Butter

Do I seem like a deceitful person? Like I am trying to get one over on you all the time?


Then WHY doesn't my child ever believe me that YES, I have put butter on his waffle/bagel/toast/what have you, it has just melted. It tastes exactly the same. In fact, most adults PREFER for the butter to melt.


But no.... he refuses to believe that I put any butter on and insists that I put it on - AS REQUESTED - before he eats.



Oy. God help his wife someday....

THE MOM

My life has changed in so many ways since our son was born. I don't get nearly enough sleep. I refer to the bathroom as the potty. Unless someone intervenes, I generally cut toast into four equal triangles, regardless of who is eating it.

But tonight I am aware of one of the most profound ways my little boy has changed my world. I WILL LIKELY NEVER BE SICK BY MYSELF AGAIN.

Recently D came down with a nasty virus. The poor little guy became part of the couch, rousing only to gesture for a tissue. I wiped his nose all day long, administered Tylenol, cuddles and brought him cup after cup of ice water. Yesterday afternoon a tickle started in the back of my throat and I realized with dread that I, too, was getting sick. The caretaker. The one who was holding it all together. As the day wore on I became sniffly, feverish and - GOD HELP US - cranky.

I felt gross.... achy, hot, stuffy... miserable. I didn't want to pretend to be Chick Hicks from the movie Cars. I didn't want to guide him through a meltdown with simple choices. I didn't want to watch 6 episodes of Little Bear.

I wanted to lie on the couch in my bathrobe, jamming snotty tissues into the overflowing pockets. I wanted to catch up on crappy daytime TV. When else do you get to watch psychic Sylvia Browne on the Montel Williams show? I wanted to suck on a popsicle and cruise the cable TV On Demand service for my favorite movies.

But alas, I am THE MOM. The rules have changed. It doesn't matter that I don't feel well. It doesn't matter that my husband is home, ready, willing and able to take care of our son. I am THE MOM. He wants his mom. When you're 3 years old and feeling miserable, the only person that you want is your mom, even if she, too, is cranky and miserable.

So I sucked it up and continued on with the day as if it were like any other. I thought I knew what it was to SUCK IT UP before I had my son. I was clueless.

It will likely be this way for years to come... colds, flus and viruses parading through our house like a Cinco de Mayo celebration. I will care for our child and in turn become infected. My days will not be spent hiding from civilization under a blanket waiting to feel better, but Lysoling the bathroom, making soup, picking up tissues and holding his head. For this is the job of a MOM.


But PLEASE don't let my husband get sick.... I don't think I can handle the two of them.

Something stinks

How bad do our homes REALLY smell?

Have you noticed all the products advertised on commercials to improve the smell of our homes? EVERY OTHER ad is some spray or candle or carpet cleaner to make our houses smell better. It makes me wonder.... how bad do we really smell? And how self-concious are we that we would spend billions of dollars as a country to make our house smell like a rain forest or freshly baked cookies? What a gip, to come home, breathe in the smell of vanilla, sugar and chocolate chips only to find out that somebody lit a match instead of baked cookies. Supposedly our bathrooms smell, our basements smell, our carpets smell. The garbage smells. Baby's diapers smell. The dog smells. The cat box smells.

There is Oust. Lysol. Febreeze. Glade candles. Glade aerosol sprays. Glade plug in air fresheners. Glade plug-in air fresheners with fans and extra outlets.

There are 556 scents at Yankee Candle in every shape, size, color and style. They have Yankee Candle scented CAR air fresheners. Apparently, even though no one actually lives in the car, it still stinks.

An entire aisle is dedicated to this at the grocery store. How bad IS this situation? And if it does smell that bad, shouldn't we be cleaning, not lighting a candle in every room? Next thing you know, they will have odor alarms to hang next to our smoke alarms. It will automatically release a pleasant scent if the meter reading gets too foul. Crap, I should be marketing that myself! But like the fire alarm getting set off by burnt toast, the odor alarm might be set off by a stray burp, or a gym bag full of sweaty clothes. Perhaps that would be a little too much.

