tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76234676110860074782024-03-18T21:58:33.540-07:00The New Chapter of My Life. I'm A Wife, Mom and All-Around Work in Progress.What's this all about, you ask? I'm a wife, a step-mom and (even newer) Mom. The transition from single, jet-setting working gal to wife, mother, home chef and laundry supervisor has proved to be a little bit more difficult than I had anticipated. I hope that my stories entertain you as I stumble though this phase in my life.Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-77141157025107356812012-07-18T17:02:00.000-07:002012-07-18T17:02:08.701-07:00Down with the fathers ...???<br />
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After weeks of battling my husband’s ex in court, I’ve come to a conclusion about fathers in our society.</div>
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A hundred years ago if there was divorce it was not only scandalous but there was never an issue of custody or support. Most of the time, the father got off easy. The wife left with nothing and there was no such thing as joint custody. The kid either stayed with the mother or the father. Hell, look at the movie the Parent Trap… and it made in the 70’s. There was a messy divorce, one parent took one kid, the other parent took the other kid. There was no squabbling, there was no going back to court each year. Maybe that was a better system, honestly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s what’s happening today…<o:p></o:p></div>
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I read an article about a father, who had primary parent status, who made $200k a year. His ex (who just saw the kids only in the summer) made $50k. She plead to the judge that she needed money because she can’t afford a good home for her 4 kids … who she only sees in the summer. The father (who was not previously paying child support, as the kids were with him 9 months out of the year) was ordered to pay $75K a year (after tax) in support … TO HER… because she chooses to have the type of job where she makes $50k a year. She has 9 months out of the year to go back to school and further herself so she CAN make more money. And what does she do? Bleeds the father dry financially… why? Because he makes a good living and she NEEDS more money, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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What the hell is wrong with this picture?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Isn’t this still AMERICA… land of opportunity? If so, then why do so many people have their hand out? Why would they rather swindle people out of money than create wealth for themselves? You want to know why our country isn’t great anymore? THAT’S why!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hello, people! Why can’t we all just get off our asses and work harder to make life better for ourselves? I know, I know, since the recession hit, some people are doing twice the work for half the pay. I think those people are in the minority. I think that this country turned completely into the land of the lazy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But, I digress… I was talking about fathers.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Remember those old TV shows like “Father knows Best” where the Dad was head of the family. He took pride in taking care of the his family and his family (in turn) loved him. Less than 100 years later, let’s look at what father figure examples we have here. Let’s first look at the Disney channel. When my step son was first old enough to start watching the Disney channel, I thought it must be wholesome channel… hell, Mickey Mouse is Disney… what could be more wholesome than that! Well, here’s the reality of the Disney Channel shows. The kids have smart mouths. The girls dress like tramps. The boys are know-it-all’s. AND… the fathers are all portrayed as idiots.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let’s look at commercials lately. What’s the theme? The men do something stupid or goofy and their wives end up saving the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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How did society’s perception of men end up so biased in the other direction. My husband’s a smart man that loves his family. Why is that never portrayed in TV shows (hello, Disney channel) and by the media?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I guess that many people… like many 1<sup>st</sup> wives… think of their husband as a paycheck. They deserve money, right? Well, what does that make their kid? A tool used to get money? What? How have we gone so far away from what’s important… and that’s the kids…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-89420467079564766662012-07-11T16:50:00.001-07:002012-07-11T16:50:07.125-07:00Yea I drink... I have a 2 year oldMy husband and I live in a small AVA. For those of you who aren't wino's that American Viticultural Area - it's a good area to make wine. A few weeks ago we were at a big farmers market with the kids and someone asked me if I drink, wanting to know if I'd like a sample of wine. I've always thought it was odd when people ask you if you dink. You don't ask someone if they floss their teeth or eat mushrooms.<br />
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Anyway, what was more funny than the question was my answer. We were there with the kids, right? So I was standing there with Baby C on my hip, literally. I told the guy "of course I drink, I have a 2 year old." He didn't think it was funny.... I did.Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-77130223874789808322012-07-09T22:36:00.003-07:002012-07-09T22:36:47.004-07:00I'm A Step Mom<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Those words have an interesting connotation. We have
memories of stories with the “wicked step mother” from way back in our
childhood. For a long time I thought that the step mother was the bad guy or
just the one who wasn’t really the Mom… more like a glorified babysitter.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now that I’m here, in this place, I get it. I’m a parent,
not a friggin’ babysitter. I make lunches, go to school functions, do homework.
