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What Would We Do Baby, Without Us

Ever get a song stuck in your head and you have no idea where it came from? For me it’s currently the theme song from Family Ties (remember that one – it ends “sha-la-la-la”). Well it’s sort of driving me nuts, but it’s definitely fitting for my thoughts today.

I have a wonderful husband named Chris. We have been married for close to eight years now. And while you might not guess it to look at him – he is a slob. And he’s not just an ordinary, run of the mill messy slob who doesn’t care about his messiness. He’s a creative slob.

He doesn’t just leave things where they fall, he creates odd piles and organizational systems. It isn’t possible for him to see a clean surface area and not immediately add clutter to it. And god forbid I move the items. Then it’s all, “where did you put my DMV renewal form? I know I was keeping it in the pile under the dining room table.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen him notice a balled up dirty sock on the floor and purposefully kick it into the corner NEXT TO THE HAMPER (“Back in the corner you go. There! Much better.“) Though I honestly think the clothes on the floor are invisible to him. He’ll walk around them for days until he sees something he wants. Then that item alone escapes the cloak of invisibility and magically appears out of nowhere! He gets very excited about this.

Unfortunately for me, the hamper is always invisible.

He also keeps things long past their expiration date. Like the pleated front pants that he never wears, or the shoes with holes so big, hobos would throw them out. One of my greatest moments of satisfaction was pointing out that there would never again be an appropriate time to wear his fraternity “a day without a buzz is a day that never wuzz” tee shirt with its visual of Calvin and Hobbes passed out around a keg.

But I think one of my favorite memories of the organized mess was one that happened shortly after we were first married. We lived in a one bedroom rented apartment with a large living room/dining room area. When you entered the apartment, the coat closet was to your right, the living room furniture was directly in front of you and the dining room table was on the far left end of the room. And our wedding was in the Fall, so within a month, it was time to pull out the coats and jackets.

Every day when he went out, Chris would take a coat out of the closet. And every day when he came back, he walked across the apartment and hung that coat on one of the six dining room chairs. I didn’t notice this immediately, but when I had the urge to start putting coats away, I recognized the pattern taking place and decided to see how it played out (I also marveled at how many coats he had).

Finally the seventh day came, and I stood expectantly, watching him walk in and take off his coat. Surely he would see that the chairs were all taken and realize what he was doing. I saw his look of surprise as the dilemma presented itself (“Huh. It seems that all of the chairs are already in use, there are none left.“) and then I saw him look around and consider his options (“Are there any other places I can put this coat?“). AND THEN I saw him carefully fold his coat in half and drape it across a clear area on THE FLOOR! That was when I had to scream, “stop the madness!” Apparently, the problem was that in the evening, our coat closet, much like our hamper, was invisible.

Don’t believe me? Here are a few pictures I took on Friday to document this:

Ever wonder what you should do with those twist ties that hold the dry cleaning hangers together?

Well if you are an ordinary slob, you will drop them on the floor – but if you are truly pathological, you will find a handy hook on the closet wall and wrap it around that. Sweet – and what do you know, it’s now invisible.

Since you ask – yes, that IS a hanging shoe organizer behind the hook. It must have confused you since it doesn’t actually hold shoes. And where do we keep those?

Here they are – in their proper jumble on the closet floor, along with a few random articles of clothing and the plastic dry cleaning bag that must have accompanied the now invisible twist tie.

Okay – here is one more bonus picture.

So where do you keep YOUR plastic bags after you unload the groceries?

Really? That makes sense, but I think our spot under a dining room chair is better.

Yes – Chris is a true original in his slob style. But he’s also unmatched in his ability to take care of his family. Shortly after I came up with some ideas for this post and took those pictures, we found out that my mother’s cancer has returned. This time, it is in her brain.

Chris found out on Saturday before I knew, and while I was sleeping that night, he booked my ticket to Key West for the following Monday. He stayed up all night worrying and talking to his family on the West Coast. And after very little sleep, he got up and spent the entire day doing everything he could to keep the kids busy while I ran errands and packed.

And when I felt like I might go out of my mind at the idea of being away from my children for a whole week, he booked a ticket for my three year old to come with me.

