Get Real

Comments 8 Standard

Sometimes I follow these Pinterest links to these super-housewifey-June-Cleaver-ish blogs. I don’t know about you but they depress me. Well, at least they used to, until I started getting real with myself. I don’t see reality when I read on their ‘about’ page:

 “ Howdy! I’m Linda and I have 23 kids , two culinary arts degrees, and a black belt in Karate. I home school all my kids, teach CCD, run the Rosary society and volunteer at our local pet shelter. In my free time I post endless sewing patterns, vocabulary templates, and recipes that I’ve written all myself. I also like to practice my knitting skills and have an entire YouTube page with tutorials on how to spin yarn and raise & shave your Alpacas! This blog is my way of making you feel entirely unproductive, talentless and generally useless because I will post, tweet, and Facebook new ideas daily! Thanks for stopping by!”

I used to see that and want to roll up with a tiny whimper on the couch clutching the last morsel of a Mallomar feeling completely incapable of daily life.Now I see that and I mentally stand with my hand on my hip “C’mon girl! Get real!”. I’m not buying it! Life is not instagramed. It is not collection of photo documentation of what we do. To prove ourselves worthy of the world. “See cyber world? I am so much better than you. This is me striking a yoga pose while making my own hummus. It’s all in the buttocks.” See that profile that has the picture on Facebook that hasn’t changed in over 3 years? That’s a sign of a  person who is real. They are actually living their life!

Anyway, seeing some of these blogs made me think about this one and what I hope that it is or who it is for. I realized that here at we are a place for all the moms who stand over the garbage can, scarfing down the leftover pizza crust on your toddlers plate while “clearing the table”, for those of you who nearly break their necks tripping over the lost camel from your nativity scene….in August. Who pick up, re pick up, and spend the whole livelong day picking up! Who have to ask “where are your underpants?” regularly. Who buy ovulation test sticks in bulk, from the pharmacy window, with all your babies in tow. And then has to drag your sorry self back to the pharmacy the very next day because the totally incompetent college aged pharmaceutical assistant sold you fertility tests instead of ovulation tests. As if you just being there with all the kids was not a completely obvious sign of which one you needed. Who lick the outside of the yogurt container before you put it back in the fridge, who found out that hey, applesauce and rice cereal is realllllyyyy yummy,who remember that you forgot to switch the wash at 2am and who chase deranged, fat, squirrels off your front porch when you find them attacking your pumpkins. This is for those of us who cannot get out of the house due to dirty diapers, spit up, nursing, crying, meltdowns, potty accidents, spilled yogurt, pulled hair, political survey phone calls, tracked in mud, or all of the above. Or for us who never whistle while they work, but sometimes moan or sigh loudly and occasionally have a quivering bottom lip while listening to shrill tiny voices prattling on at hyperspeed.  For moms who find that their times they negotiate most with God is in the wee hours of the morning, with a child who’s been up half the night screaming. (It’s amazing how many novenas and rosaries we promise. And how many saints needing a 3rd miracle we promise canonization to!) For us who are going to be a “Hello My name is: tired” sticker for Halloween (don’t steal my idea, at least wait until I Pinterest it) For all the moms who get pointless advice from old ladies in the grocery stores or endure unasked for rude comments on your fertility. For you who fish around poking yourself in the eye, looking for a contact lens you never put in. For those of us who eat leftovers for lunch cold. Because, no, we don’t have time to heat it up. And frankly, at this point it doesn’t matter because you just swallow it whole in a matter of seconds anyway. Who take out your earrings at night and find one earring with no back on it, and the other one with two. And who are so gosh darn tired that you cannot remember the names of the children you birthed.

This blog is for all you real mommies out there, who are wiping up, cleaning up, picking up,  living it up and are sometimes tempted to give up, but will never want to wake up with any other family than the one you got. And who know that it’s ok to be aggravated and frustrated with changes or crosses, and that it doesn’t make us failures or less of a good parent to question our decisions. I hope this blog is an avenue for Moms out there to not feel like an island in their chaos, that all of us are there, have been there, and know that eventually…everyone will sleep through the night. And naturally we will have our routines back. And certainly, if we had a choice over which cross we wanted, we would choose our own because let’s get real: nobody knows the ins and outs of our jobs like we do.

Seeking Intern

Comments 2 Standard

For an unpaid internship. Ideal for a female student pursuing her MRS degree.