That’s what a parent does, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Over the past almost 4 years, I’ve experienced it all and I
can truly say that being a step mother is damn hard. Let me elaborate:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Scenario 1) You’re cleaning up puke off the carpet. The puke
was put there by a kid that frequently gives you attitude and may or may not
say the words “you’re not my Mom” while having a meltdown because you asked
them to take out the trash. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With your
own kid, at least there’s a bond. They love you unconditionally. You’re the one
that comforts them, cleans the cuts, kisses the boo boo’s. You’re Mom and that’s
a high ranking title. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Scenario 2) The dreaded Ex has called you for the 12<sup>th</sup>
time today, pissed off that you won’t switch one of your holidays with her. She’s
irrational and screaming like a banshee. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though you try to remain more neutral
than Switzerland, it’s impossible. She ends up hanging up the phone saying that
her work schedule (cocktail waitress) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is
very important and she just can not switch shifts in order to take her child at
the allotted time and says (my favorite) “I’m tired of being inconvenienced by
you”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For those of you who have been there, I'm sorry and I get it. I’m at the point where I’m just sick and tired of bad
behavior, bad parenting and no accountability ALL THE TIME. Here’s the thing I
don’t really get. Who has the time and energy to continue the drama, and the
bad behavior on such a long term basis? I’m not too sure if I should be
impressed or pissed.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The hard part is being even the least bit zen about the
whole situation and let it roll off you like water off a duck’s back. Maybe I
need a new yoga mat… or a vodka martini before the yoga… might not help with
the balance but it might help with my patience. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-78648074031451523552012-06-19T17:01:00.000-07:002012-06-19T17:01:56.562-07:00Work Funny<br />
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The other day I getting ready to leave work to pick up baby C. I was walking into the bathroom at 4:45 PM when I saw the funniest thing. There was a small Asian woman (who works down the hall) who walked out of the bathroom with a roll of toilet paper. She walked out of there like it was nothing… just a normal day stealing some company toilet paper. Of course, once she left the room I laughed. Then I thought to myself, if I even thought about stealing company TP would I do it? Would I steal this crap 1 ply toilet paper to save a buck? I happen to like the cushy 3 ply that I use at home. I don’t know if I could ever be THAT cheap. Of course, this woman probably has millions in the bank and can retire any day now (sort of like that book “millionaire next door”). I still think I’ll sick with my soft 3 ply.</div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-1574692132633912582012-06-06T20:51:00.001-07:002012-06-06T20:51:37.448-07:00Purple Hair Dad<br />
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Yesterday I saw a middle aged man walking with a 4 year old girl while he pushed a 2 year old girl in a stroller. He was having a conversation with the kids and made the 4 year old hold his hand across the street, the way good parents do. Then I noticed....the man had shoulder length purple hair. I will repeat that just in case you missed it. <b>The 45 year old man had purple hair</b>… we’re talkin’ Barney purple.<br /></div>
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Two things came to mind when I saw Mr Midle-Aged-Punk-Rock:</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span>1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Really?</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span>2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Good for you for being a good Dad</div>
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I guess you're never too old to rock and roll but at some point in time trying to make yourself look like an 18 year old just isn't flattering. At some point in time it just looks silly. (Sort of like when my husband’s Ex wears pig tails. <b>I just want to scream “you’re over 40… get over it and stop wearing pig tails”… but that’s another Oprah show.</b>) I believe you're only as old as you feel, however, age appropriate attire is still important. </div>
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<br /></div>
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There’s a woman in my office who’s probably pushin’ 50. She likes to wear her hair in a bob (bangs, et al…) with white fold-down socks and Mary Jane flats. It drives me nuts! She’s almost 50. Can’t she find a nice pair of kitten heels that’ll work for her?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, I find it just distracting. Take, for example, the guy on the corner pushing the stroller. Why didn’t I see that he’s a good Dad first and then anything else later? Whether or not you want to believe it, perception is important. People notice you based upon your appearance. I notice that since having Baby C I get more comments that include the word “Maam” and, in general, fewer men smile at me when I'm out in public. Could it have something to do with (for example) the cheerio stuck to my pants that I found this morning… after I got to work… and was there for an hour?... Possibly…. </div>
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<br /></div>
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There are phases to everyone’s life. In this phase most of my clothes are covered in some type of food or dirt while I carry a heavy (almost) 2 year old on my hip. Someday soon I’ll be in a different phase, and won’t have cheerios stuck to my clothes. </div>
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On some level I feel bad for purple hair Dad. People don’t see his personality or his accomplishments, they see that God-awful purple hair and how he looks just a little silly. Even though he may be a good Dad, I still felt like saying “please, please, stop the bad hair”.</div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-43173382491646501452012-06-02T19:42:00.004-07:002012-06-02T19:42:36.772-07:00No Good Deed Goes Un-Punished<br />
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Just in case you weren't completely sure that no good deed goes un-punished, I have (more) proof. I got a call from a friend today; we’ll call her Sally. Sally's been living in the same apt for something like 15 years, and as you might expect, she's become close with her neighbors. One of her neighbors got a new job and will be moving. My good friend Sally decided to throw Mary a party to perk up her spirits and show her how much everyone will miss her. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The day of the party, Sally brought Mary a plant, thinking it was a nice gesture. They had a great time at the party; people ate, people drank, you get the idea. Sally got a call later that night from Mary. She was hysterical, asking where my dear friend bought the plant and what kind of plant it was. Sally had no idea. She bought it at the grocery store along with the wine and some other things for the party… easy gift, right? Turns out Mary’s cat ate the plant and started projectile vomiting. After several frantic calls to the grocery store and poison control, the Mary found out that her beloved cat, Mr. Snuggles, ate a lily that’s poisonous to cats. What are the odds?<br /><br />Sally called the next day to find out how Mr. Snuggles was doing. Mary burst into tears and told her that Mr. Snuggles was on life support, IV, et all.<br /><br />All this because my friend wanted to do something nice for another person. There's your proof... no good deed goes un-punished.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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By the way, Mr. Snuggles did, in fact, recover from the lily ordeal. Sadly, he has only 8 lives left.