Actions Cause Reactions

A definite plus side to the holidays is that long-lost friends return home from far away, which means that I get to see them without ever having to pack a bag or step on a plane. Yesterday, I was lucky enough to spend some time with my all-time favorite babysitter who is in town visiting her family. Well, technically she has her own family now, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, after having three of my own, I can officially say that I am not a baby person anymore. Give me gross motor skills, the ability to hold down a meal for more than ten minutes and some bowel control. But having said that, her kids are so, so cute! The baby wouldn't stop smiling - even when he was spitting up - and Zoe was ecstatic about the fact that she found another little kid in the form of two-year-old Abe that liked to crawl around on all fours and bark like a rabid dog. Mandi is a great mom who has already displayed amazing potty training skills, handles hurl with the best of them and - because she's nursing - is willing to drink her cranberry and tonic without vodka. Obviously, the qualities that made her a kick ass babysitter are also making her a kick ass mom.

While I was sitting there sucking down booze with her mom and ripping on the neighbors, the baby made "the face" and "the noise" and that's when Mandi's mom said "Oh Joel, are you filling your pants? I thought I heard something!" I kind of started to laugh, but in my head I was thinking...no way in hell am I offering to change that kid's diaper. I know! I'm a horrible friend! I mean, how much shit has this poor girl scraped off of my kids in the past!? And here she is, visiting from out of town, and I don't step in for one crap-filled diaper?

Luckily, I don't think Mandi was overly disappointed that I didn't leap into the air and jump at the opportunity to change a butt. But just in case, as she was leaning down to grab the wipes off of the floor with one hand and her slightly fragrant child with the other hand, I said "I'd do it for you, but I'm pretty sure I've forgotten how to change diapers. Sorry." She just laughed a little before reminding me that I hadn't forgotten because I'd recently changed my niece's diaper. I was shocked! How did she know about that? And then she reminded me again...I wrote about it.

(originally posted on June 4, 2010)

My new niece, Bianca, is adorable. Seriously guys, she is so cute. And the most amazing thing to me is that when I'm around her, I actually offer to change her diapers. You'd think that after spending hundreds of hours wiping poop off of someone else's ass I would have allowed myself to drop that skill from my repertoire, but no, I can still change a butt in record speed.

One thing I did forget, though, is that sometimes when the diaper comes off and you pull the kid's feet up to stick the new diaper under their butt, the kid sometimes takes that as an opportunity to do an impression of a bottle of French's mustard. You know, the mustard that is half-clogged so you squeeze really hard to get it to come out, and then the clog dislodges mid-squeeze.

I recently read an article outlining how my life can be happier and more positive if I practiced acceptance of certain situations rather than judgmental observation. Apparently the way a person typically processes daily life experiences, which in this case was shit being squirted across a room, can be broken down into five steps, and it's how a person reacts to these five steps that determines the resulting emotions.

1. Movement: First, something happens in our lives - a tiny incident, a big event, someone's passing comment, or a nearly imperceptible change in the environment. I have to be honest and say that a stream of shit is not exactly a tiny incident and is a fairly big event. Zoe's passing comment was "Oh my gosh, mom! What is all over your shorts? Is that poop? GROSS! HAHAHAHAHA!" And that imperceptible change in the environment was odor, and it was actually pretty perceptible.

2. Sensation: In response to that movement, we feel something physically - a twinge of pain, a flood of heat or cold, a clenching or emptiness in our body, a vibration or fluctuation we can't name. I felt a twinge of nausea, a trickle of poop running down my leg, and a light sweaty film forming on my forehead as I quickly surveyed the damage on the changing table. As far as the feelings of emptiness, I'm sure that was Bianca's bowels.

3. Thought: Then we consciously or unconsciously identify the sensation and assign some kind of reason or meaning or value to it. I very consciously identified the sensation as "disgusting" and I guess the only meaning I could come up with was that Bianca somehow knew I was a seasoned veteran when it came to diaper changing so she figured it was a good time to open the gates on her large intestine because I wouldn't panic, unlike my brother who has only been dealing with fecal matter for a couple weeks. I don't think there was any value to assign, except maybe the value of the dozens of wipes I ended up using.

