OC Family Mom is a Four Letter Word

A Kidnapper's Guide to the OC

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 15:59:00 GMT

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog with a public service announcement. Since I’ve moved to the burbs, I have noticed a strange phenomenon: little family portraits (consisting of stick figures) proudly displayed on the back any given momobile for all to see.

Aside from the fact that they are REALLY annoying, those stickers are a REALLY bad idea.

These moms obviously don’t watch Dexter, or they would know that’s precisely how the Trinity Killer lured his victim away from the arcade. He said, I am officer so-and-so and your parents have been in an accident. My partner, officer so-and-so, already has your brother Timmy (a name which he learned from the back of the family van) and is taking him down to the station. Come with me. The kid goes along, no questions asked. It’s frightening.

Now, I am by no means a cop, FBI agent, or any other type of law enforcement officer. But displaying the name and birth order of each and every member of your family just seems downright irresponsible.

In some cases, the stickers even show the said family’s last name, like a banner that reads “The Miller Family” right across the top. YIKES! Furthermore, we really don’t care about the names of your dog, cat, fish and/or hamster.

Sing it with me, “The more you knoooooooooow!”

National Grammar Day Word Nerd Challenge

Thu, 04 Mar 2010 11:56:00 GMT

Happy National Grammar Day!

I'm sure this won't surprise you, but I woke up early this morning to post a "word nerd challenge" on my personal blog.

The winner gets a FAB prize. If you have time, check it out here.

Image: Grammar Girl

Guest post: the great pregnancy plump

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 21:03:00 GMT

I’ve asked Rachel Reeves (see below) to be my guest of honor for the very first installment of Sunday Funday. She’s hilarious, honest, beautiful and crafty. And more than anything, she’s a welcome and wonderful diversion (read: break) from yours truly.

In Which I Publicly Humiliate Myself to Get a Point Across

While getting some things ready for my daughter’s second birthday on Saturday, I came across photos from the day of her birth.

All I gotta say is this....

those people who tell you you look beautiful and "not that swollen at all" the last few weeks of your pregnancy, are one of two things:

a.) total liars

b.) blind

Exhibit A

Rachel, several hours after birth. Still being told, "you look great!"

How could they say that when I normally look like this?:

Come on people. Keep it real. The next time a 10-month-pregnant lady asks you how she looks....don't lie. Make up an excuse to leave. Turn around and run. Dodge the question. Tell her that you just heard a phone ring and you're going to go get her an ice cream sandwich, while you answer it. Or just tell her the truth. But please. Don't tell her she "doesn't look any different" or she "seriously looks SO cute pregnant."

Unless of course they are one of those women that DOES look perfect while pregnant. In that case, I hate her.

But for the rest of us....don't lie to our faces.

Because thinking that you went through your entire pregnancy looking "adorable" and then realizing you looked like the GOODYEAR BLIMP is a cruel joke.

Take it from me.

Rachel Reeves is the author of No. 17 Cherry Tree Lane, a little piece of the internet universe where she writes about her faith, daily trials, aspirations and frequently about shopping. She also sells her vintage finds at Attic 17.

Now go find her. She’ll at least make you laugh, while she makes fun of herself.

The Magic of the Magic Kingdom

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 12:25:00 GMT

Disneyland is an important part of who I am. I went there all the time when I was little and even worked there in college. I love it. I get it. I value the magic. It’s my favorite place on earth.

But it is really hard taking two tiny girls to Disneyland. I spent hours packing the diaper bag so we’d have enough bottles, sippy cups, snacks, diapers, wipes, baby food, bibs, emergency snacks, spare clothes, sweatshirts, blankets, umbrellas, pacifiers, hats and sunscreen. We all woke up extra early and got out the door, into the car, into the parking structure, into the giant double stroller, to the tram loading, out of the stroller, folded it up, onto the tram, off the tram, back onto the giant stroller and through the park’s Main Gate.

It’s a miracle every time we actually get there.

When she wasn’t screaming, Lucy had THIS look on her face the whole time:

Obviously, it was all totally worth it.

Blackmail

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 21:47:00 GMT

I sure hope that fruit snacks aren’t like gumballs—because Lucy will have a basketball-sized wad of fruit snacks in her system for seven years.

She is addicted to “nack,” as she calls them. She will stand in front of the cabinet where they are kept and scream at the top of her lungs until she gets them. And this isn’t just any old horror-flick style toddler scream here, folks. This is like a parakeet-on-crack-could-shatter-mirrors-makes-dogs-three-blocks-away-bark kind of scream.

And as soon as she employs said method, Ethel is in hysterics. And I give in. It’s totally emotional blackmail. Lucy 1. Mommy 0.

Sleep deprivation and wartime torture

Mon, 15 Feb 2010 09:54:00 GMT

If it’s true that beauty is achieved by getting a good night’s sleep, then I am one ugly duckling. I’ve been tired for years.

So, recently, I decided to take charge of the one thing in my life I could control at least a little bit--sleep. I was motivated by sheer and utter desperation. I wasn’t functioning and my world around me was hanging on by a thin (and might I add UNRAVELING) little thread.