</div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-68634561899534018432012-05-20T22:55:00.001-07:002012-05-21T22:05:15.897-07:00Cubicle Etiquette<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like many people, I work in an office. Also, like many people, sometimes I feel like I'm in a Dilbert comic strip, or in the movie "office space". There's always that one employee that is way too enthusiastic in meetings. Or someone who dresses a little strange. I work with a woman who (no kidding) wears Mary Janes and white socks... every day. This might be a cute look, but the woman's old enough to have gray hair.... Mmmmmm not so cute at that age.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Something funny about the new job is that my boss and I are not located at the same site. She’s 30 miles away. And while that may seem like a slacker’s dream, it also makes communication a pain. That being said, the new boss really hasn’t been able to fill me on the work environment of the new gig because she works in a completely different area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll admit to you that I take personal calls at work. Are they all day every day? No. Maybe 5-10 mins every week or so are spent talking with colleuges. And sometimes I do make personal calls regarding things like Dr’s apts and such.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hadn’t really thought much about it until I received an email from one of the leads in the area (keep in mind that I don’t work for this person). I was one of 10 on the distribution list who received an email entitled: Cubicle Etiquette.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Keeping in mind that people in general are weird, I try to take things that happen at work with a grain of salt. I received an email last week that cracked me up and bothered me at the same time.</span><br />
<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This email went on to
explain that we work in a “close” environment (whatever that means) and that
it’s come to his attention that excessive conversations have been occurring. If
someone has a lengthy conversation they should schedule a conference room and
use it rather than their desk phone.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read it and immediately took it personally. Call it one of
my neuroses, but I’m the new kid on the block, and here I am calling my
insurance company in the middle of the day to ask if they’ve paid my son’s ENT
because they sent me, yet another, bill. And apparently, I’m bothering people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here’s something I’ve never understood about things like
this? The doctor’s office (for example) is open only from 9-5, right? And when
am I at work? 9-5. So when am I supposed to make these calls? Should I sneak
out to my car and use my cell? What about a conversation about my son’s ENT
bill is so offensive that someone HAD TO complain that I’m bothering people. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course I realize that this email may not be directed specifically towards me, however as the new kid in town, I take offense. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just as I was reading that note, I remembered seeing
something on someone’s desk the other. It was one of the desk phone blinking things. It
lights up if you’re on the phone. I guess people are supposed to look at the
status of the light before speaking with you to make sure that you’re not on
the phone (really, people? You can’t just say “I’m on the phone”? or come to
the conclusion the phone/headset up to their ear means… oh, I don’t know… they’re
on the phone?). Below the light there
was a note that went something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>“When the light is on that means I’m on the phone. Please
take your conversation elsewhere.”</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the time I thought that the office loon just lived there
and thought nothing of it. Why am I getting the feeling that they’re ALL the
office loons? Could I be living in the land of no personal calls? I’ve been to
this place before and I don't like it one bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But... my child is only 21 months
and I still have a while to save for his college education… that and I like
eating. So, I guess I’ll be standing
outside with the smokers the next time I need to make a personal call. Wouldn’t
want to offend anyone!</span><o:p></o:p></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-68114755009686439652012-05-18T09:47:00.001-07:002012-05-18T09:59:15.674-07:00Mother's Day / Step Mother's Day<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">My Mom's been gone for 6 years now, so Mother's Day has always been emotional for me. Since having Baby C, the holiday is now just bitter-sweet. Every day I'm thankful for my happy healthy baby boy. That doesn't mean it's always easy or fun, I'm just thankful I'm in my shoes, not someone else's.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWmW19rSlSTo0Mps21JaEHpOd1j_2Fo1-RkUrwF0PwoiZlcEe9t12Cc58yKjXB_oJOc0PRXs2pVbD8EAoSgQML9uSHFbqliH5Mce2YGWXaALpeP7mbg3GU3TgF6zsxlDdouAv693XkglY/s1600/orchid+show.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWmW19rSlSTo0Mps21JaEHpOd1j_2Fo1-RkUrwF0PwoiZlcEe9t12Cc58yKjXB_oJOc0PRXs2pVbD8EAoSgQML9uSHFbqliH5Mce2YGWXaALpeP7mbg3GU3TgF6zsxlDdouAv693XkglY/s200/orchid+show.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I've had a Step-Mom for a few years now. I've also BEEN a Step-Mom for a few years now. In previous years I've been reluctant to get my step Mom anything for mother's day. Why you ask? Because, she's not my mother. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I finally came to some self realization about the whole situation... why don't I just give her a break? My Step-Mom can't help the fact that my mother's gone or the fact that I'm still bitter about that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Being a step-mom is a thankless job. At least if the child is your own kid they love you and you know it (as evident by my sculpted "guns" as a result of constantly holding my baby boy half the day... his new thing). If my step-son gives me a present on mother's day (which he has in previous years), I would feel recognitizezd for all of the things that I do for him.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">This year I decided to surprise my step mom and send her flowers the day before mother's day (honestly, the delivery rates for Mother's day flowers was outrageous... so I picked the day before). She's a nice lady and makes an effort with me. I decided to take a different look at mother's day. Why not celebrate wonderful woman who are mother-figures to you? Sometimes other mother figures have the same kind of impact on you as your own mother. I'm sure they'd appreciate some flowers, too.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-26774781559179681832012-05-09T21:21:00.000-07:002012-05-09T21:21:29.471-07:00Dog-Dog<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My son loves our family dog and the feeling is mutal. It's like a big furry love fest at our house every day. Baby C calls the dog "Dog Dog"; it comes out "Daw Daw" (We're working on the "g" sound). When I was preggers with my son I was really worried about the dog. She was my baby before my baby. How would she react to a baby? Well, the amazing thing was that Baby C became her baby. The dog tried to sniff the baby all the time (which freaked me out), but I don't know if that was the equivalent of the dog making sure that was in fact our baby. If C started crying the dog would come looking for me, ears perky, taking a few steps toward Baby C's room and then backing up to see if I was coming along.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The funny thing about the dog is that she's not just a dog, she and Baby C are best buds... well, the kind of best buds with a love/hate relationship. Most of the time, Baby C wants to share his snacks with our wonder-mut (which drives me nuts). He'll sit down next to our 85 pound yellow lab and put a cracker in his mouth, and then give one to Dog-Dog. One for C, one for Dog-Dog. When you tell him that the snacks are for him, not Dog-Dog he'll just say "No! Dog-Dog" and keep doing what he's doing. Other times, when Baby C has snacks he doesn't want to share I'll hear a high pitched squeal and then "NO!" I'll turn around; there's the dog, eating the baby's cookie and Baby C with his pouty lower lip out.