4. Emotional Reaction: Next we experience a flash of a certain feeling or a combination of them - grief, fear, anger, irritation, shame, nervousness, hurt, desire, relief and so on. In addition to a little bit of panic (I really didn't want poop stains on my white shorts), I actually experienced laughter, because throughout this whole ordeal all Zoe was worried about was whether she could drag the Sit 'N Spin out of Bianca's closet. I don't know if you remember, but I tried to get rid of that space hog at Goodwill a few months ago and they wouldn't take it, so I pawned it off on my brother. So while I was wiping up his kid's splattered crap, I couldn't help but envision my brother in a couple years, constantly tripping over that thing and eventually trying to drop it off at Goodwill.

5. Behavior: Finally, we take some kind of action or reaction, verbally, physically or attitudinally - either to stop the feeling, escape it, or to do something else about it. I told Bianca that it was okay she sprayed her Auntie with poop, carried her cleaned-up and newly-outfitted self downstairs, handed her to my brother, changed my shorts, made a drink and realized that being an aunt kicks ass.

Happy Ho Ho Ho!

Merry Christmas! May your day be filled with fun, laughter, imperfection that is taken in stride, great food, amazing cocktails and not too many tears. May you have the strength to look back on the catastrophe's of 2010 with a sense of humor and anticipate the inevitable speed bumps that will get in your way in 2011.

Today especially, if you have a baby, cherish their immobility and inability to complain. If you have little kids, try to enjoy their energy and unpredictability. If you have teenagers, try not to kill them. If you have family staying with you for an extended period of time, don't forget to put that all-important bottle of vodka and bag of kettle chips in your closet. And if you have a dog, keep track of that tinsel because nothing ruins Christmas night faster than having to take a dog to an emergency vet just so that he can hack up a giant wad of foil.

Most of all, take some time to sit back, watch your kids unwrap all the gifts that they've been coveting for the last month or so, sip something cold, eat a couple more cookies and, if you're as lucky as me, enjoy the kick ass gift that one of your kids has already given you:

Yes, that is a giant wad of bubble wrap, from Zoe. Apparently the girl is expecting me to bash my shins and hips into even more tables and corners of the wall in 2011 so, ya know, she just wants me to be safe. I love having a thoughtful child.

SAHM - Holiday Edition

Every Monday night, for an hour and a half, the kids are at piano lessons. More accurately, the boys and I sit in a small room while Zoe spends half-an-hour learning all about middle-C and half-steps vs. whole-steps, and then I get to leave with the girl while the boys split the next hour. This means that each boy spends a total of one hour sitting on his ass.

Since I'm not a big fan of wasting time and am trying to teach my kids the importance of time-management, I've attempted to enforce a no texting/gaming/zoning out/acting like a moron policy during this hour. Instead, I have told them to use this time to either get some homework done, study for upcoming tests, or (gasp!) read something for fun.

While waiting for Zoe's lesson a few weeks ago, I noticed Charlie sitting on the couch, focusing intently on some crap that had accumulated under his thumb nail. He sat there for a full three minutes, staring at that shit like it was going to burst out and chew his face off if he so much as diverted his gaze for one second. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I said don't you have any homework to do? And if not, did you bring a book? And what about your other thumbnail? Isn't it going to feel neglected after you've showered the other thumb with so much attention?

He looked at me with an expression that was like what? Who are you? Why are you sitting there? What planet am I on? After he blinked a few times and his brain caught up with the current time, day, setting and my mood, he said no, no homework. None homework. Well, except for this one piece of homework, but you can't do it. I have to ask dad. Cuz dad has a job. It's about a job. Like a real job. I have to ask questions about a job, and you don't have a, well, you know, like, a...

And this is when things got precarious, and I have to admit that I kind of enjoyed watching him sit there, squirming, trying to figure out a way to describe what I do that wouldn't result in him getting pummeled over the head.

"A job. Right? Is that what you're trying to say? You need to ask dad because he gets in a car that doesn't contain a booster seat or have sliding doors and drives to a place other than the grocery store or Target and gets to hang out in a place where everyone is over five feet tall?"

