Torn to Pieces

As a mother there is the constant battle of whether one should stay home with the children versus going out into the working world to be a career woman. The pull of little hands and giant sobs on the left; the pull of personal success and a second income on right. Every day the two hands try to balance; every day one outweighs the other.
As women we of course are our own worst critics. If we go to work we think of all the milestones we are missing. I personally want to be there for the first time Tess stubs her toe and screams “Dammit”. My heart will swell with pride that she’s been watching her momma so closely. On the other hand, the feedback for my desk job is so much more rewarding…some days…especially payday.
Constantly the battle of whether the paycheck should be sacrificed for the reward of time spent watching the development of a little human being versus the lesson to our daughters that they too can be anything they want to be when they grow up. It’s impossible to make the “right” choice. It simply doesn’t exist in a neat little box upon the shelf. The wrong answer for one is the right solution for the other. Each child is so unique in their needs that you may meet the requirements of your first born while depriving the second.
What’s most frustrating is that as mothers we have turned against our own. The two sides: stay at home moms and the working mothers. Each side staring the other down, criticizing in their minds, “Oh how can she stand it!?!”. Whether it is “how can she stand being at home all day wiping boogers” or “how can she stand being away from her babies”. Then there is the other side of the coin. The working mother who wants to be home and the mother at home who misses her career. I look for an answer but I only find more questions on how to balance my roles of wife, mother, daughter, and self. I eventually give up, pour myself a glass of wine, crack open InStyle magazine and think “Oooo! Shoes!”. Now I remember why I really have a job.

A High Tech Xmas

I was reading one of those lists of “Best Gifts” for the holiday season. Today’s happened to be one for the hi-tech savvy individual. But when I got to this little honey I busted a gut and sprayed a fair amount of disbelief in the form of saliva all over my computer screen. What is it you ask? Why…A cordless wine bottle opener.

To view it in all its wonder check it out on Amazon.com if your really "Giving".
http://www.amazon.com/Waring-WWO100-Cordless-Professional-Quality/dp/B0026YQCB4

Why the sopping wet disbelief you ask. Because I already own a cordless wine bottle opener and it didn’t cost me the original price tag of $99.99

Modern Technology

Christmas is still 17 days away and I’m already exhausted from traveling. Yes, I admit it has only been one trip so far, but the drive across Minnesota to South Dakota is not only long, but also boring. At this moment however, I would like to take a moment and thank the person who invented the portable DVD player. Without it I would not have been able to watch Snow White two times on my way to SoDak. Nor would I have been able to start the movie UP six times on my way back to the Twin Cities. Without it, I would not have had a happy baby who was mesmerized by the beauty that is modern day cartooning enhancement re-released for a limited time.

“OMG…Dwarves are sooo funny!”
I would also personally like to thank my hubby and his innovative mind that converted our portable DVD player so that it could become one that attaches to the headrest.

Why yes, that is a bungee cord in canary yellow
Truly, I am grateful for being a parent in the modern day. It is so much easier to look back to see my zombie baby being content instead of fighting with the dog over her side of the seat. This will really help with the 5 million trips we have planned to Wisconsin over the next 3 weeks.

Free Shipping

I have a business proposition for UPS/FEDEX/DHL, whichever one chooses to jump on this money making idea. I’m gonna be rich I tell you…RICH!
Now, I’m not sure which one of you already have a line of business that is used to ship live cargo but here is an opportunity to expand upon it.
BABY SHIPMENTS!!!
Yes, I think this would be much more cost effective for the holiday season. Let’s admit it. No one really wants to see me and the hubz. They want the Monkey for entertainment. So, I’m thinking about all the money I could save on gas, food, and outings with the family if I just ship the kid to visit her relatives. I’m freaking brilliant, yet I somehow don’t believe that I’m the first to come up with this. I’m already drafting up the concept model for the shipment box. Air holes…yes apparently those are important. A little mat in the corner with a blanket, an auto-feed dish like cats use and a water-bottle like hamster suckle. Toss in a couple of toys and photo of mom and pops and wolah! Baby Shipment at its finest!

Running Down your Family

I am livid. Absolutely livid and just about ready to hire Dog the Bounty Hunter. Okay, yes I know his line of work does not involve tracking down two year olds but this is how angry I am today. Tess moved into the Toddler Room at daycare on Monday. If you recall, yesterday was Wednesday, so day 3 in said toddler room. Tess has been attacked on the face for the past 3 days by the same kid. Apparently there is a 2 year old in this world and he has a grudge he has decided to express on my daughter’s face. YES! Her FACE! I am so pissed. Her entire right cheek is clawed to hell. Last night I spent my evening in Urgent Care with a starving 1 year old who didn’t want to cooperate with the doctor. Why Urgent Care, because yesterday the little bastard scratched her eyeball…and drew blood.
After several tantrums, because she was starving and we had to wait for freaking ever, we spend approximately 15 minutes with the P.A.; get our prescription and make a bee-line to McDonalds…sounds smooth right? Well, during the hour wait to get to see the P.A. I watched as everyone who came in after us leave before us. Yep, if you sniffled, sneezed, coughed or wheezed they slapped you with one of those protective little masks and moved you to the front of the line. You know, because you weren’t sick all day/week and couldn’t wait one more day to go into the clinic. No, you have to clog up the Urgent Care line so they can tell you to go home, sleep, get plenty of fluids and buy yourself some over the counter relief. And because you did this I’m left with a screaming baby in the waiting room. Am I being a selfish martyr? Probably. It’s just so frustrating to see the waste of time for the hospital all because you don’t want to be confined by the order of appointments and doctor offices.
I’m at my wits end and feeling the need to take out a two year old. I won’t, because I know some day Tess will be the one beating up someone else’s kid. But I know that I will feel like shit every time I sign off on that incident report, and a piece of me only hopes that this kid’s mom feels that way too.