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Despite their on-again, off-again food/love relationship, they're buddies. One of the most endearing things that the dog does (and one of the most annoying) is that she gets up and checks on my son in the middle of the night. I first realized this was part of her nightly routine when she had a growth removed and had to wear one fo those big radar dishes to keep her from taking out her stiches. At 2AM I heard a weird scraping. It was the dog trying to get through Baby C's door frame. The dish was too big and she couldn't maneuver through the door frame. She kept attempting to get through the door frame but would always hit the frame, causing her to stop. I'd hear "crash, scrape, scrape". Until then I didn't know this was a nightly ritual. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The other night Baby C was up at 2AM ... again... I sent my husband in to check on him. As my husband was walking into Baby C's room, who was walking out? Dog-Dog, acting as if it was a normal occurrence. Of course, by the time my husband reached my son he was pointing and yelling "Daw-Daw".</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Unfortunately, Dog-Dog is sick and has less than 2 years to live (sniff, sniff). If she makes it to Baby C's 4th birthday it will be a blessing. Given that we're dog people we're already thinking about our next dog and maybe if we get a puppy now that Dog-Dog can help "train" the puppy. Maybe we should getting a "Nanny Dog", like in Peter Pan. What kind of dog was that? Mastiff? Noufie? Regardless, we should get one and make sure the dog can heard the kids. Does anyone know a dog trainer that can help us train the dog to heard the kids?</span>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-32702181396988868812012-05-04T14:06:00.003-07:002012-05-04T14:12:14.265-07:00The Guilt Monster<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Before having my son I made the decision to keep working. I like
working, honestly, and I also like the pay. My last post I talked about the
guilt I feel towards putting my son in daycare for 5 days a week, rather than
4. Since that time I've been thinking a lot about my guilt and how to deal with
it. Here's the problem... <b>I don't want
to spend my free time thinking about what I SHOULD be doing to be a good Mom. I
want to be doing it.</b> I want to be the best Mom I can be. Period. That being
said, I also came to the realization that my wonderful (almost) 2 year old son
exhausts me. I also realized that my husband and I really need some time away
from my son in order to recharge our own batteries.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I took the advice of a very wise woman and got a babysitter last
Saturday. My husband took me to lunch. I realized that I somehow felt
better leaving my son with the sitter in the middle of the than leaving him at
6PM for dinner. Why? I would like to be home to put him to bed. I'm not too
sure why that makes me felt so much better, but it does. So, maybe for a while
the Hubs and I do lunch dates until my guilt starts to subside. What I do know
is this; I will never feel comfortable leaving Baby C with a sitter (and vice
versa) unless I start to leave him with a sitter. Here's the funny thing... I
think that I may be more uncomfortable with leaving my son than my son is when
I leave him with someone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Someone at work today said something poignant. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">She said that taking time to yourself, or just with your partner allows
you to recharge your batteries, and in the long run, makes you a better Mom.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">That being said... I've started dropping my son at daycare, rather
than my husband dropping him off in the morning. He's also started throwing a
major fit in the morning. We're talking alligator tears, screaming,
"Mommy, Mommy"... the whole deal. It makes me feel like crap. I've
noticed that each morning this week I've started out feeling low... majorly
low... and I think it's because of my son's reaction to the daycare drop off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">The thing about guilt is that it's a cycle. You feel guilty because
(in my case) I made my son feel bad about me dropping him at school, so I let
him have more treats or stay up later than usual to make up for that fact. Then
if I don't do the extra treats one day, I feel even more guilty because now I'm
not doing special things to make up for the fact that he's going to daycare.
For me, it's a cycle. I guess I just need to stop feeding the guilt monster and
stop feeling guilty about my decision to be a working mother. It is what it is.
I work. My son has to go to daycare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">So, how do I tame
my guilt monster? ... I'm not too sure, but I think my sanity requires that I figure
it out.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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</span>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-83792434666590035222012-04-25T21:51:00.003-07:002012-04-25T21:51:58.682-07:00Guilt, guilt, guilt<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I started a new job. It's full time. I'm no longer working just 4 days a week. There's something about that extra day that's adding an exponential amount of guilt. Fridays my little man and I would do errands, laundry, he would chase the dog around the house, etc....Now Fridays he goes to daycare. I feel kind of guilty about that.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">Last night Hubby and I were looking at a house and we picked up Baby C late. He was upset and clingy for the rest of the night. Poor little guy. Some days I feel like he just wants to spend time with Mommy, and some days I feel like I don't have the free time (like when I'm making dinner) or some days it's simply impossible for me to retain my sanity and take him to the grocery store with me. And, I feel guilty about that in a way that I really didn't before I went back to full time. Because I worked one less day a week, was I a better Mom? I don't know...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I came from a European-mutt family with some Italian in the mix. I'm used to guilt, I could have majored in guilt, I'm the queen of guilt. That being said, I don't know why I always feel guilty about the fact that (a) I work and (b) I LIKE working. If I were to stay home all day with my child I would either turn into a raging alcoholic or a maniac. So, I'm a working Mom. Why can't I get over the fact that someone else watches my child while I'm at work?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I'm sure that every working Mom deals with the same thing... The GUILT... I've been dealing with it by hugging my baby boy every second that he'll let me. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">It's incredible. How does every other Mom deal with it?</span>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-89367253941167048072012-04-07T21:33:00.001-07:002012-04-07T21:38:00.543-07:002100 miles in a Suburban with a dog, a 20 month old and my husband<p class="MsoNormal">We finished our big road trip from the Midwest to the Pacific North West. It went about how I thought it would go. The dog panted the first day of the trip. The baby rarely slept (I know… usually babies love to sleep in cars, right?). Baby C is always afraid he’ll miss something consequently he’s a crappy napper. Day 2 of our trip C was crabby… majorly crabby and wouldn’t sleep in the hotel. We were wrecked. The next day the hubs and I traded off driving while the other slept. That was the day we drove 800 miles. While we were in some tiny little one horse town my hubby noticed C had 2 crusty ears. With his tubes, the crusty ears meant an ear infection. Great. Just what we needed. Fortunately, I had ear drops and baby Tylenol with us. Unfortunately, baby C was still a major crab.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I learned a few things during the trip, one of them being that I would have lived (and so would the dog) if we would have had to drug the dog to take her on a plane. My poor dog has doggy cancer and only has 2 years to live. I feed her whatever she wants, whenever she wants. She’s on way out… why not? I just couldn’t bring myself to drug her and put her in the cargo hold of the plane.