WordMom.com

Play Date

After five days in the house with a nearly-7-year-old with the flu, I was ready for a play date of my own yesterday.  So the big guy and I got to wrap up what was supposed to be fall break (but spent mostly in the company of our friends Motrin and Mucinex) with a few hours of playtime--he with his "first best friend" playing Legos and Playstation, and us Mommies in a couple of easy chairs for some 99% uninterrupted adult chat time.

Short of a vacation at the beach, this was the best time of renewal I've had in a long time.  What is it about the way women are programmed that a relaxing couple of hours of great conversation and laughter are better than Calgon to take you away?

We talked about books, faith, kids, how we grew up.  I found out that she (and Dan Brown) apparently know all the answers to the Masonic secrets; she discovered that Loretta Lynn and Crystal Gayle are sisters.  I know--I have a lot to add to a conversation.

I needed a break.  I hate to think how many times (a week?  a day?) I say that. Advertisers try to buy us chicks off with things like chocolate and really great soap.  And it is true that a nice piece of chocolate and a long hot shower (without interruption) can at least get you on the right path. 

But the one thing that can soothe the savage soul is the one thing that commercials can't sell us--friendship.

I think the only thing that has come close is Oprah.  Now there is a woman that has successfully communicated to other women that--aside from hobnobbing with poet laureates and hollywood elite, and a permanent spot on the top 50 most influential/powerful/wealthy women in the entire universe list--she's just like us.

She's built an empire on being one of the girls.  For years, she's had us curling up on the couch for a chat.  We've lost and gained weight with her.  We've laughed and cried with her.  We've joined a book club together.

The thing that kills that image is that it is just an image.  Oprah has her own best friend, and we ain't it.  Sorry to break it to you.  

Oprah isn't coming over with a baked spaghetti casserole to take care of your newborn so you can get a much-needed nap.  She isn't going to eat cheap Mexican food and drink margaritas with you when you've had a lousy day and need to get out of the house for a few minutes.  She isn't going to suffer at McDonald's PlayPlace with you and three hundred other mothers on a cold, rainy day when the kids are stir crazy. 

She isn't going to the grocery at 9 p.m. to get a Rug Doctor for you because you just turned over a full can of paint on the carpet, your husband is out of town and your kids are already asleep.  She isn't going to console you as you cry about your father who has Alzheimer's and whom you are losing by inches each day.  She isn't going to help you get ready for your wedding, and listen to your wedding plans ad infinitum until she can recite them in her sleep.

She has Gayle for all that.  Along with assorted event planners, personal assistants, personal physicians and chefs.

But you and I--well, what we have is each other.  We are blessed by girlfriends who can somehow make us break into hysterical giggles, when only moments before, we were just doing the worst ugly cry ever.  They share with us the excellent and the mundane, the Chateau Briand and the McDonald's chicken nuggets, the Rolls Royces and the Yugos, the Bergdorf Goodmans and the Wal-Marts.

And in the end, it all evens out.  God gives us these girlfriends for good times and bad.  Some are for life, others are for a season.  They speak into our lives and we into theirs.  But what would we do without them?

Because, seriously--how many M&Ms and bubble baths does one girl really need?  (Don't answer that.)

The Season of Getting

I am bracing myself.  For here, at our house, we are about to enter the season of getting.

It isn't just the Christmas decorations I've spotted already creeping into the corners of Target and Michael's that has me preparing for the change in seasons.  Although it is a bit startling to walk past the talking ghoul in the store doorway, removing his own head and making wisecracks, only to find Santa 10 yards ahead.

For us, the season starts early because both of my little boys have November birthdays.  The "getting season" begins in late October (early presents) and continues through January (late presents).  Personally, I began my mantra in August:  You're right--that's really cool!  That would be a great thing to ask for for your birthday.  Translated from Mommyspeak:  Put it down--you ain't gettin' it today. 

I always thought my mother was so mean when she did that to me.  Now I know it is just financial survival.  And that she never actually heard any words that came out of my mouth after "Mom, I want" or "Mom, I need" if we were standing in the toy aisle.

The boys spend their Sunday mornings at the breakfast table clamoring over the sports page (it begins early), Peanuts on the comics page, and...the Toys R Us ad.  And I know it is only going to go downhill as we get closer to Christmas.  Then the big Toys R Us "wish book" will come out, as will Target's version of the same thing.

Now, I completely remember getting our Sears or (for us Southerners) Service Merchandise catalog in the mail.  My best friend and I spent multiple afternoons sprawled on the floor with magic markers, selecting those 200 things we just HAD to have.  I got the faux leather-and-rhinestone-studded belt from Sears (just call me fashionista); I never did get that Easy Bake Oven.

It is a rite of passage, of that I'm fully aware.  But it just seems so different (read: greedy) when you're the mom and on the other end of the "gimmes," as Jan and Stan Berenstain call it. 