I wonder if we really do smell that bad.... or if someone, in a boardroom in some corporate skyscraper is laughing his ass off at our pathetic worries and lighting a match to his favorite scent: insecurity.

Defining a Friend

There are a few questions that I can ask someone and quickly determine whether or not we will be friends.

1) Do you like corn on the cob? This is an easy one. If you can't appreciate one of the fundamental joys of summer -- getting it stuck in your teeth, lips covered in a buttery, salty gloss, then we clearly DO NOT speak the same language!!!

2) Do you flash your lights to let people know there is a cop ahead? Who DOESN'T do this?! Isn't it just the tiniest courtesy we owe to the anonymous drivers on the road that "hey, pal, slow up... there's a cop ahead just aching to give someone a ticket!"? Don't we wish that someone had warned us when we are pulled over at the side of the road and people are gawking at us as we search for our registration among napkins, pens and other sundries in our glove box? Come on! Show us the love.

3) Do you like pets? If you don't know how to treat a pet, you don't know how to treat a friend. They require much of the same thing -- attention, love, and good conversation and they give it in return. It's all about taking care of someone beside yourself and not feeling put out by it. Yes, you can't just up and leave for vacation without finding someone to take care of them, but you have someone who will be happy to see you when you get back. Sometimes that is not as easy to find as you might think. (On the upside, you rarely have to clean up after your friend's bodily functions.) :-)

That pretty much covers it. So... are we friends?

Invisible

Do you remember those enormous tires from your childhood playground? The ones that were half sunk into the ground and you could climb all over them, bracing your sneakers in their enormous treads?

I used to love those tires. They were my favorite thing on the playground by far. I would climb inside of one and try to hide from my classmates. They would be squealing and laughing, trying to find each other in a noisy childhood game of hide and seek. Me, I was tucked deep inside this gigantic tire, its sides hugging me, making me invisible from all my friends. I would close my eyes and listen to all the sounds... the giggles, the footsteps, the squeak of the nearby swingset...the teacher clapping at some boys who were running too fast. But me... I was someplace else, some magical place where no one could see me. Invisible.

Sometimes I wish I could find one of those tires and just climb inside again. This time I would hear the dishwasher running, the dog whining and Derek needing help finding yet another car. And I could close my eyes, be invisible, and take...a...nap.......

Drugstore Junkie

If society as we know it were annihalated today, perhaps covered Pompeii style by a nonexistant volcano, what would future generations learn about us? Well, certainly our fascination with cell phones would be discovered -- everyone and - literally- their grandmother has one. But this I can understand. We need to communicate.... there are important questions that must be answered before we reach a landline, such as:

"Was that cream AND sugar in your coffee, Joan, or just sugar?" OR
"You will not believe the asshole that just cut me off on the highway. I'm lucky to be alive. Can you believe it?!?" OR
"Hon, what is the name of this song on the radio RIGHT NOW? Yeah, can you hear it? Let me turn it up!"

But what I cannot fathom, and what future generations will examine, desperately trying to understand, is this:

Is it really necessary to have 3 different drugstores within 1/2 mile? I mean, is there such a variety of merchandise offered by CVS, Brooks, Eckerd's, Walgreen's (you get the idea, here) that we have to have ALL OF THEM in a 3 block radius? And what does it say for the American love of the drugstore, where they specialize not only in prescription drugs, qtips and bandages, but also in hair color, diapers and gatorade. As I ran into the store the other day I realized one could even say that carry everything from soup to nuts... literally! You can pick up frozen dinners, stationery and Depends, all in one spot.
I'll admit it. I, too, am a drugstore junkie. There are so many possibilities there. Develop your pictures in an hour; pick up cheaper spices than you can find in the grocery store; examine each box of hair color for your new 'do. Choose a cold drink from refrigerated cases that line an entire wall. 6 different kinds of energy drinks... AND get that box of tampons you need. I find myself wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles searching for another item I just have to have.
Maybe future generations will see the remains of all the drugstores and decide that batteries and gum really DO belong side by side; that 72 brands of toothpaste offer a wonderful variety; and that one drugstore just doesn't offer us enough opportunity to spend our hard earned money.
Peace.