And when I felt like I was being weak, he pointed out that it would be a wonderful surprise for my father, to whom Oliver is very close (especially since it’s my Dad’s birthday). /

And I think he asked me if I was okay about a 100 times today.

And I’m really, really going to miss him this week.

I’ve never been one for public schmoopiness – but I really am lucky to have this man in my life. What would I do without him? Without us? Sha-la-la-la.

Wine Makes People Interesting

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I’m feeling just a little embarrassed about last night’s post. Did I actually say “once you go black…?” I’m cringing. That is a bit out of character for me. But here is my great excuse: I was drunk. No, seriously – this is the result of being left to my own devices (Chris is out of town) and making dinner out of a bottle of wine and a handful of cashews. Apparently, it made me think I was Samantha from Sex & the City.

Not that I meant to drink too much. I drank the wine over the course of several hours. It’s not like I was using a funnel (here is where I picture myself as Frank the Tank from Old School saying, “it feels so good when it hits the lips.”). The truth is I’m not a big drinker. I didn’t drink at all in high school or for the first two years of college. I don’t care for beer and will only drink a cocktail occasionally. But I do really like wine… So this was more like picking at a chocolate cake that is sitting out on the counter all day. There was a point when I realized that I didn’t really want anymore, but I failed to follow up on that thought. So there I was after putting the kids to bed – ready to finish up the post I wrote during my lunch break – just a little too tipsy for my own good. I think I will call this BUI (blogging while under the influence).

I’m sure anyone who indulges in a drink once in a while will know what I’m talking about (and I know some who don’t and I hope that none of this offends them). When you’re standing around at a party and you realize that you’re bored by the people talking to you, you may finish that first drink rather quickly and start the second far earlier in the evening than you would under different circumstances. Then that guy droning on about the flagstone he’s putting in his backyard starts to seem kind of funny. Those anecdotes about the workers tracking mud all over the carpet are a hoot! What does he do anyway? It must be something fascinating…. Investment banking? Cool! See what I mean? For me, wine makes people more interesting. AND it makes me funny…and hot (but that’s only when I’ve have A LOT of drinks with interesting people who think I’m really funny).

One too many drinks can impair judgment on many levels. Like buying weird stuff. Once when I was working my old association’s annual conference, I bought a black cowboy hat. We were in Dallas and everyone was at the Monday Night Event. “Everyone,” being my co-workers, a group of overworked, exhausted people, a bit punchy from this rare moment of free time. And we didn’t match – most of us wouldn’t have socialized outside of work, and didn’t look to have that much in common. But after working long hours on little sleep, we resembled a high school class on an overnight field trip. It’s been a while, but I remember the venue that night was a kind of ranch with abundant stereotypical Texas amusements. A mechanical bull, a quick draw shooting game, wagon wheels and bales of hay – all of the makings for a damn good party. After a private Dwight Yoakam concert, some follow up dancing to Asleep at the Wheel, several mechanical bull rides and of course, a few too many drinks, it was time to hit the gift shop.

Here enters another thing that can impair good judgment: cute young guys. My first reaction to young guys is typically very maternal with a lot of head patting and cheek pinching behavior. But those drinks were making me far too attractive to play mommy. Don’t get me wrong – I’m no Mrs. Robinson, but when you are 30 years old and married, a 25 year old guy seems a lot younger than just five years. So wasn’t I just full of myself, flirting away. He and a few of his friends had joined our group and REALLY didn’t match – but who cared? Everyone was buying shirts, belt buckles and hats. I tried on the black hat and asked my new friend what he thought. He said, “it makes you look hot.” So of course it was a given that I had to buy it. Then one of my work friends bought a tight tee shirt that said “cowgirl” across the front in rhinestones. Because really, you could get much more use out of that than a cowboy hat. She’s so practical. Her purchase was not at all influenced by cute young guys.

My wine-induced lapses in judgment are more local these days. The other night I asked a neighbor if her husband was her manny. And I actually said “manny.” I know her, but had never met her husband before. Chris claimed that he had and that it wasn’t the man that we see going in and out of her house with her kids. You would think that I’d be skeptical – and I was – but Chris was so adamant that it was a different guy. So after my second drink when I was feeling extra chatty I said, “who is that man that’s always with your kids?” She was like, “you mean my husband?” And then there were a few more exchanges that concluded with me saying that I thought he was her manny. Luckily, she found this incredibly amusing and hasn’t held it against me. I of course was mortified – but you can’t say I wasn’t interesting.