"Well, yeah," he said.

Turns out that his assignment required him to interview an adult who works at a job supporting him/herself and/or a family, and ask this adult about his or her experience in the world of work. And since I didn't think that this was the best time to break into a "oh my fucking hell do you have any idea what I do for you kids all day" rant and demand that he fill in the blanks with responses like "I get to boil noodles and call it dinner. I am real good at cleaning me some pee off the toilet bowls every day and that sure does help support that there family a whole lot" I decided to not take his mom doesn't have a job stance too personally, and instead answered the questions for him as if I were his father. After all, he had the questionnaire with him and had all that extra time to kill, might as well not waste it staring at a thumbnail!

Now that the holidays are quickly approaching (Did you know the holidays are almost here? From what I've been told, I think that Christmas is just days away!), I've been thinking about Charlie's assignment, and the fact that the title SAHM goes through a major modification between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. In fact, I'll bet if I completed his questionnaire it would be pretty interesting! So I decided to do his assignment again, and maybe he can turn it in as extra credit.

CAREER INTERVIEW

What is your career/occupation/job? SAHM - Holiday Edition

What is your current job title and what exactly do you do? Holiday meal planner, which means trying to come up with several meals that are unique, festive and non-weird, but that don't require me to spend dozens of hours in the kitchen preparing something that half of the family won't eat. I am also the gift buyer, home decorator, outdoor lighting expert, excitement creator and wardrobe manager. Which means that I shop, wrap, clean, festoon, iron, shop some more, address envelopes, wait in lines and reign in aggression. Oh, and I also still do all of my other, very glamorous duties, like clean toilet bowls, which is really a suspense-filled activity this time of year because after all, some of that holiday food is kind of rich.

How many jobs have you had in your life? Five

What were they? They were those five other jobs that I had in my life before I became a SAHM.

Has changing technology affected your work life? Well, let's just say that if it weren't for being able to shop online, there would either be fewer presents under the tree or more strangers with black eyes. And being able to order my groceries online and arrange to have them delivered the day before a major holiday is pretty much on the same happiness level as Santa bringing me a truckload of vodka.

Has the economic recession affected your work life? Duh.

Why did you choose this job? Because it's so satisfying and fun -- to make fun of other people. Watching them tromp in and out of stores, stalk each other for parking spots, debate about which piece of hideous jewelry to buy for the teacher gift, scream at their overheated/overstimulated kids, wait in line for Santa, expect perfection -- it doesn't get any better than that.

What do you enjoy most about your work? Finding cool gifts for everyone is actually pretty enjoyable, but at the end of it all, throwing away the leftover cookies, sending the kids back to school and putting the Christmas tree away kicks ass. And not having to hear the word "Doorbuster" or see a Lexus with a big red bow on it for the next eleven months: euphoria.

Why is your job important to you? Because it makes my family happy, and I get to be a control freak.

What are some rewards, besides money, that you get from your job? I get to see some of the best behavior of the year come from my youngest kid because, after all, 'tis the season for bribery and the Santa card.

What new things have you had to learn to do your job? How to gift wrap a large stuffed dolphin, how to simultaneously attend a tennis lesson and a choir concert, how to find a gift that a kid asked Santa for but is no longer available domestically, how to find energy and generosity at the end of a day when all you want to do is sit down with a glass of whiskey and tell everyone else to go away already, and 5,000 other things.

How long does it take for you to get to work? Luckily for me, I live where I work. Although, this time of year it feels like I might as well be working part-time at the grocery store since it seems like I know more about their inventory than their employees do.

On average, how many hours do you work per week? On average, how many hours are there in a week? 168? Yeah, that sounds about right. Because as all parents know, even when you're sleeping there is always one ear on alert, waiting for the sound of an illness hitting a kid. And everyone knows, if an illness is going to hit a kid, it's going to happen in the middle of the night. Two days before Christmas.

What part does the computer and other technology play in your work? In addition to the obvious - online shopping, Facebook, this blog (aka therapy) - it allows me to monitor the kids' grades and most recent test scores. And depending on what I find, the amount of online shopping that I need to get done can go through a drastic reduction.