At seven months old, Ethel had yet to sleep through the night past 4 am. She wouldn't ever sleep for longer than four hours at a time. So every day, rain or shine, work or no work, I was up with her. I gave her a bottle—and then she was awake for the day. And it was killing me. Seriously, I kept getting sick and couldn’t kick it. I was so run down that it was hard to stay focused at work.

A few weeks ago, The NY Times ran an op-ed about torture. According to the author, "The Army Field Manual... allows limiting detainees to just four hours of sleep in 24 hours. Let’s face it: extended captivity with only four hours of sleep a night (consider detainees at Guantanamo Bay who have been held for seven years) does not meet the minimum standard of humane treatment, either in terms of American law or simple human decency."

I guess simple human decency need not apply when it comes to newborns. The government won't even treat suspected terrorists the way that babies treat their mommies. In short, my most very basic unmet need for sleep had superseded my ability do anything else at all.

I would see commercials for sleep aids—the ones that ran in the middle of the night when I was up with Ethel—and find myself totally angry at the damn woman in the Lunesta ad. How dare she toss and turn, when I would have given my right leg for someone to put me in bed and leave me alone!

Why doesn't that magical little green butterfly come to MY HOUSE?

My favorite quote of the moment is from famous under-sleeper Bill Clinton, who said, "Every important mistake I've made in my life, I've made because I was too tired." Is that how it all happened? But I digress.

So I saw Ethel’s pediatrician and asked him about it. He’s an old school, war-vet type of guy. And he told me that I need to let her just cry. And within a few days, she’ll realize that she just needs to go back to sleep when she wakes up. Harsh.

I have always had a hard time listening to any baby cry, let alone my own. Just the thought of it all had my stomach in knots. But I did it. I let her cry. I was desperate. And I’m not exaggerating when I say it is one of THE hardest things I've ever done.

When Ethel woke up at her usual time the first night, I just listened on the monitor. And then the guilt set in. OH THE GUILT.

Sleep-training a baby is a tricky endeavor. And there certainly aren't any magic tricks or shortcuts when it comes to the whole crying-it-out thing.

She whined for a bit, but never really broke into a full scream. And I was prepared for the worst. Less than thirty minutes later, she was sleeping again. After only three nights of this, she was sleeping in until 6 am. On a side note, who ever thought that sleeping in until 6 am would be considered sleeping in???

There’s much controversy around the issue and crying it out isn’t right for every situation. You have to do the research and figure out what’s best for you and your family. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

And it is one of the smartest things I’ve done in a long time

Open letter to parents of babies and toddlers:

Thu, 11 Feb 2010 20:29:00 GMT

Once in a while, if the stars align and I stand on one foot and hold my breath and cross my fingers, my husband Rob and I get a night out just the two of us. We are going to ATTEMPT to have such an outing this weekend. On nights like this, we make it a point to go to a restaurant where we wouldn’t ever dream of taking the kids. The kind that doesn’t even offer a kids’ menu (GASP.)

It is, however, inevitable that we will be seated directly next to your table with your wild children and/or crying baby.

Now, before you get your panties in a wad, I am not talking about the Olive Garden or CPK. Lucy has had a nuclear meltdown at many family-friendly establishments in Orange County and some parts of Los Angeles. I am talking about the places adults LOVE with low lighting and stiff drinks. With fancy steaks and sharp knives.

If you INSIST on bringing your child to this place he or she is losing it—I expect you to at least try to control the situation and look properly embarrassed. I also expect you to plan ahead and pack bribes and distractions in your purse like fruit snacks or the little one’s favorite toy. For Pete’s sake, give your kids the shirt off your back if it will calm them down.

But this letter isn’t to those parents. It’s to you, the ones NOT paying attention to your out-of-control screaming child, who is throwing bits of food at me or having a tantrum on the ground by our table and ruining my dinner. You, the ones totally ignoring your annoying kids at a restaurant they had no business being at in the first place. It’s enough to make me want to do a mommy-style citizen’s arrest and put YOUR kid in time-out.

This weekend, I beseech you, do what we're doing and GET A SITTER. I promise you, your Valentine's date night and mine will be much more pleasant.

Sincerely,

Pam

Things I've Learned the Hard Way

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 20:31:00 GMT

Don’t assume that your toddler will respond to your “mean mommy” voice or stare. Lucy just laughs. Apparently that tone of voice and look takes years of shaming to perfect.

Parenting and the First Amendment

Sat, 06 Feb 2010 10:07:00 GMT

Lucy has recently mastered the use of toddler-sized cutlery. And it is nothing short of amazing how much time this has freed up in my life. It has enabled me to WAIT FOR IT feed both kids at the same time.

Lucy can now feed herself while I sit and feed Ethel. It has literally added HOURS to my life on nights and weekends.

The only issue is Lucy's still-developing use of the English language. She calls the spoon “ZSPOO” but we’ve had to censor her use of the word fork. She doesn’t really have the hang of the r sound yet. I think you see where I am going with this. Let’s just say it sounds just like another four-letter word that starts with f and ends with k.

And it’s extra embarrassing to have my child yelling THAT word at the top of her lungs during dinner at a Mexican restaurant. In the nice, quiet town we're still new to. Nice first impression, huh?