Babies Are the New Black

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Lately, I feel like every time I turn around, I see another picture of a celebrity mom either bursting out of her designer maternity tube top or baring her third (or is it fourth?) baby bump for the cameras. (Is it me or is that “baby bump” thing getting kind of annoying? I can’t decide if I think it sounds more like a tumor or like something dirty.) So I have to wonder, is this a current trend or am I only just noticing it because I have now been pregnant and like to “tut tut” over how much weight the celebrity mom-to-be is gaining or speculate on how she’s letting her anorexia threaten the health of her fetus. That’s what suburban moms who read Us Weekly do. We judge. In our stained sweatpants.

So I decided to do a little research using the most prestigious resource available: People Magazine. In reviewing their archive of online covers, I have discovered that on the People Magazine barometer of “what’s hot,” pregnancy and babies are now the it girl of the tabloids. Of course celebrity weddings, affairs and divorces will never go out of style, but celebrity babies are the current up and comer.

Need stats? My calculations show that from 2005 to 2007, an average of eight People Magazine covers per year were devoted to celebrity pregnancy announcements and updates, birth announcements and of course, the multi-million dollar pictures of mom and baby. Examples are Halle’s big news in 2007, Angelina and Shiloh in 2006 and Julia with her twins in 2005. This increases from an average of four covers from 2003 to 2004. My personal favorites are Julia (again) and her “twins” announcement in 2004 and Brooke and her firstborn in 2003. Prior to that, only about one cover per year headlined a story related to celebrity pregnancy. And those that I saw – for example, Gina Davis in 2002, Melissa Gilbert in 1996 and Deirde Hall in 1992 (I’m embarrassed to say that I’m familiar with this last one since I once watched Never Say Never: The Deirdre Hall Story on Lifetime) – seem to report on miracle babies or pregnancy after 40. Those stories were strictly filler for a slow news week. Prior to 1982, the celebrity baby cover genre was non-existent.

And this trend is not limited to supermarket line reading. (That’s right – I’ve done MORE online research!) There are actual websites devoted to celebrity pregnancies. A single google search for “baby bump” resulted in the expected links to pictures and products; but one of the top links was for iVillage’s Celebrity Baby Tracker. My first thought was, “this is someone’s JOB? I wonder if they make more money than I do…” Then I started to consider how many other similar sites would result from “celebrity baby bump.” Let’s see… We get Celebrity Baby Blog (straight from the source: People Magazine), the iVillage Baby Tracker, Celebrity Baby Scoop, Fame Crawler Celebrity Fix (a daily feature on babble), The Latest on Baby Bumps (a feature on omg!), and – get this – The Baby Bump Project (an actual blog that seems to cover research on the subject). There’s more, but I for one think that is plenty, thank you very much. Goodness, I had no idea that this was such a global issue. I feel that I am now a better person for having spent time reading up on the topic. And I will be 100% more interesting at cocktail parties.

So does this mean that I’m now fashionable? I can head over to Bungalow 8 and chat with Gwyneth and Madonna about potty training and pre-school waiting lists? Good to know – I’ll inform the rest of my suburban mom neighbors. But is this a passing trend or proof of a new age in celebrity news? My guess is that we will definitely see a pregnancy cover shot of Hannah Montana (hopefully far in the future of course). I predict that celebrity baby news is here to stay. Babies are the new black. And you know what they say, “once you go black…”

I Love Things Just The Way they Are

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Billy Joel could have written his tribute to change avoidance with me and my boy Oliver in mind. At a little over three years old, Oliver has fully dedicated himself to rejecting change whenever it rears its ugly head. For example, he loves school and he loves us – but god forbid the stars become misaligned and we happen to be in the same place at the same time. Chris and I brought him to an end-of-the-year preschool picnic at a new playground last month and he astonished us by throwing an absolute fit when his teacher and the other kids in his class began to arrive. You would think that they were all brandishing rifles or flame throwers or even worse – vegetables. He wanted nothing to do with them and repeatedly asked to leave. We could not figure out what was wrong with this boy who had been happily playing with us just minutes before. The answer of course was simply that they were not expected.

