game.  Who is always go go go, and knows that slowing down is for the weak and believes that she'll rest when she's dead!  The world is her oyster and her city never sleeps, because PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, LET'S GO OUTSIDE, I NEED LEGOS, HERE YOU PUT THESE POTATO HEAD GLASSES ON, I NEED A SNACK, I NEED JUICE, WHY ARE YOU SITTING, GET UP, GET GOING, GET TO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1) Hope the title of this entry didn't make you think that I was running again.  I will be, but just not yet.
2) Sorry for all the black and white photos of late; Greg got a new phone and he's attempting to be artistic with his photography.



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We Are Going To Applebees

You know when you get the feeling that something isn't right, but you can't pinpoint what it is, and, in fact, every other sign is pointing to "completely and totally fine," and because you can't figure out why you feel that it's not right, you just go ahead and do it because if you keep harping on these "just not right" feelings you are going to drive yourself, your family, the lady in front of you in Pathmark, and the 7-11 guy who's ringing up the half and half crazy? 

You know that feeling?

Back in August I felt that way about my new job about 3 minutes after I decided to take it.  In fact, I felt that way before I even left my new boss' office after he had made the offer and I had accepted.  I sat there while he spoke about the position and my start date and my team members and my mind just wandered off into space and I thought, "This is a bad decision, Dana", but I had NO IDEA why I thought that.  So I took that thought and threw it in the back of my head, right next to "Join Weight Watchers" and "Stop spending your family's money at Kohls" and it stayed there for the next three weeks while I proceeded to resign from my old job and plan for my new job.

The reasons for leaving my old job were all there.  I know that leaving my old job was a good choice.  My new job offered more money, more affordable benefits, and was closer to my home, and those were the reasons why I left.  Those three things still exist.  So, during my last two weeks at my old job--the strange period where you've given notice, yet you still work there, yet your loyalty is now to your new job, but you haven't started yet--when this strange feeling kept popping in my head that this was a bad decision, I would just mentally go over my list for leaving, and check off that each and every item was still being addressed.  And then I would tell that stupid thought to just STFU and let me be proud that I was able to leave my comfort zone of idling in a workplace that was never going to let me move up, and that I was taking a leap to a new place where I knew no one and was making better for me and my family. 

I started my new job at 8:00 a.m. on September 13, 2010, and at 10:26 a.m. I texted my husband and said, "I don't think this job is going to work out." 

Truer words have never been texted before.

I'm not going to go into details, and I don't want to bad-mouth a place in which some of you know the name of, but let me just say that the people who run the place were not keen on treating women equally, and, as if that's not enough, the morals and values and general attitude of those people towards all of their employees is an abomination to human kind.  The middle class is not meant to be treated as pawns in a chess game of life being pushed, prodded, manipulated and taken advantage of because we need to work in order to take care of our family.

Shortly after beginning employment there, Greg and I launched what can only be referred to as An Epic Job Search in which he would search for open positions all day long while he was home and then I would apply to them all night long while he was at work.  For MONTHS I heard nothing from these places as I dutifully trudged daily to my job, daydreaming about when I would be granted an interview.  I would sit at my desk thinking about how it would feel to quit and get the chance to work again at a place where the people were friendly.  I would write this blog post in my head, figuring how much information I would let out, and what I should keep private.  Day in and day out, as my depression grew, my hope weaned, because no one was calling me back.

And then, I got a phone call!  And another!  And soon the interviews followed.  And in four months I took part in THIRTEEN interviews.  I went on five interviews for one position.  I was speaking to H.R. Reps, and Hiring Managers, and CEOs, and COOs, and CWTFOs--whoever, as they moved me forward in the process.  It was brutal.  I was told that it would take a few weeks for a decision to be made, sometimes a few months, or, my favorite, "We've decided to hold off on filling the position indefinitely".  I thought it proposterous how a place that found it necessary for me to interview FIVE TIMES with FIVE DIFFERENT PEOPLE could not be sure that the position was necessary in the FIRST PLACE. 

A month after starting at my new job a man named Tom began who's desk was near mine.  I watched him during his first days when his enthusiasm was high, and how it chipped away as the onion peels of our workplace opened up.  By day four we were giving each other looks every time more was revealed about the place.  By the beginning of his second week, shared eye rolls were in full effect.  A day or two later he told me that he had given notice, being offered a position at another company.  I was happy (and jealous) that he was getting out, and longingly stared at my monitor thinking, "Your time will come, Dana".  Two days into his two week notice, he was asked to leave and had a few minutes to clear his desk and go.  I listened as he picked up the phone, dialed his wife and said, "We are going to Applebees!" 

On that last day his whole demeanor was changed.  His mood, his attitude, as well.  He was a different guy. 

He was a person who had a cruddy job at a cruddy place and had found a new job at a promising place and he was going to have some time off and take his spouse out to Applebees! 

So it's with great pride and happiness that I inform you that today my demeanor is different, as is my mood and my attitude.  Interview number 13 was very lucky indeed. 