WTH?!

Honestly, I have no idea what my original intentions were for this blog. And quite obviously I have neglected it. Creativity in regards to topics is not my strong suit. Bitching about random things however, well I speak “Bitch” fluently.
After a weekend of acting like a 22 year old (which was mmmrppph years ago) I realized that I am just too old for that shit. Partying until 2 in the morning, not such a hot idea when the darling daughter still goes to bed at 7:30 and rises cheerily at 6A.M and you do not have the cash flow of Snoop Dog.
Upon the awakening from the sounding alarm down the hall I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and give that foolish woman the good ol’ talk of “What the hell were you thinking”. Well, I wasn’t. I was thinking…mmmmm yummy! Wine! And I was thinking “OH MY GAWD…FREEDOM!!!” I was hanging out with the girls. So yea, Saturday morning…slightly rough, but not outrageously so. The trouble is that I made a repeat offense on Saturday night, but in costume. (I rocked that afro) Only to have to rise again to my precious alarm clock and drag myself at a mach speed of “snail” so we could make the hour and a half drive to great grandma’s to celebrate her 91st year in this world.
I survived, the hubz survived, and the Monkey bounced along happily. Please, no more wine until Saturday.

When it's all worth it

Tonight I rocked Tess to sleep. I don’t care what the “Experts” say, I enjoy it, Tessa loves it, and thus we rock.
I don’t know if words can do justice to the feeling a mother has when she rocks her bambino to sleep. How does one explain the ache that her heart feels when she holds her baby snug against her body?
How does a mother explain the way her baby’s scent makes her feel intoxicated with a need to protect this small creature? What words convey the warmth of a small cheek pressed into your bosom?
Can only another mother grasp what a momma feels when she blissfully sighs at the very thought of her baby? Can only another mother envision the beauty of the cherub features she gazes down upon; button nose, cupids bow of the lips, long soft lashes?
What words express the velvety coolness of the chubby cheek that magnetically draws your fingertips? What song mimics the rhythm that evolves from the rocking chair and the tempo of mother’s and baby’s breathing; intertwining to create a lullaby that lulls both bodies to sleep?
There is only one word.

Love.

And the Thunder Rolled

Saturday night was my first night out with the hubz and sans baby. Tessa spent the evening with our wonderful neighbors and their two very spirited children (their term, not mine…I say they’re just high on chocolate milk).
We went to the horse track to do some betting on the fine ponies and some VERY fine jockeys. As the evening wore on the weather became less and less desirable. The rainstorm rolled in and the 7th race was delayed. The phone rings, it’s Robert. “Hey just wanted to let you know we have her in the downstairs bathroom, she’s still sleeping, I’ll call ya back when it’s over” Through my wine induced fog I said “Why? What’s going on?” As I proceeded to get the weather report via the babysitter the track cancelled the last two races and told everyone to stay inside and not to leave until the storm passes. The televisions switch from pretty horses to ugly radar maps and over-zealous weather men who have just been waiting for an opportunity to invent new words like “Gustnado”. Reports of tornado touch downs, hail and destruction fly across the screen.
What you must know is that my lovely little town had several neighborhoods flattened by a tornado Memorial weekend last year. I of course was 7months preggo and had friends over for a BBQ. Of those lucky guests, several had their car totaled out from hail the size of golf balls. They also enjoyed the musical makings of Mother Nature as she accented the sounds of sirens with breaking glass while she painted the sky a pretty shade of green I’ve never seen before. Like a bunch of idiots we stayed outside watching the storm not realizing that a half a mile away families were experiencing terror beyond their worst fears.
A two year old baby boy died that day. The tornado picked him up out of his home and dropped him in a pond in the back yard. Every time the TV lights up with that radar map and the background music of the local tornado siren my heart leaps out of my body and I cling to Tess. I used to love a good thunderstorm…used to.

Let me introduce you...

…to me.
Welcome to the inner workings of my random thoughts. My dear friends have all suggested that I write a book. I feel I should start small (baby steps People!), hence the blog.
I’m a married hag in the Midwest who occupies her time with a desk job for a big corporation by torturing the peons from my throne (read cubicle) in corporate HR. When I’m not honing my typing, filing, or tongue-biting skills I usually am entertaining myself by practicing my sarcasm, wine drinking and diaper changing skills.
I have a daughter (who already knows I’m a bad momma because I forgot her banana at breakfast today) who is my muse at the ripe old age of 1. She has the extensive vocabulary of three words which she uses to contribute to my fodder for story-telling as well as to tell me off. Unless you count grunting, then it’s at least six words.
Oh, and I share my bed with a pug named Winston. (The husband insists on being there too and we begrudgingly allow him).
As for my stunning personality; many an online quiz has informed me that I am narcissistic and histrionic. I say I am loud, rude, blunt, self-deprecating, funny, charming, witty…and pretty. Hardly the self-image of a narcist. (hmm)
Anyhow…Welcome to my world of spastic drama where nothing is too small to be blown out of proportion. I hope to come up with interesting stories and musings to share.