room for improvement

That came back to bite me

by mayberry on July 13, 2011

Over the weekend I saw some friends, one of whom has children just a bit younger than mine. I was telling them, with no small amount of enthusiasm (fatal mistake!), how nice it is that I can now stay in bed a little while after the kids get up. I believe my exact words were, “Well, O. helps himself to as much candy as he wants. But what do I care, I’m sleeping in!”

Guess where O. went yesterday? The dentist. Guess what he has? TWO HUGE CAVITIES. Matching, one on either side of his mouth on two bottom molars.

Then, when we were scheduling the two (!) appointments for the fillings, the woman at the dentist’s office said that we could choose silver, for free, or tooth-colored, for $25 each. I was thrilled. Just $50 to cover up my huge parenting #fail? Sold!

But no. When you’re six years old, and you get the chance to have shiny silver teeth? You’re totally going for it. And your mom will be stuck looking at them for three or four or five years until the tooth fairy comes for them.

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Twitter dee dee

by mayberry on April 20, 2011

I think I need a new Twitter handle. I have been using @mayberrymom, but because I use that account to promote my Family Fitness site (and I don’t want two accounts), I think I need something more general. I could use my first initial+last name, but … snore. I’m trying to think of something that’s a little cleverer, but also broad enough to cover tweets about fitness, blogging, what I’m watching on TV, and so forth.

Any ideas?

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Staycation all I never wanted

by mayberry on March 28, 2011

Spring Break Day 1: Feeling OK. Taking care of an extra child for the day because her mom’s other arrangements fell through (due to a brain tumor, not even kidding). Get up at a reasonable hour, shower, dress, give kids breakfast before the friend arrives. Manage bits and pieces of work from time to time. Feed all three kids lunch, walk them to the library for a nature talk/reptile show. Kids are disappointed at small number of reptiles (3). Walk them to the ice cream shop and then home. Pack snacks and activities for skating practice. Take friend home, travel to ice rink, occupy younger child through practice/parent meeting. Take both kids for dinner. Drive home and unload one kid directly into bed. Work(ish) for two hours before going to bed.

Spring Break Day 2: Spend morning endlessly repeating list of things to do that do not involve staring at a screen (which, naturally, is what I do need to do so I can get some work done), and also basting the two turkeys roasting in the oven and washing the bedding after making the kids strip the beds. Serve lunch. March kids to museum for art “camp.” Come home: 90minuteskidsfreetimegetbusybeproductiveRIGHTNOW. Pick up kids. Remove turkeys. Stir-fry green beans. Pack up one turkey and set of sides (Jeff did all the work, all I did was baste and stir-fry) to take to friends with a new baby. Come home, eat turkey. Work late while listening to thundersnow.

Spring Break Day 3: Otherwise known as “the low point.” Morning: Interrupted every five seconds by children who really should be old enough to entertain themselves. Summoned from shower by Jo shrieking that Opie was cutting his own hair. Yes, he gave himself 1/2-inch long bangs right in the middle of his forehead. Productivity limited to creating one Barbie dress. Afternoon: art camp cancelled due to $*(&# blizzard. No such luck with orthodontist. Pack whiny children into car, say prayer while switching on four-wheel drive. On the highway driving 30 mph, pass five cars in the ditch plus one overturned truck in the median. At orthodontist, lectured about lax brushing. Leave for home, miraculously arrive in one piece. Bundle children into snow gear. They play outside for 7 minutes. Eat leftover turkey for dinner. Fight with child over music practice culminates in early bedtime. Publish one entire page on fitness site while watching and cursing at Top Chef.

Spring Break Day 4: Double session of art camp today! Homemade turkey soup wins raves! Husband takes kids to free movie at library! I might survive after all.

Spring Break Day 5: Trapped inside, unshowered, all morning waiting for windshield repair guy. Give up trying to limit screen time. Kids in pajamas until almost 3 p.m. Depart for errands-karate(1)-dinner-karate(2)-ice cream for all of us because we survived the week. Actually looking forward to spending nine-plus hours in an ice rink tomorrow (for the change of scenery).

Today: TGIM.

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It’s a donut AND a bun

by mayberry on November 29, 2010

Yesterday was Jo’s first performance with her skating team (I also wrote about this, briefly, over at the fitness site). Since she hasn’t taken dance since she was about three, I was/am totally unfamiliar with everything that goes into primping for this kind of performance.