The Christmas Countdown

I know I'm not alone here (right, Nancy!?) when I say...enough with the countdowns. I'm tired of hearing "Are you done with your Christmas shopping? Did you get your cards out yet? What are your plans for winter break?" and "Only a few more days to get it all done!" Every time I see a festive sweater or hear yet another version of Rudolph or the words "Doorbuster, Santariffic" or "Wrap the Holidays in Fun," it doesn't make me want to go a'caroling or a'wassailing or a'shopping. It does, however, put me in the mood to go a'drinking and a'swearing while I a'watch a little a'football.

The good news is that yes, I am done with the shopping, the wrapping, the mailing and, despite wanting to skip this year, I even sent out Christmas cards. The fake tree is decorated, the Santa gifts are hidden and each kid has a bag of crap that's just waiting to be jammed into their always-too-small stocking. But, sadly, I'm not done. Not even close.

According to my calendar, what I've been told, and what I overheard while eavesdropping on those two women at Target, these are a few of the statistics:

• There is one week left until Christmas.
• Two weeks left until we say adios to 2010.
• Three school days before winter break.
• Or for some kids, zero days until winter break.
• Three trips to the grocery store that need to be made.
• Actually, it's six trips if you count the two different stores because it wouldn't make sense for one store to carry everything that I need.
• Two trips to the liquor store.
• Or, for the insane, zero trips to the liquor store.
• Or, if you're me, five trips.
• $250 of express shipping fees that someone (but not me) needs to spend because a couple out-of-town recipients were "forgotten."
• $0 of shipping fees because I paid attention when I got an email that said "Perfect gift for the mother-in-law" and "FREE SHIPPING!"
• Twenty dozen cookies that will be baked in the next 36 hours.
• Which sounds almost as nauseating as saying "three pounds of butter."
• Seven days left to play the Santa card.
• Eight gifts that "might" be returned to the store before Christmas if someone doesn't change their attitude NOW!
• Two parents that had the nerve to plan a kid's birthday party the week before Christmas.
• One more choir concert to get through.
• One piano recital to get through. And oh how I hope that woman that has a Bump-It permanently implanted in her skull sits in front of me again.
• Two more tennis lessons. Oh, and two tournaments before 2011.
• Four more trips to the junior high, which will bring the number of trips in one week to a grand total of Ee-Lev-En.
• Three bags of ice that I'm planning on purchasing in the next week.
• Four bags if things go well.
• Six bags if things go really well.
• Oh wait, I forgot about New Year's weekend. So then, let's just say a lot of bags of ice.
• Two classes that a kid missed last Friday, but it's okay because it was a planned absence and I was assured that the kid had everything turned in.
• Four things that weren't turned in, completed, accounted for or were just forgotten about.
• Ten minutes that I yelled about those four things.
• Four limbs on a kid that resembled a dried up reptile because, after all, there are only three different things of lotion in the bathroom to choose from so how could I be so unrealistic as to expect the lotion to actually be applied to the scaly skin?
• Really, though, how could I expect him to use lotion? After all, I've only reminded him 472 times.
• Three times within fifteen minutes that I said "You need to get up at 6."
• Which explains why, within one minute, a kid asked "So what time should I get up?"
• Ten minutes that I yelled about that.
• Twelve minutes that I wasted, standing in line at the self-service kiosk at the post office, waiting for the technologically retarded (I know that term isn't politically correct, but I think that in this case she was sort of retarded) woman to figure out how to ship a manila envelope to St. Louis and also purchase one sheet of Forever stamps, all within one transaction. She failed. Miserably. Instead of one transaction, it was actually more like seven. Seriously. The machine would not stop beeping at her.
• Zero inches of snow in the weather forecast for the next two weeks. You hear that, bitch-face Mother Nature? I want ZERO!
• Six scaly spots on Zoe's face that need to heal so that people can stop asking me "What's on her face? What's wrong with your daughter? Does she have the chicken pox?" and I have to repeatedly say: No, she doesn't have a disease. It's because they had Clifford (you know, the big red sweetly retarded {sorry} dog) day at school a few days ago and they used face paint to put these black dots on my kid's face. But unfortunately they used some funky face paint that contained arsenic and lye and cyanide and was probably made in Tanzania and had been recalled in 1983, which left these angry red spots on my daughter's cheeks. No, she doesn't have chicken pox because even though I'm anal and organized, I don't have the power to make sure that chicken-pox-induced red sores appear perfectly symmetrical and in only one highly visible location. And if you think the spots look freaky now, you should have seen her right after I washed the face paint off:

Oh, and yesterday she got a haircut and her bangs are so cute. But they're really short which, for some reason, accentuates the fact that there is also a scaly spot on the end of her nose. Cuz, ya know, Clifford's nose is black.

Now, where is that first bag of ice?

Save Your Money

Now that Christmas is officially less than two weeks away, one of my favorite questions to ask my kids' friends is "What are you hoping to get for Christmas?" With almost frightening accuracy, I can almost always predict which kids will say "I don't really know, because there's nothing I really need" and which ones, without hesitation, say "Money, another Xbox, cash, a new cell phone, a car, a ski trip in Colorado with my friends, gift cards, maybe some more money, and did I mention money?"

This year, my kids haven't asked for much. A video game here, a board game there, maybe a few pieces of plastic weaponry, but fortunately nothing that will force us to eat ramen for the next few months. That gift list belongs to me (new refrigerator anyone?), which is why when anyone asks me what I want for Christmas, my response is always "Nothing. Really, nothing. Unless you're prepared to spend $20,000." to which they respond "Okay, then. No problem. Nothing it is." But then there's always those people that insist on getting you something because after all, 'tis the season for giving crappy gifts (like the ones on this list).

One thing about the Sunday paper this time of year is that it weighs about 12 pounds, 11.5 of which is ads for doorbuster sales. Buried in these ads, and in the barrage of catalogs that have been arriving in my mailbox since September, are some products that truly leave me wondering -- who in the hell would ever buy any of this stuff for someone and expect to hear "Kick ass! I always wanted me one of these! You knew exactly what I needed!"

This craptastic bedding set is appropriately called "Mossy Oak," and can be yours for the low price of $120. Maybe it would be good for parents to have, though, because when the kids wander in at midnight, they won't be able to find mom or dad.

I think this is a back massager, but considering the shape and varying lengths of the "massage tips," something tells me it could probably be used for other things as well.

No, it's not an alien or even a Rocky Mountain bighorn ram with unusually large horns. It's a uterus pillow. Just what every girl wants, and what every guy wants to see propped up on the couch.

If you wear this thing for just ten minutes a day, you will notice a 72% reduction in sagging, a 42% reduction in wrinkles, a noticeable improvement in skin tone and color, and a 100% reduction in the number of friends you have. Because now they all think you're insane.

When I bring my daughter to the pool, I like for her to be able to swim, kick, jump and stand in the pool, not to mention be able to walk (not run) on the pool deck. Notice, "wave legs around like a moron mermaid" and "fall flat on face because her feet are stuck together" are not on this list.

The funny thing is, I know someone that would think this is a pretty cool gift. I, however, don't need one because I see something frighteningly similar every day. It's called a "neighbor."

These "instant flattery" pinstripe slacks may very well make the legs look long and lean, but they also make the ass look all squishy and fat, especially when one bends over.

I know there are families out there that buy new pajamas every Christmas, and some of these families go so far as to buy matching pj's. But come on, matching pajamas for the dog? That's going too far.

And just so you know, if I were to ever buy green striped pajamas for my husband, I would never see him wearing them on Christmas morning. Because dead people can't see.

Too. Many. Jokes. Can't. Think. Clearly.

hahahahahahahahahaha! Seriously? Anyone who has been married for more than two minutes knows that when the husband is out of town, the wife is all HOLY SHIT THIS IS AWESOME! I HAVE THE WHOLE BED TO MYSELF WITHOUT ANYONE ELSE'S BODY PARTS TAKING UP SPACE!

Honestly, how creepy would it be to sleep with a fucking arm? Who knows, though. Maybe you can insert four "D" batteries and the hand does a gentle squeezing motion. That would explain why she put the hand on her boob.