Summary of Skills/Qualifications:

  • High school diploma or equivalency or having more than 5 siblings
  • Fluent in baby babble
  • Experience with baby holding, neck support, and choking hazards
  • Ability to discipline
  • At least 2 years of medical school background. Or equivalency in hours from watching Dr. Oz.
  • Magical culinary skills required
  • A certification in as a masseuse, chiropractor or therapist a big, big plus


Job Description:

We are a small company comprised of a CFO, CEO and three insane and sometimes weird clients. We are in need of a calm, level headed and resilient assistant to our CEO, who directly oversees our clients day to day life.The assistant to the CEO would be expected to  be prepared to deal with a wide range of issues such as: exploding poopy diapers, crayons on white curtains, legs stuck in crib bars, drowning attempts in bathtub, bickering and of course, nap time. Familiarity with hostage negotiation preferable. Experience with cutting baby finger nails a plus. Must be a licensed driver for freak-out diving off the couch incidents resulting in immediate transport to the nearest emergency room. The right candidate should be frugal and savvy, and must never buy our clients any type of candy or snack containing exorbitant amounts of sugar, Red 40 or High fructose corn syrup. Under these circumstances, the assistant will assume complete responsibility for our clients and get the joy of bringing the clients home with her for bedtime routine.  The CEO reserves all rights to step away from the chaos for a minimum of ten minutes daily to use the toilet by herself. Ideally, we would like to find a candidate who has been through a war, rooming with three other girls, or some equivalent type of high stress situations. 

If you think you are interested in the job, please don’t call us. We can’t pick up the phone. Do not e-mail us, we will forget to reply. For the love come directly to the house and as long as you are breathing, we’ll take you.

Say Cheese Please!

Comments 2 Standard

So we did the seemingly insurmountable task of getting our family pictures done. Over Camera Guy’s dead body, we went to a studio in Sears.

Thus is the curse of being the photographer’s family. Everybody else gets amazing portraits, but we can’t get our own young-ins to sit still for a second to smile. Luckily we had a coupon for a free portrait so I dragged Princess for a haircut, got Chubbers in his Dockers and off to the mall we went.

So we had an appointment. But when we got there, the studio was dimly lit and no one was around. It was eerie. If someone had whistled and beckoned to us from behind the hallway wall I wouldn’t have been the least surprised.

We got a late start, about a half hour because the photographer was late. A half hour , I’m learning, is very valuable on toddler time. They were fed, changed, clean and happy. But the closer we crept to naptime, the more fiesty the troops became.

Finally the girl (who had to have been like 19) gets us into the studio room. Everyone is set. We all are matchy matchy, feeling good, there’s no one in the waiting room, and I’ve got a bag of tricks.

Then I look at Chubber’s hair and realize I forgot to comb it. I assumed the studio had a box of disposable combs for things like this. Nope. So a 15 minute scramble through the diaper bag ensued… resulting in tilting the bag upside down & shaking it, determined that amongst the cheerios, raisins and diaper cream there HAD to be a comb! A half hour elapsed again, and no comb was found.

So we licked our hands and pushed his hair the side. Que Sera….

Onto photos. A big letter “x” appeared on the studio screen for the kids to sit on.

“Now make sure they sit right on that “x’ ” photo girl stressed.

I almost burst out laughing.

“They’re 2 and 1….um….. I can’t get them to sit in the tub, let alone sit on that 3 inch “x’ ”

But we tried, we tried for oh, about…. let me not exaggerate here: 2 hours.

Totally. Not. Kidding.

Yes, believe me. We tried very hard to make it work. Things just kept preventing blissful family picture from occurring. Sometimes the barcode on Princesses shoe was showing, or Chubbers was holding the football in front of his face, or lipstick was on my teeth, or Camera Guy was looking like he was in a coma, or Chubbers decided to play peek-a-boo with his forehead fat.

Exasperated the photo girl cried out “Mom & Dad, you’re going to have to make them smile”

Exasperated I cried back “If we could do that, we wouldn’t be here!”

“I have an idea” She reached into the toy bin and pulled out a baseball bat.

I gasped in horror and started to throw raisins at her bald head. But then she just used it to tickle their bellies…so…

Either way, it was overly strenuous for all of us. And when we finished (more like quit emphatically) we realized there were 4 other families waiting in the lobby and she was the only photographer scheduled for the day. (I made sure I took the bat away from her before she saw the line)

In the future I am going to be much more leery of those free portrait coupons.