Somehow I expect my children to rise up, and say, Dearest mother.  We really have all we need.  We have so many toys already and there are children all over the world who don't have the nice things we do.  Instead of buying us more plastic things that we will break in the first week, let's go purchase toys for those less fortunate than us.  And please, let us use the money from our own piggy banks to do so.

I know, sounds like I'm on some good drugs, doesn't it?  But a girl can dream.

In the meanwhile, we'll be doing our part to try and cure the gimmes, or at least curb them a little.  We're watching the new VeggieTales DVD Saint Nicholas to learn more about joyful giving (not getting).  We'll be picking an angel or two from the Salvation Army Angel Tree and dropping change into the big red kettles, sending something special to our "adopted brother" Charlesing through World Vision, and putting together a couple of shoeboxes worth of gifts for Operation Christmas Child.

Santa will bring three gifts to our house, like the three gifts that the wise men brought to the baby Jesus.  Grandparents, on the other hand, I can't control.

Wrapping Up a Decade We Still Don't Even Have a Good Name For

Are you ready for your next freak out?  Here it is:  The decade is almost over. 

Remember when we (and by we, I don't mean me at all) were stockpiling water, batteries and canned goods for the landmine that January 1, 2000 was going to be?  Da-da-da-DUM...Y2K.  Ominous-sounding, is it not?

And yet, here we are.  Three months short of 10 years later.  That all seems so--well, primitive in retrospect, doesn't it?

That was a world before Wii.  Before iPhones and an app for everything.  Before Jon, Kate or any of the 8.  When it was still Brad and Jennifer, and Angelina was just some weird girl who wore black and her husband's blood in a vial around her neck.  And the world was a much sweeter, simpler, more innocent place.

A lot has changed in a decade.  Ten years ago, I was a married girl running my own company, freaking out about the big 3-0.  Now I'm a married mom of two who has traded in her PR firm for running the preschool fundraiser, and the big 4-0 doesn't seem nearly as ominous.  As long as we don't talk about it and I continue to lie about my age.

So if the '50s were pompadours, saddle shoes, poodle skirts and sock hops; and the '60s were Woodstock, love, peace and hippies; and the '80s were Dynasty, shoulder pads and over-indulgence--then what are the '00s?  And 10 points to someone who can finally come up with a good name for this decade, by the way.

In the '00s (which sounds increasingly like "uh-ohs" the more you say it):

• We learned how to flip a house and make a mint.  Then we learned how to declare bankruptcy when we realized we were all going broke getting rich off of each other.
• We started watching people do other, really productive, things (like cook amazing meals and remodel houses) on television networks devoted to teaching you how to do these things.  So now we all know how to make a ceviche and tile a backsplash, right?
• We found out more than we ever wanted to know about people who weren't really famous for anything in particular.  Hilton sisters.  Kardashians.  And except for a couple of really good Disney movies back when she was a cute, freckle-faced redhead, Lindsay Lohan.
• No one is named Bill, Bob, Susan or Mary anymore.  We now name our children things that are so unique that they're now incredibly common.  My son's baseball team jerseys look like a law firm, since everyone's first name sounds more like a last name.  And so that our children will go through their lives perpetually spelling their names, we all came up with unusual spellings for them, too.
• All but three people reading this blog have been in a reality show, auditioned for a reality show, know someone from a reality show or saw the guy from The Real World season 8 at the grocery store buying tomatoes.
• We haven't heard a busy signal or been out of touch for at least the last 5 years.  If we don't get an answer at one number, there are two others we can try, in addition to sending a text or posting a message on Facebook.  And here we thought that 2010 was the year that we make contact.
• Televisions used to be a simulated wood-covered box that took up most of a wall in your parents' living room. Now they fit in the back seat of your (mid-sized) sedan, next to your groceries and the 3-year-old in his carseat.  And a 36" television is now a "small" tv.  Don't we all need to watch Dancing with the Stars in High Def on a 52" screen?
• Only 2 of the people reading this blog even have a sedan in their family in this decade.  Everyone else drives an SUV, a crossover or a mini-van.  Which is why I, Volvo owner, am the only person in the world who can't reach the ATM at the bank.

What do you think the "uh-ohs" will be remembered for?  I hope you can come up with some better things than I can, because the heritage my kids will have for the decade they were born in is looking a little skimpy.

Commence freaking out. 

How to Create A Hit Show for Little Boys

I am in awe of the minds behind a new show on PBS called Dinosaur Train.  It comes from Jim Henson's company, so I'm in awe anyway (Fraggle Rock, The Dark Crystal, Kermit the Frog).  But mostly I just wish I'd thought of it first. 