Tonight, WE ARE GOING TO APPLEBEES.


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Doodle Guitar

Greg works late on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, so it's my job to gather Leah from whichever babysitter she is at on those days and head home.  I will occasionally attempt to cook a meal, and we will usually sit down together to eat the meal.  I will then try to clean up the kitchen, as well as the forty million items that are out of place in my house by that point.  After that is done, the plan is to sit with Leah and entertain her until bedtime.  However, on most nights, she's the one doing the entertaining.

This is what she calls "Doodle Guitar" and, forgive the poor picture quality, but it's her rendition of a girl eating a cheese doodle playing an air guitar.

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Second Verse, Same As The First

Yes, it's Friday again, and I am exhausted.  As much as I am upset that Leah is a dance drop-out, I'm looking forward to getting the opportunity to sleep in tomorrow.

So help me if the other two people in this house don't realize that I am sleeping in tomorrow. 

Actually, so help them.

An oldie but goody.

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A Typical Saturday

For us, a typical Saturday could start with some dance lessons...

However, a typical Saturday from now on will most definitely NOT include dance lessons, as I have finally come to terms with the fact that Leah is not ready to attend dance class without Mommy in the room, which, at the dance school, is not really permitted.  Explain to me how she's all this club can't even handle me with the dance moves and the boogying and the singing, but ONLY  if I'm standing in the room and ONLY while she's standing next to me?  I mean, I am just going to wait in the lobby with the rest of the Moms and I will see you in 45 minutes!  But no.  One teensy move by me towards the door and she is screaming, crying, throwing herself on the floor. Honestly, though, it's not worth it.  Neither one of us is enjoying ourselves.  So, we are say la vieing Perfect Pointe. This of course hurts in a big way, because dance was such a huge part of my childhood, but there is no rule that says that dance lessons can't happen at home in the living room while wearing pajamas.  With coffee.  

The coffee's for me.   You knew that, right? 

Afterwards, we might venture on over to New Hyde Park, to visit our friend Lan at LIJ Hospital who just had a baby boy!  He is so stinkin' cute.  We cannot wait to go back and visit him again.  We love him!

And after that, it might be back to Sparta to attend a birthday party for our friend Andy who turned 7.  Let me ask you something: if the party goes from 4-7 p.m. and you arrive at 8 p.m, is that bad?  No, right?

Thank the lord there were cheese balls!

And then it could be time to get ready for bed.  We promote healthy dental hygiene in our house.

And, if all of those things happened, a typical Saturday night might end in front of the fire under a snuggy.  Hopefully with some vino.

Ok, a lot of vino.

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Some Hypotheticals...

Some of us wake up at ye ole' butt crack and get dressed in the dark so as not to wake up our husbands.  What we really don't need is for our new shirt to have, not only a tag, but a sticker, an XL sticker, that isn't noticed until 9 hours later in our work bathroom mirror.  Oh, gee, has this enormous extra-large sticker been on my back all day?  Wow.  Thanks, Kohls. 

Some people think that, because they want peanut butter on their cracker immediately-right-this-minute-not-a-minute-later, it's totally acceptable to scream at their mom in her face and expect that cracker, with peanut butter-don't-you-dare-forget-that-lady, post haste.  Those people would be wrong.  Very, very wrong.  Those people also find themselves in bed a half hour early.

Some husbands think that, after spending their day off tending to their daughter, retreating to the couch the second their wife gets home from work and not moving from that position for the rest of the night, thereby leaving their wife to clean up dinner, the house, and the kid alone, after she left the house 11 hours previously to go and work all day at her job, is going to be received well.  The husbands that do that don't get lucky...not that it matters, since they've been sleeping on the couch since 6:30 p.m. anyway. 

Some women cannot get into their heads that they are only one person and find themselves overbooking their weekends to the point that bathroom breaks are going to be a tight squeeze.  I have to sit down and write out a game plan for tomorrow in order to fit in everything that I need to do.  I never learn.   Luckily I don't have to put out tonight.

Have a good one, folks.  Cheers!
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Brought To You By Coffee

Sometimes having kids feels like doing time for a crime you didn't commit.  I mean, yes, technically, with regards to Leah, I did "commit the crime."  I mean, we wanted her, and she's here due to us.  But, there are times when taking care of her seems really exhaustive and heavy and just plain tough.

I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice.  He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend.  He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time.  And, he's right.  I don't know how I do it.

We spend a lot of time in the car.  And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car.  There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too.  It's non-stop.  When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy!  Look at my sock!  Oh, man!  There's a bus!"  And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does.  So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride.  Every ride.  Every day. 

Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not.  Much.  I knew it would be tough and challenging.  Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea.  What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it.  We still have kids.  We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs.  We still think about them and worry about them.  We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them.   We love them to pieces.  More than we ever thought possible.  It's worth it.  It must be, right?

Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents.  I can't even remember life without Cha Cha.  And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer.  And, really, who wants to think about that?

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