Luckily I received a helpful email reminding me to buy/bring (and I quote):

Brush
Ponytail holders (5-6)
Hairnets
Hair gel
Hair spray
Hair clips the color of your child’s hair…bobby pins are not allowed

This scared me, a little. I also exchanged multiple phone calls and texts with another parent as we both tried to source the right kind and color of hairnets. We showed up yesterday with our little cosmetics bag full of this stuff and I wrestled my kid’s hair into a lame, sad-looking bun on the back of her head. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Then I got schooled in how to do it right (Maggie is going to love this…)

1. Glop up your child’s hair with a whole bunch of gel.

2. Brush the gel through her hair to create a very sleek, very smooth, very very high ponytail; secure with a hair elastic.

3. Thread the pony through a hair donut (it looks exactly like a mesh dish scrubber, in the shape of a doughnut).

4. Fan the hair from the pony over the donut to cover it. Spray the hell out of it with hair spray.

5. Place a hairnet (same color as the child’s hair! Please!) over the bun. Secure that with another elastic. The ends of the pony will still be sticking out all over in an alarming way.

6. Wrap those ends around the bun, tucking them in as you go.

7. Now put a (color-coordinated, natch) scrunchie around the bottom of the bun.

8. Spray it again. Also again. And a few more times for good measure.

Done! So easy!

That, plus makeup application and last-minute costume decisions, took only about 90 minutes of pre-show time. No wonder we had to show up three hours early! In the end, though, they looked totally cute and did a lovely job with their routine (in spite of Jo’s gasp of “We’re not ready!!” just a few days before, and the fact that a new girl joined the team on…Friday. For a Sunday show).

Next stop, a real competition with over eighty other teams. Eighty!

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Pay now or pay later

by mayberry on August 27, 2010

This summer my kid tried out a new sport (at an informal, walk-on type of camp) and liked it. We were told the beginning team was less of a financial commitment than the more elite teams, and no try-outs were required. The team would practice in a town close to us; the camp was about a 45-minute drive away.

Email from me to coach: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you give me the contact info for the parent rep so I can make the arrangements?

Email from coach to me, several hours later: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me (thinking): sigh … I have to pick up the phone?

The next day, dial. Exchange pleasantries.

Coach: OK, I’ll email you back with the parent rep’s email address!

Me (thinking): You’ve got to be kidding me.

I dutifully email the parent rep.

Me: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you send me the paperwork (my address is below) and let me know where to send my payment?

Parent rep reply: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me: *headdesk*

When I called the parent rep, I learned that the team doesn’t have enough players to be eligible for competitions. BUT, I can enroll the kid in a “class” which would:

cost the same
meet in the faraway venue at 8 a.m. on Saturday mornings
require us to join a club, which in turn would require paying dues and performing mandatory “volunteer” hours
allow the kid to learn some of the skills of the sport or risk “falling more and more behind” (seriously, she said it)

My husband thinks this is a no-brainer. No team. Enroll in a local, group lesson in a similar sport instead, saving money and sparing a good deal of inconvenience. Next spring, let the kid try out for the team and hope for the best. I’m inclined to agree, since the squeeze I got from the parent rep was uncomfortable (not to mention the air of bait-and-switch around this entire experience; e.g., the summer camp was originally billed as free, and then suddenly turned out to cost $10/hour).

But the kid really likes the sport, and I get the sense that holding your nose and dealing with this kind of stuff is common in youth sports. We could postpone the hysteria, but only temporarily (and would they penalize the child later for the parent’s crime of not enrolling earlier?). I am torn.

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Bag lady

by mayberry on August 2, 2010

Here is one Mommy Job I would like to quit: Bag packer and stuff rememberer. You start out with a tiny infant and a diaper bag that’s three times as big as said infant. Then as you and the baby grow you realize you don’t need most of the stuff you were carting around and you take it out. Eventually you have a potty-trained child and you grow confident enough to leave the house without a spare outfit, a large plastic bag, and a huge wad of baby wipes.

But the problem is that by then, there are extracurricular activities in the picture. And then, then, you are stuck needing all kinds of supplies and accessories for those activities. And so you–I–begin amassing a collection of bags. Pictured above: one for rollerskating. One for ice-skating. One for school (been sitting there since June 4). One for “water day” at child care. One for the Nintendo DS that comes along for long car rides to ice skating. One for day camp. Not shown: Lunch bag. Soccer bag (last time anyone played soccer was two years ago). Indoor pool bag. Outdoor pool bag. Other child’s school bag. Carry-on bag for air travel (kid 1). Carry-on bag for air travel (kid 2). Activity bag for car travel (x2).

In theory, having a designated bag for each kind of outing is a good idea; you pack once, and then you restock, and then you grab on your way out the door. But you also end up with scenes like this one in the corner of your guest bedroom. (Also not shown: karate clothes piled on guest bed.) And somehow only one person is responsible for finding the right bag, making sure the right stuff is in it, bringing it to the car, and bringing it back in from the car.