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But then how was being cooped up in a saburban for 4 days with my son throwing toys (and misc goldfish) at her any better? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I would like for all 2 of you reading this now to benefit from the wisdom of this hellacious trip. Here you go….<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My tips for long road trips with a 2 year old.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">(a)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->pack toys or a movie player</b> (if it will keep their attention).<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">(b)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->pack snacks</b> – even if they only eat half, it keeps them occupied<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">(c)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->overnight diapers are the best</b>. If they’re sleeping you really don’t want to wake them. Baby C pees a lot (what can I say he’s well hydrated, right?) and when we’d press on and wouldn’t change him every few hours, he’d leak. I just started using the overnight diapers so that we wouldn’t have to worry about that. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">(d)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Pack your patience</b><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">(e)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Stop often</b><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I would like to point out that the last point also includes stopping for a sanity break. For some reason my child is more well behaved around others than me. Am I alone here? Who knows. What I do know is that if he’s really acting up I just need to take him on an errand and he’s a saint.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We had a few hours until we reached Seattle and I could not handle Baby C moaning in my ear anymore. It felt like he screaming at the back of my head… and well, in fact he was, but he didn’t really do so intentionally. I saw a sign for a winery and insisted that my husband pull over. Keep in mind, I hadn’t showered in 2 days, I was crabby, wearing the same clothes that I had the day before and had not a stich of makeup on. The good Samaritan at the winery let us come in, even with the baby, but I’m sure she could tell that I need a drink… big time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>My wonderful husband let me do the tasting and walked Baby C around the property.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After only 30 minutes I started to feel like a new person again. Note to self: drinking in the middle of the day for sanity purposes is ok. Happy Trails.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-8546067128089527462012-03-18T19:32:00.002-07:002012-03-18T19:36:36.003-07:00Parenting lessons learned from my husband’s ex-wife<p class="MsoNormal">When I decided to marry my husband, I knew that I found a great man and partner. I also knew that he had some baggage… mainly his ex wife. The past few years has been a roller coaster of drama and emotion coming from the general direction of the EX. As I step back and look at these many tense situations I think about how to raise my own child, Baby C. Making lemonade out of lemons, I’ve decided to take these experiences with a grain of salt, as a reminder of the type of parent I would like to be. Here’s what I’ve taken away from my dealings with the EX:</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">1)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span>My Baby is his own little person and as much I might like to, I can’t always bend him to my will. I can already see his own personality forming. As much as I would like for him to be the type of kid who sits and plays with blocks, I don’t see that happening. He wants to climb, jump, run, etc… he’s a do-er and he (unfortunately) gets that from me. I just need to take a good breath. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">2)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Do you use your kid… for anything, but most importantly as a pawn for your own personal gain. They will grow to understand what you have done. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">3)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Always be as truthful with your kids as you possibly can be (keep in mind this is age appropriate). I’ve seen certain situations (from both the EX and other EX’s I’ve seen) where the ex spouse has lied about their ex in order to make the other party look bad. Don’t do that. Again, your child will figure this out and will resent you for it in the long run. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria;mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin"><span style="mso-list:Ignore">4)<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The focus of my life is my family. When you’re single, your focus is yourself, YOUR clothes, YOUR job, YOUR car…. Etc… Now that I’m married with a child and stepson, my family is my focus, as is should be. I want my son and my husband to know that they are the most important things in my life. Period. As such, a act accordingly and do my best to make sure that they feel loved and special. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are more things that I’ve taken away from this situation, but the kids are asleep and in bed and I’m dog tired. Good night!<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-82922957993007767962012-03-14T10:02:00.001-07:002012-03-14T10:04:24.946-07:00Cha-cha-cha changesI haven't written in a while. I've been busy… seriously busy… the type of busy where you just want to go to bed at 9PM because you're exhausted. We're moving from the Fly Over States to the Pacific North West... In 2 weeks. AHHHHHH!<br /><br />One thing I've noticed about a big move like this… Well, more than on one, but the thing that stands out to me is the fact that when people find out that we're moving they (a) tell everyone they have ever known and (b) always seem to ask "are you (small pause) excited about this move?"<br /><br />I was talking with the owner of Baby C's daycare yesterday and the topic of moving came up. So, I gave her a heads up that we'd be moving. By this morning I had several people at the daycare (most of whom I only share a smile or "good morning" with) made comments about our move. My favorite comment was made by a woman who works in the toddler room and who's age is indeterminate. I can tell that she doesn't take care of her skin (she must clearly not be obsessed with moisture the way I am), never wears makeup and has a sort of shabby old lady bob haircut. I rarely talk with this woman and if I do it's in relation to how much Baby C has eaten or how many dirty diapers he's had that day. I walked into the toddler room this morning with C. As I tried to get his coat off and get him in his seat for breakfast she started a weird line of questioning.<br /><br />We hear you're moving to Washington. "Are you (pause) happy about that?"<br /><br />I just replied "Of course we are" while I took off Baby C's coat. I promptly kissed my child on his fuzzy little head and headed out the door while commenting "thank you" as I walked out. What did she expect? Did she expect me to say "Well, I really don't want to move (especially after just putting in a new kitchen) but we have a good opportunity to keep our jobs with our company… so yea, we're friggin' happy about having jobs".<br /><br />Moving is stressful enough. Moving this far is overwhelming. We have no idea what areas are horrible, what areas are nice, overpriced, etc… We have to find a new daycare (ugg), a new house, a new favorite grocery store, a new …. EVERYTHING. It's an adventure. And it's an opportunity to reinvent ourselves, to see another part of the county, to experience fresh salmon on a weekly basis (oh yea). It's so strange to me that some people are curious about my life when they really haven't had much involvement in it up until now. Oh well... like everything in life, you need to just roll with it.Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-56331194608692975202012-01-27T10:28:00.000-08:002012-01-27T10:47:37.929-08:00Cracker Barrel Rantings<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Last Sunday I decided to treat the family to cracker barrel for breakfast. My 18 month old either acts up there or is a saint who can't stop stuffing his face with biscuits. I was hoping for the latter problem when I heard a girl behind us screeched and yelled "no" at her parents. </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ahhhh</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, the public temper tantrum. How utterly embarrassing. I know them well, though. I also know how to diffuse them. A walk around the store full of crap that I don't need and then a quick rock on the rocking chairs outside and he’s ready for breakfast. Is it always easy? No. Is my walk around the building necessary to restore balance and order? Yes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Well, that’s not what happened at 1 table over. I saw the mother (a) try to negotiate with the 2 year old. Really? You’re going to use your “inside voice” and negotiate when you child is screaming their head off. Then when that </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">didn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">’t work both parents (b) </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">IGNORED</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> the child and buried their head in the menus.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Now I can see ignoring the tempter tantrum at home. That’s what “they” say you’re supposed to do, right? But in a restaurant?</span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> I don’t want to hear my old child scream, much less someone else’s.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> As this child continued on for most of our meal I was slightly afraid that Baby C would join in and let the mutiny begin. My son was too busy eating a bowl of fried apples,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">a blueberry muffin, part of my eggs, half of my parfait, and some of my husband’s grits. The boy just could not eat enough and </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">didn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">’t seem too interested in what was going on with the table next door.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In thinking about the situation, I have just one thought. I know what’s wrong with America. I know why there are “occupy” </span></span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">protesters</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> in the streets and entitled people with their hands out, rather than a resume in hand. Here’s the problem.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">How are our children expected to understand how to behave, act, make the right decision, be stand up people, if we as parents never tell them, show them, and (quite frankly) make them act that way from a young age?<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I was pregnant with Baby C I was determined that my child would be well behaved enough that we could go to a restaurant and he would (a) not throw food, (b) not scream, (c) and be an all around well mannered child. Well, it’s harder than it looks to train you child to do this. You have to be prepared to take their food away when they decide to throw it or walk their little asses out of the restaurant when they act up. This means that my meal is cold most of the time due to the fact that I'm either feeding the kids or disciplining them. And... my husband ends up taking the boys for a walk while I finish my meal alone after everyone else has eaten. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Is it ideal? No. But I hope that my child is learning that in the long run you can't behave like a little shit in public, and if you do, expect to be taken outside with Mama. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There's another aspect to this whole scenario. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">If you allow your children to walk all over you, how do you expect them to understand the concept of consequences and responsibility!? </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">All of these crazed occupy wall street people strike me as entitled spoiled brats who grew up, spent their parent's inheritance and now realize that they need to actually get a JOB and WORK and it's hard and you don't get paid as much as you like, but you make it work. They're like spoiled children who pull the "that's not fair" routine while they pout and cross their arms.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Is it FAIR that Donald Trump has gazillions of dollars and I make a modest living? Well, he did inherit a bunch of money (lucky him) but he did work hard too and make smart decision (hence, working for his money). So, yes, I guess it's fair that I make a pittance compared to Donald Trump. Because, after all, life isn't fair... but we have roll with it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Whew... I wasn't expecting to go there, but now that I have... I'm glad I decided to discipline my child in a restaurant rather than just ignore him. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;font-size:180%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-57116580472091915382012-01-07T12:53:00.000-08:002012-01-07T13:12:38.606-08:00I Hate DaycareI been super busy and haven't written a lot lately. Though I was off from work I was working hard... with my child. <div><br /></div><div>Right before Christmas there was an outbreak to strep throat in the "toddler room" of my son's daycare. I didn't work the week after Christmas and assumed that the long weekend would kill any trace of strep that might reside in that room. I went into daycare Dec 27<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> (hoping to drop him off so that I could get a few hours of downtime from my boy). Well, they had another case of strep creep up. Fearing that my son would be infected, I kept him home for the week. </div><div><br /></div><div>So there went any plans of thoroughly cleaning the house or getting some post-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Christmas</span> mall shopping done. But, I had to pay daycare for the week. I had to pay them so that I could watch my child. How does this make sense?</div><div><br /></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-15436070938932702552011-12-19T19:36:00.000-08:002011-12-19T19:53:41.851-08:00I hate to be the grinch, but....What is it about the holidays that just make me want to tear my hair out? I used to love the holidays, even those years where I made the whole meal myself. Now that I'm a Mom and I'm dealing with buying presents, hiding the presents, trying to keep Baby C (now 16 months) from attacking the Christmas tree, it's become a daunting time of year. <div><br /></div><div>This year I decided to pear down and make the holidays manageable. This year, we have a bare Christmas tree. I figured if we put up ornaments that the baby would just find a way to grab them... and you what will happen next. For the sake of my own sanity, I decided that this year might be a good year to just enjoy the lights... that's it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to Target on Saturday morning with the boys... that's right... all 3 of them. The hubs, Baby C and my step son Jay accompanied me (just to clarify, I volunteered to take Baby C but my husband offered to come with). It was MAHEM! </div><div><br /></div><div>I noticed that there were some good stocking stuffers down the isle (the one thing left on our list) so I left the cart with my husband (big mistake) and walked down the isle with baby C on my hip and picked up stocking stuffers. Five minutes later, I had 10 items, Baby C was holding 3 of them, I was holding Baby C and the rest and I was frantically looking for my husband as I started to sweat while dragging my 25 pound baby down the toy isle. </div><div><br /></div><div>I walked all the way down to menswear and I couldn't find my husband ... at all... I had been ditched with the Baby. I might have been worried expect that I knew that I had the car keys. I found a cart on the side of one of the isles and finished my stocking stuff extravaganza. By the time I found my husband it was clear that some miscommunication had happened because he said "where have you been. We've been playing video games."