2 hours later and we had come away with the following :

1. One empty exhausted bag o’ tricks: snacks, toy medicine dropper, toy car, ballerina bunny, rubber duckies, umbrella, football & lollipops.
2. Two red-eyed kids from crying
3. Zero photos of them together. In that lovey dovey sister brother cuteness, that we never see anyway, but would have been nice for the picture.
4. Two near-migraines
5. One family photo where husband looks Asian.
6. 2 huge laughs from when they tried to sell us the “Gold” package that started at $1000, but would offer us at a special reduced rate of ONLY $800 ( how kind, we’re supposed to pay you
400 bucks an hour to drive us loco? I don’t think so, the kids know how to do that already for free…)

All in all it was a learning lesson. Which I learned nothing from immediately and was instead suckered into buying the $10 portrait card which was good all year round for a free 8×10 any time I came in! As much as I wanted! (Oh goody! Now I can accelerate the speed of loosing my mind at an even faster and more concentrated rate than I was already doing!)

You wouldn’t believe what happened when I got home, either.

I found the comb in the front pocket of my diaper bag.

Priority Mail

Comments 2 Standard

I think I figured out the place to go when I want to find impatient people. (I fully admit, I’m one of them when I’m there!) Ever visit the post office? Wow. This place is loaded. I don’t really understand why it is, but every time I go there I meet the cream of the crop of grouches.

It really confuses me, because when I sit down and think about it… the ends don’t match up. Let’s see:
Mail= cool.
Getting mail= Awesome, possibly the best part of the day
Writing letters= nice, and rejuvenating when you have the time to put into it

Mailing letters= fun, as long as the stamps are in stock in your wallet
Mailing letters from post office= aggravating, and just about every other word that’s synonymous with it.

Maybe it’s just New York? Or maybe it’s just me? Either way, every time I’m in there, I’m usually on a line and everyone on the line is rolling their eyes and dead pan staring down the postal workers like this task is the most burdensome thing they have ever had to do. Post office customers make getting a root canal look like a walk in the park.

What is it about the post office that makes everyone so darn edgy? Even I notice my demeanor change when I walk through that door. It’s usually a sigh followed by an evaluation of how many windows they have versus how many people on line there are, then the feet start to tap when you observe how they, as always, have one working window per every 10. And a line out the door down the street to the Sunoco.
"Um, hi? United States Postal Service? Yeah, in case you’ve been living under a rock the past 3 years..the country is facing this like economical thingy where people are out of jobs and I was just thinking……since I had so much time waiting on this lovely line you always have….that maybe, if you know, you needed some more postal people…..maybe you could hire another two or three? Just a thought….."

But seriously. Today I went to the post office, and there was no line. NO LINE! This was a gift from God. Especially since I had 42 manila envelopes that needed to be individually weighed and stamped. So with a smile blaring across my face, I skipped up to the one window open, greeted the postwoman and presented my mail to her.

As if my mere presence in the post office set off some kind of alarm, the door opened. It opened again, and again, and again. A line formed almost instantly. I brazenly turned around to assess the damage when the door opened again, and I saw the line reaching to the back of the building.
Quickly, I turned back to the postwoman and tried to mentally stop myself from sweating out of sheer shock, and rising anxiety.

"Hurry!!!" I started screaming inside, "They’re all going to kill me! They’ll bind and gag me with stamps, then ship me off to Bosnia if I don’t get out of here quick!"

The postwoman scanned envelope #5 silently, stamped it gingerly and set it in a bin. The door swung open again. It was like Chinese water torture.
With each scan, my heart skipped a beat, "Almost there! 18 more go!"
The door creaked loudly, and I could hear people tisking, feet shifting, packages crinkling, and my guilt was near critical mass. I could feel them throwing glances at the back of my head. This was payback for all those thousands of times I had stood in line and grumbled over the lady taking fourteen years just to mail a letter.

Finally, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I lunged my body forward further into the window, cutting off my peripheral vision completely. The postwoman looked up and I nervously explained to her in whispers, that the line was getting long, and I could feel the mutiny building.

"Nice office, by the way, " I added, to somehow ease the total weirdness of my actions. "Huh, American Flag. That’s great to see, you know you don’t see many of those anymore." (Instant insert foot into mouth…it’s a government office! Duh!)

Needless to say, a horrendous 19 minutes later, and I was released from one of the most humbling moments of my short life. I would just like to take this time to say to everyone who was standing on the line that I created, thank you. Thank you for not tripping me on my way out, casting me dirty looks (well I wouldn’t know, I sulked out of there with my head so low) or for calling me any names. I know you probably struggled with thinking about many of these things but thanks for holding back. You’ve all helped me realize how beneficial an at-home postage meter would be to my life. It is definitely a priority now. And you can bet your bottom dollar, I will wait on line happily the next time I am at the post office.