Sucker, thy name is Mommy.

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Child labor

by mayberry on June 9, 2010

I am ashamed to admit that my children don’t do chores. At least not on a regular basis. If I ask them to set the table or pick up crumbs with the handheld vacuum or shuttle something upstairs or down, they comply (with varying degrees of cheerfulness). But they don’t have assigned daily or weekly chores, mostly out of sheer parental laziness (and unwillingness to cede control).

They also don’t get an allowance. They take in so much cash from greeting cards (seriously) that they honestly don’t need much more. If we gave them a few dollars a week they would just spend it on mass quantities of gum and Nintendo points.

But they still like to earn money from time to time (like the times when I refuse to buy them any gum or Nintendo points). And I want them to develop a sense of responsibility for the household, as well as the basic skills they need to take care of themselves and their living space.

After a few random attempts where my husband or I promised totally divergent amounts for similar jobs, we’ve come up with a plan that I think might work. We’re making a list of prerequisite jobs, everyday tasks that don’t come with a paycheck: keeping their bedrooms picked up, putting away their shoes on the shelves expressly installed for that purpose by the back door, clearing their dinner dishes, and so on.

Then we’re making another list of money-earners: folding and putting away laundry, weeding, watering outdoor plants, unloading the dishwasher, etc. These will each have a predetermined fee. The catch is that all prerequisite tasks must be done before the child may take on an extra chore for extra cash.

What do you think? How do you handle chores/allowance/spending money with your kids?

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Stuff this in your shoebox

by mayberry on May 7, 2010

Silly is funny. Subtle is funny. Snarky is funny. Even puns can be funny.

But saying, even as a joke, that adoptive parents are lying alcoholics (and social workers are downright dumb)?

Not funny.

Not ever funny, which is why I don’t understand how Hallmark could print this card, or how anyone would ever buy it (except me. I bought it so I could show you).

Are you kidding me, “tiny little division of Hallmark“? You may be tiny, but this is hugely offensive. And I’m okay with pointed humor. I regularly send someecards.

I wasn’t adopted as a child. I’m not an adoptive parent, although there’s a chance I might be one someday. I’m not a social worker, but I believe them to be, for the most part, extremely caring and hard-working people who do often thankless work. A adoption social worker’s job is to make sure children find safe, loving homes. They ask tough questions because they have to. And because they represent children who don’t have a voice of their own, they deserve to hear the truth–which is what the vast majority of adoptive parents will tell them.

The image on the card also implies that this is a single woman trying to become a parent through adoption. Add another group to those that could and should be horrified by this card.

Tell me if you think I’m making too big of a deal about this. But words matter, and these words are unacceptable.

I did register my disgust with Hallmark, by the way. I sat on this post for awhile waiting for an answer. If one arrives, I’ll let you know.

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Feeling foolish

by mayberry on April 1, 2010

I truly am grateful for

A big work project
Two children celebrating birthdays
The opportunity to fix my child’s crooked jaw and teeth
A holiday featuring yummy food, fun traditions, and one of my favorite hymns
Family coming to visit
Days off from school
Stunningly amazingly beautifully gorgeous weather

I would be EVER SO MORE grateful if all this were not happening simultaneously.

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I guess I thought I’d be allowed to be cool until I had teenagers

by mayberry on March 15, 2010

My recent trip was a rather in-your-face reminder of my lack of cool. Hanging out with a group of twentysomethings who love to snowshoe into the back country to snowboard, carrying ice picks and “avy” beacons, did not do wonders for the ego of this suburban mama.

My jeans are not cool. I only have one pair that doesn’t have a hole in the knee, and they are just a smidge too short and too light of a wash.

My snow pants are not cool (how could anything called “snow pants” be). I have the big, baggy, kiddie kind, not the sleek, stretchy, sexy kind.

My winter boots are so not cool that I left them behind in Colorado (they were also six years old and the zipper was starting to break).

My everyday winter coat is not cool. It’s as baggy as the snow pants and a really blah shade of gray. It’s also six years old and wasn’t even new when I got it. (My spring/fall coat, however, is cool. It’s turquoise with a Paul Frank monkey print lining the hood.)

My hair is not cool. I am starting to worry that it’s less “layered, longish bob” and more “mommy mullet.”

My car is not cool. I drive a dented station wagon.

I know nothing of the latest music or movies.

Even my phone is not cool (as Binkytowne will be happy to confirm). White, flip open, pay as you go, tap out a text message in 10 minutes, no data plan, for emergencies only.

But guess what? I’m moving into the ’00s. Yep. I got a smartphone. And you can read all about it.

And if you want to tell me how cool I am, or how uncool you are, that’d be cool, too.

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