Oliver has some speech delays and qualified for our county’s early intervention preschool program. He started last October with a teacher coming to see him at daycare one day a week. But he didn’t like the infrequent disruption of his day by this “stranger,” and we all agreed that he would do better with more consistency. This meant that he would go to a morning class five days a week at a nearby public school. And as we expected, the change in routine was a bit rocky at first. He needed a few days to assimilate to the new classroom and new friends, and a bit longer to feel comfortable with all of the transitions throughout the day. Wouldn’t a child so adverse to this new hell hole be happy to know that his torture was coming to an end? Apparently not. For several weeks he would spend the entire “goodbye song” quietly sniffling with fat tears sliding down his cheeks. Finally, once he became accustomed to the new routine, he not only accepted it, but embraced it with the enthusiasm that he brings to everything he loves: dogs, finger painting, spontaneously leaping off the stairs into my unsuspecting arms – did I mention that he weighs 43 pounds?

One perk of his daycare situation – which has also caused me just a small amount of guilt – is that I haven’t had to be there for the early days of this drama. I drop the kids off at daycare at 7:30 a.m. (I have to get Chris to the metro by 7:45 a.m. – yes we are a very green family that commutes together, and it has absolutely nothing to do with gas prices or HOV lanes on the Dulles Toll Road). So he is there for a full hour before the bus comes to pick him up. Now that he loves school, he races to the door shouting “My bus! My bus!” when it’s time to depart – but this was not always the case.

The third morning of Oliver’s new school schedule, I was working from home and got a call from Gordana, our beloved and we suspect magical daycare provider. She said (and you must imagine a thick Eastern European accent), “Hello Katie, this is Gordana. Oliver does not get on the bus today.” To paraphrase, she took him out to the bus, he threw himself in a puddle and refused to get up, and then the bus driver said that they wouldn’t be able to take him like that. This is where I started to feel pangs of remorse for putting my baby through something so traumatic. Then Gordana told me that, “it was so cute when we go back inside. He says, ‘Bye Bus,’ and starts back to playing.” So who exactly is running the show here…? After I made a call to his teacher, it was agreed that reinforcing the little dictator’s behavior was not a great plan, and that I should pick him up from daycare and bring him to school myself. I won’t get into the details on that – it’s not my favorite memory. But after a quick trip to Target to buy a second booster seat (Chris had the “car seat” car), I made sure that he went to school that day.

Now, I am a firm believer in taking responsibility for my own decisions (well, most of the time), so I told Gordana that I would come the next morning to make sure that Oliver got on that bus. It was to be a stake out of sorts. I sat in my car outside of daycare at the arrival time and saw the bus pull up. Then I saw Gordana and Oliver walk out the door. Then I saw Oliver start flailing and protesting as Gordana led him down the path. Then – as expected – I saw Oliver pull out his power move of firmly planting his bottom on the sidewalk (I did mention that he’s 43 pounds, right?). That is when I swooped in, lifted him up, dragged him onto the bus and belted him in. I left so quickly, I can only assume that he said, “who was that masked woman?” Anyway – that seems to have done the trick. There were a few more mornings with tears, but his stubborn little butt was on that bus every morning until the last day of school.

This really mirrors my own experience with change. Like Oliver, I don’t care for it. It frightens me, it confuses me, it makes me feel like there is a big crack opening in the ground under my feet. The difference is that as an adult, I have learned to deal with it and I don’t fight it anymore. I acknowledge my feelings but then power through. It doesn’t make the transition easier – but it does make it faster. And Oliver will learn to do the same. Instead of leaving that playground at the end-of-the-year picnic, I asked his teacher for her help. Then we each took one of his arms and physically propelled him up the ladder and down the slide, over and over until even he had to admit that he was having a good time. And then as with everything he finds fun, it was the best end-of-the-year picnic EVER. It took a while and I’m sure we’ll be enacting this method at many parks, pools, and birthday parties to come – but just like he learned to ride the bus without fear, he’ll learn to ride out the many new situations life throws him with the same reluctant acceptance that I do.

Falling Down the Mommy Hole

The Big Piece of Cake

Never settle for a small one, and demand a corner piece with a flower.