... I went home and I had a glass of wine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Parties...</div><div>I've noticed that parties are a lot more complicated now that I have Baby C. I guess I didn't notice last year because Baby C didn't sleep through the night until he was 6 months old. I think I was in a fog for the first year of his life... I'm just now waking up. We went to my sister in law's party. It was 7:30 and no one had been served dinner yet. I asked about dinner and she said it would be served shortly. Shortly? Is she crazy? Baby C's bedtime is 8. Once you factor in putting pj's on, story time and snuggles with the stuffed animals, lights are out by 8:15 and he's asleep by 8:30. If the series of events do not happen in this order bad things will happen. This is a very delicate schedule here. Eating dinner at 8PM is no longer an option for me. Maybe I'll become a hermit, until he's 4 or so, maybe that will be easier. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've decided to just stay home and drink with my husband. It'll probably be easier all around. Merry christmas. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-21772777676774400772011-12-06T19:20:00.000-08:002011-12-07T04:56:33.958-08:00French toast muffins<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1voJcab4E7K02TxWmYfez5QkvsgCZHSIIf8-5BBn2W7vriWoi2rOLPhKVh20beEvi35V7bGiFeKuSvZnHrfPtd4keL9TfcmJZ-zM0wa-nneut8Gvn5wFfZBcSoeCHy0-qtSF4vFjJxBRm/s1600/ft+muffins.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Over the weekend I made french toast muffins. I needed something simple for Sunday breakfast. By the time we get back from church the natives are restless (and hungry).</span></span></span></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Here's are the ingredients:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">1 baguette, diced</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">2 apples, peeled and chopped</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">cinnamon and sugar (for the top)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">butter</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">maple syrup</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Egg mixture:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">9-10 eggs, beaten</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">cinnamon</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">vanilla</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">This recipe makes 24 french toast muffins. Butter the muffin tins and add the bread, apples and half a pat of butter. Add egg mixture (about half way in the muffin tin), top with a bit of maple syrup and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Bake for 20 mins at 350 (or until the edges are brown). </span></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-17602674931311357772011-11-30T18:36:00.000-08:002011-11-30T18:39:21.403-08:00Holy Rum Balls! What a good deal!You my have noticed that I love a good deal... and here's a good one. Bed, Bath and Beyond is having a special. Spend 10$ get a free item of $13 or less. <div><br /></div><div>Check it out.</div><div><br /></div><div>http://www.bathandbodyworks.com/category/index.jsp?categoryId=12402161&cp=4090263&cm_mmc=CH-_-20111121RDMPOS-_-11141042-_-m2PC10fg&cm_lm=mommysavesbig.com</div><div><br /></div><div>We have a soda stream machine and we use our BBB coupons for the syrups or cartridges. I can hardly wait to use this coupon!!</div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-63113603924306668962011-11-19T15:01:00.001-08:002011-11-19T15:27:33.561-08:00I made lipstick!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-l1CaqUgrnB79Eb6Az7xa-vmj_HmMLHIGUKsKEN7fOfgLV9JjHsK_7Cf49iuBwryir6Y1sHqNcqowXTbBwGBb82a_LA2N9gExmLBGNC3s5WLD8B2trzt7zZO-6ad1HbYHk93X0Yg6uK5p/s1600/IMG_3157.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-l1CaqUgrnB79Eb6Az7xa-vmj_HmMLHIGUKsKEN7fOfgLV9JjHsK_7Cf49iuBwryir6Y1sHqNcqowXTbBwGBb82a_LA2N9gExmLBGNC3s5WLD8B2trzt7zZO-6ad1HbYHk93X0Yg6uK5p/s200/IMG_3157.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676846312110674466" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkiPLeBfR1jOJrHfBGyI7DG3llOmlOE-YZzf2NRbjS91I8HALeHvGXfGpHWV7abCkXAe82iDRjTr3kCr2rPj7shO7TpCXDFN4g6sMDY4ix97mRYBUd0a_56Ek3F4o82LmfzQBc6GGi1cv/s1600/IMG_3155.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDkiPLeBfR1jOJrHfBGyI7DG3llOmlOE-YZzf2NRbjS91I8HALeHvGXfGpHWV7abCkXAe82iDRjTr3kCr2rPj7shO7TpCXDFN4g6sMDY4ix97mRYBUd0a_56Ek3F4o82LmfzQBc6GGi1cv/s200/IMG_3155.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676845970039414354" /></a>Last weekend I decided to try out a project I've had on my mind for a while. I made hard lotion and lipstick. <div><br /></div><div>So what the heck is hard lotion? It's just a solid lotion bar. What are the advantages of using hard lotion? Well, if you're traveling, you don't have to worry about the pesky 3 oz liquid rule. Also, you don't have to worry about it spilling in your purse. Here's how I made it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Measure equal parts:</div><div>Shea butter</div><div>Bees Wax</div><div>Virgin Coconut oil</div><div><br /></div><div>The bees wax melts at 175 degrees, however shea butter and coconut butter melt at closer to 75 degrees. Use a double boiler and melt the bees wax first. Once it's melted, turn off the heat and add the shea butter and coconut oil. By just stirring, the shea and coconut will melt. Once all butters are melted you add fragrance oil (make sure it's lip-safe). This will be the base for your hard lotion. From there you can add to a mold (much as the moose mold I used).</div><div><br /></div><div>Separate out the liquid you will be using for your lipstick. Add more shea butter and coconut oil to get a creamier texture than your hard lotion bar. I took a soon and dipped it in the oil, let it dry and then rubbed it on my lips to see what texture and consistency would be. Add more shea/coconut until you get the right creamy consistency. Carefully pour into chapstick tubes. I used a disposable dropper to fill the tubes. </div><div><br /></div><div>You can find all the supplies to make your own lipstick and hard lotion at http://www.brambleberry.com/</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-31057683780256978212011-11-19T13:28:00.000-08:002011-11-19T13:33:43.469-08:00Coupons for the troopsI just heard about this great thing that couponcabin.com is doing. They're sending coupons to our troops. They military men and women can use coupons overseas up to 6 months after they expire. Today while I was clipping coupon I took those that I didn't use and made a separate pile for the troops. It wasn't a huge effort and I feel pretty good about helping out our military men and women. <div><br /></div><div>Here's more info about their program.</div><div><br /></div><div>http://www.couponcabin.com/troopons/</div><div><br /></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-44914720341385221992011-11-11T18:41:00.001-08:002011-11-11T18:51:05.053-08:00Roasted Lemon ChickenI made roasted chicken tonight and whenever I do it never tastes quite right. It's always dry and tough... even thought I don't overcook it. I read up on the subject and here's what I figured out... I wasn't roasting it long enough. This time I roasted the chicken for over an hour. Then I wrapped it in foil and let it sit for 20 mins before carving it. It was friggin' amazing. Even my step son Jay loved it!<div><br /></div><div>Here's what I did. Ingredients:</div><div><br /></div><div>1 chicken</div><div>1 lemon - rind and juice</div><div>salt/pepper</div><div>lemon pepper</div><div>olive oil</div><div>butter</div><div>onions</div><div><br /></div><div>Wash the chicken and make sure it doesn't have any pin feathers left in it (I HATE that). Take salt and coat the chicken liberally, scrub the chicken and then wash off... you're just doing a little salt scrub for the chicken to that the skin is smooth and clean. Pat the chicken dry.</div><div><br /></div><div>I made a little marinade using lemon, lemon zest, olive oil, lemon pepper and olive oil. Quarter the onions and make a bed for the chicken. Salt and pepper the chicken first, the coat with the marinade, put it on the onions and throw it in the oven for an hour to an hour and a half. Baste every 15-20 mins. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's it. Once you can take a chicken leg and pull it off the chicken without much effort, it's done.</div><div><br /></div><div>This chicken was so amazingly good, and the pan drippings were insanely lemoney good. I think my past mistake is not basing the chicken. I think the basing really adds moisture to the chicken. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't be intimidated by a whole chicken. Try this... it's really good. </div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-43330482007791153802011-11-05T19:14:00.001-07:002011-11-09T19:48:09.113-08:00Working Mom vs. Stay At Home Mom... What Gives?I was at a party the other night. (You know the kind... You're supposed to buy something but you really don't care because that means a night out without the kids or the hubs.) There was an annoying woman there. She's a particular type of Mom that you would know if you saw her: severe bob haircut, laughs sort of loud and awkward, thinks she's brilliant and that no one else can compare to her. Yea, well, I was having a conversation with this woman and she said (in a really harsh tone) "Do you work?". I was sort of taken aback by the question because it was really random. We weren't talking about work, we were talking about the wine and how good it was. And this annoying woman ruined my buzz by taking about work. <div><br /></div><div>I responded to her "I work 4 days a week". Her response? A very short, terse "Oh". She then moved on to another woman at our table talked about how cute her shoes were for a second and said "Do you work?". Apparently, work was this woman's "thing". She wanted everyone to know that she's a working Mom. (Whoopty-damn-doo)<br /><div><br /></div><div>Here's something I just don't get. And I'll admit that as a new Mom (yes, Baby C's 15 months but I still consider myself a newbie). <b>What is the deal with work at home Mom's being hostile to stay at home Mom's? And vice versa?</b><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, we're all dealing with the same issues. The baby's colicy, gassy, has recurring ear infections, won't sleep in general, crabby, climbing, into everything, won't listen, won't walk, won't talk, won't eat anything but gold fish and mac & cheese.... You get my drift? <b>We're ALL dealing with the same issues, so what's the deal with the hostility?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>You stay at home Mom's are angels as far as I'm concerned. I couldn't do it. When I was home on maternity leave I never left the house, felt disorganized, discombobulated, never got out of my sweats, etc... The days that I don't work, I tend to feel the same way unless I have an overall game plan for the day. Groceries, nap, lunch, laundry, more errands, nap, prep for dinner, etc...</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm getting side tracked here. But seriously, folks, what gives? I made a new friend at another friend's BBQ a few months ago (not the annoying woman, someone else). She and I talked about how our boys drive us nuts and about how our mother's are gone. After sharing several white wines I felt like we had the beginning of a friendship. I was excited. As an adult it's not so frequent that we are able to make friends outside of our kids school. Anyway, my new friend and I planned to do dinner with both our families soon. Then I got an email..... She invited me to a play date on a Wednesday afternoon. Ummmm..... I work Mondays through Thursdays and couldn't see burning a vaca day for a play date. I politely declined and told her that I had to work that day. I haven't heard from her since.</div><div><br /></div><div>My Mom was a stay at home Mom and she mentioned how one woman in the car pool group would fling her hair back and say "Well, I WORK, you know", in relation to anything remotely involving the school. Can you bring something for the bake sale? "Well, I WORK, you know". Car pool pickup? "Well, I WORK, you know". Chaperone for the field trip? "Well, I WORK, you know". She always felt like saying "I get it ... you work". </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe that whole scenario has been the reason that I'm so tentative about mentioning my work status. My work isn't all that I am, just like being a Mom isn't all that I am. We were all women before we had kids. <b>And now, this special journey that we're all on has given us something incredible in common. Our kids. So why can't that be the commonality? Period. Why can't we accept our Mom friends as they are... working or not... as equals?</b></div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-41755735880254528112011-11-05T09:09:00.000-07:002011-11-05T19:03:01.998-07:00Sweet Potato Fries<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhred9piICbm-UdoNRO3Fz85FBaifFxW8eFIHQjJn4luec0ai6H2A3yNsK5wQdUJQXK6fbE7ejfuRmNxb9bXCEhAt0m6jIKRT-cT2eus0fstKw4OticysPQeDQTOTTBWCLSdaYEWDGj3doU/s1600/IMG_3149.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhred9piICbm-UdoNRO3Fz85FBaifFxW8eFIHQjJn4luec0ai6H2A3yNsK5wQdUJQXK6fbE7ejfuRmNxb9bXCEhAt0m6jIKRT-cT2eus0fstKw4OticysPQeDQTOTTBWCLSdaYEWDGj3doU/s200/IMG_3149.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671697412573724818" /></a><br />I was inspired by a recipe I saw the other day. Take shredded sweet potatoes (please use the food processor - it takes too long to use the potato peeler) put them in a large plastic bag. Add olive oil, garlic powder, paprika, 2 Tbsp parmesan cheese and mix. <div><br /></div><div>Spread the sweet potatoes out on a cookie sheet and bake for 25 to 30 minutes. After you plate it, sprinkle with more parmesan cheese. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even the baby liked it! Enough said.</div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7623467611086007478.post-33269930145130204402011-10-28T08:17:00.001-07:002011-10-28T08:36:57.996-07:00No rest for the wearyMy Mom died. No, not today, or this week, even. She died almost 6 years ago. She and I were close; she was my best bud. So, when people talk about "losing a loved one" I get it. I get the fact that grief is never ending, and the loss is forever. I get the 7 friggin' steps in the grieving process, though no one ever tells you that you'll go over those steps (sometimes not in order) over and over again each year. <div><br /></div><div>What's interesting is that my mother's death continues to effect me in ways that I never would have imagined. One way, is that it's hard not having her around to witness her grandson. And, likewise, my son will never know what a phenomenal personal she was. This also means that any wisdom regarding babies, children, being a parent, is gone, inaccessible to me. <div><br /></div><div>I'm navigating without a map here. It's just me and my husband trying to figure things out. And while I think I've done a pretty good job of figuring things out there's one area that's still lacking, greatly. </div><div><br /></div><div>THERE'S NO BREAK. EVER.</div><div><br /></div><div>My husband and I live 1700 miles from the rest of my family (and his). My sister in law lives 5 miles away and sees my child so infrequently that she makes him scream when she tries to hold him. </div><div><br /></div><div>The night before last Baby C woke up at 3AM, perky and ready to play. I rocked and patted and rubbed his back and finally at 5AM he went back to sleep. I took 2 nyquil last night and went to bed at 9:30. Baby C slept, thank God, and so did I. But, honestly, I'm still tired, still fighting off a cold, still lacking in patience. I need a break. This would be a fantastic time for my mother to be around. She could take the baby and give me even just 1 hour to nap. </div><div><br /></div><div>But, sadly, she's gone and I'm forced to pay someone $7-12/hour to watch my child so that I can get the occasional break. So, instead I'm doing my weekly menu (yes, I'm still doing it) while Baby C naps. (We're going to the grocery store when he wakes up.) </div><div><br /></div><div>But, I'm thankful that I had 30 years with the best mother in the world and try my hardest to emulate her. I'm still tired, though. Anyone want to babysit?</div></div>Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06155458162741831526noreply@blogger.com0