It is so simple.  Marry two things that little boys love...dinosaurs and trains.  Hello?  Megahit for the male half of the preschool set.  And it is educational, so you know I've bought into it, geek that I am.  (Did you know that some dinosaurs had feathers?)

But it makes me wonder what other brilliant ideas are out there that are yet to be explored?  Can it truly be as simple as matching up two childhood favorites and getting a heavy-hitting production company and major television network to buy in?

So a few of the good ones have been taken.  Monster trucks + robots = Transformers.  Eating bugs + mud = Survivor.  Although I suppose that doesn't appeal to the preschool set.

But with a little creativity, I think that even you and I could come up with a million dollar idea.  And if not, well, we still have an 85% chance of being on a reality show one day, merely by existing in society.

What do little boys love?  Mud.  Fire Engines.  Race Cars.  Pirates.  Trains.  Light Sabers (although those are probably copyrighted by LucasFilm).  Sticks.  Spies.  Monster Trucks.  Villans.  Heroes.  Space Aliens. Competition. FootballBaseballHockeySoccerBasketball. 

Sidebar:  Now, understand that the brilliant minds in Denmark at Lego have already accomplished this in toy form.  It used to be that there were only Legos.  You built things with multi-colored plastic bricks and took them apart.  Now we have Star Wars Legos, Indiana Jones Legos, Lego Racers, Pirate Legos, Castle Legos, Lego Agents, Spongebob Legos, Thomas the Train Legos.  You name it, they've matched it up with Legos and are indeed making a mint. 

And the reason they are making a mint is because once the Dads have opened the box and "helped" put together all 3,803 pieces of the $399.99 Lego Death Star (let me assure you there is no sarcasm here--just look it up), it will be played with.  Forty-three pieces will immediately disappear into another dimension, never to be seen again.  Another 14 pieces will be sucked into the vacuum.  The dog will eat 5, and the baby will most likely swallow one.  Maybe two.  And then the Death Star can never be fully rebuilt.  And we will need...more Legos. 

Because, according to a television show we recently watched, over 400 billion legos have been created since the company's founding...meaning there are 60 legos for every person on earth.  Apparently we have 50 extra people living in our home I wasn't aware of.

But I digress.  Back to our regularly scheduled program.  Simply match up any two boy favorites (or more) and here we have a sure-fire hit.  To make it work for the older set, simply have it drawn in Manga.  To make it work for much older boys, simply add Angelina Jolie.  Think I'm kidding?  Gone in Sixty Seconds.  Lara Croft Tomb Raider.  Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Spies + Fire Engines = Hit.  Pirates + Mud = Hit.  Hockey + Mud + Monster Trucks = Triple Hit.  Then just sneak in a little educational value, like Dinosaur Train's paleontologist, Dr. Scott, who pops up at the end of the show, and you've got the mommy crowd, too. 

What else could a boy ask for?  And don't think that the folks at Lego haven't already considered the Manga Angelina Jolie Lego Set.

Show Me the Money

There is nothing so completely unrewarding as spending $3,000, only to return things back to normal.

We put hardwood floors in the den.  They are beautiful.  Every day I can look at these floors and they show me the money.  There's a feeling of satisfaction when I see how pretty they look, and how much easier it is to clean up dog poop off of them.  Unfortunately, changing from carpet to hardwood didn't magically teach the dog that the den isn't a litter box.

We recovered the furniture.  Money well spent.  It is clean and beautiful and gives the room a whole new look.  The dog isn't allowed anywhere near it, for obvious reasons.

But in the joys of home ownership (and maintenance) I often find myself writing checks for things that, when completed, are exactly the way they were.  And this is no fun.

Having the trim on the house painted and caulked, for instance.  No glamour there.  Even paying someone to clean your house gives you a bigger high than that one.  At least after the housekeeper leaves you can smell the bleach and see the vacuum marks in the carpet.  And for about 15 minutes, everything looks as if your family doesn't really live there.  Okay, maybe 7 minutes.

Today, I got the extreme pleasure of writing a down-payment check to put a pump (and not the Manolo kind) in my "crawl space" because after a week-and-a-half of rain, we seem to be acquiring extra water there.

If I could only somehow make this an indoor pool, maybe I would get more of a "wow" out of it, hmm?  Turn it into a saltwater spa?  What I'm getting instead is 90 feet of tubing to get the water to the pump and out from under the house.

Bleah.

Where's the bling?  Where's the sparkle?  Maybe I need Kimora Lee Simmons to oversee my pump.  At least she'd put some studs and fake leopard on it.  But then it would cost three times as much.  Maybe I'll head to Wal-Mart for a Bedazzler instead.

I would like to add, however, that not every dollar to put something the way back it was is a waste.  Just imagine--if I could spend the same $3,000 and put my post-baby body back the way it was when I was 23?  To quote Ms. Simmons' favorite word--Fabulous.

And I wouldn't even need a Bedazzler for it.