Evolution of a Soccer Mom

When I woke Brennan up this morning, he sat up, gave me a happy, sleep smile and said, “it’s a mommy day today?” The boys call my days off ‘Mommy Days.” The days I get all three of them to myself.

My heart hurt a little when I broke it to Brennan that it’s Tuesday, so today isn’t a Mommy Day. Tuesdays are school days. Aidan walked into Brennan’s room and told him, “It’s okay, because just two days past yesterday and it’s a Mommy Day again.” Yes, my boy may be a math genius.

We enjoyed our Mommy Day yesterday. We swam the morning away. After naps, Aidan, Brennan and I headed out to soccer, while Griffin stayed home with Grandma JoJo. I was the stand in for Chris at soccer while he attended a golf tournament. It was my first soccer practice with Aidan, but I thought I did okay. I kicked. I dribbled. I became a Soccer Mom.

When we got home, Chris had already arrived and asked Aidan how it went at practice. Aidan declared that I did fine, but I’m not as good as Daddy. Apparently, Daddy runs a lot more and is a much better goalie. Whatever. I took them out for ice cream after so that should totally give me extra points in the great game of parenting. (My own desire for some chocolate peanut butter ice cream delectable goodness had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. It was purely for my children and their own enjoyment. I swear. Uh Huh. Mmmm, peanut butter.)

Saturday in the Park

After a fun filled afternoon with Aidan at yet another pre-Ker's birthday party (pirate theme! buried treasure! million dollar home! gigantic private playground - bigger than the one at the public park we go to! putting green! inground pool! pool house! gigantic water slide! and personalized m&ms to cap it all off! Have I mentioned how much I hate kiddie birthday parties?), Chris and I took our kiddies to Canal Park.

We dined on lots of fun food at Mississippi Mudds with drippy ice creams for dessert. We walked along the banks of the Niagara River and watched the boys go wild over the boats, ducks, and water. It was a perfect summer afternoon.

So perfect that none of us wanted to go home, even the adults. We missed the sweet spot of early evening contentment and found ourselves smack dab in the danger zone of missed bedtimes. By the time we headed home it was well past Griffin's 7 pm bedtime and he was enthusiastically howling in protest. Aidan and Brennan started in on each other, griping about space and foot placement and ownership of a variety of star wars guys. Finally, in frustration, I turned around and yelled,

"That's it! Stop the yelling and fighting RIGHT NOW or I will have your father STOP this car and make you all get out. Do you understand?" Two heads bobbed in unison as they stared back at me with wide freaked out eyes.

When I turned around, Chris's shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. He glanced at me and was laughing too hard to speak. I started laughing so hard tears streamed down my face. I turned and whispered to him, "Did I just threaten to abandon our children on the highway?" He nodded and we both laughed harder.

At least the kiddies were quiet, imagining a life walking on the I-90 trying to find home after their loony mother forced them out of the family SUV. A year of therapy for that one at least.

So Very Nice

Aidan got a call this morning for another hand modeling gig at Fisher-Price. I was tempted to turn it down, but he really enjoys it. He thinks it is his job. And instead of a paycheck, he gets money to buy toys. It's a win/win from the perspective of a four year old.

On the way to the photo shoot, he asked if we could spend some of his hard earned Fisher-Price bucks at the toy store today. I said sure. He smiled and said, "I'm going to pick out a toy, Mom and I'm going to buy Brennan one too."

Brennan laughed and said, "Really Aidan? That's so very nice of you Aidan."

Aidan responded, "I know it is."

When the photos were done, the boys did their shopping. We also got to see Aidan's first hand shots in action. If you ever happen to see the Cars line of Shake n' Go cars - take a close peek at the box. The inset shots are all of Aidan's hands. He was so proud I thought he was going to burst. We bought two so he could save the packages. He's hand famous! Other kids may get their faces on boxes of toys, my boy gets to show off his hands. Life is funny.

The Mommy Bag

This morning I couldn't find my security id card to get into my building for work. I feverishly tore apart my purse to find it. I found a pacifer, the rules for the Star Wars Lego X Box game, the rules for some snowboarding X Box game, a Star Wars comic book, a handful of stale, icky goldfish crackers, a yellow power ranger, a buzz lightyear figurine, a green army guy, a teething biscuit, four legos and a juice box. A JUICE BOX. Damn I need to clean out my purse more often.

Security card? I have no idea. But if you want to study up on the rules for some X Box games, eat some stale goldfish and enjoy a juicy juice while you play with buzz lightyear - I am so your gal.

Body and Soul

My morning reading brought me this:

http://www.joyunexpected.com/archives/002224.php

which then led me to this article:

http://blogher.org/perfect-girls-starving-daughters

And, wow. Two thirds of women polled between the ages of 18-25 would rather be mean or stupid than be fat. Rather be mean or stupid than be fat.

I have never been thin. I think I escaped from the womb a little on the bigger side and it just continued throughout my life. I had my moments growing up when well meaning friends or family would caution me to just “cut back a little” or to try out some new diet or pill to bring me on the thinner side to normal, but all in all I never felt fat. I never felt ostracized for my size. Instead, I was proud of my accomplishments and my successes. I was a cheerleader. I had one of the lead roles in the high school musical my senior year. I liked being smart and getting good grades. I learned to celebrate who I was, rather than dwell on my body type. It may have been a part of me, but it was never all of me.

A close friend of mine in graduate school had an eating disorder. She was an attractive, successful, smart girl, but she suffered over her body image. If anything, she had an amazing figure and I marveled at her insecurity at her size 8 frame. I thought she was beautiful. Meanwhile, I was content to live in a size 14. She, in turn, was always surprised by my comfort and confidence in myself, in my own skin. When she asked me once where it came from, I was stumped. I didn’t know.

I know of so many women who spend time moving from one diet to another, searching for that magic cure to their body problems. Starvation to Atkins to diet pills. Anything, everything to be thin. But do they ever reach a point when they are finally happy with what looks back at them in the mirror? Or is it just an ever revolving door of self deprivation and self hatred? Is it ever going to be good enough? And what is good enough? Good enough for me or for someone else’s standards? Who gets to say when?

One of my favorite books is Jennifer Weiner’s Good in Bed. The heroine struggles with her size 16 figure and her own body image. She endures diet after diet, but in the end, at her thinnest, she is also at her most unhappiest. She comes to realize that her happiness was not dependent upon her size, but upon her soul. She learns to appreciate her body for its strength and resilience, rather than on the size of her dress.

I have my moments when I wished I had a different body. I wish I was taller. I wish I had long, luscious legs. I wish my ass would just give birth already and stop looking so pregnant. I wish I could get rid of that pregnancy pouch that bears witness to my three pregnancies. But my body, my figure, my size has not affected my ability to live my life with happiness, with joy. I am able to do all that I want to do and accomplish. I may not look like a supermodel (even one of those so called “plus sized” supermodels), but I like me. I feel attractive. My clothes fit and that makes me happy.

Am I thin? No. But I’d much rather be smart and nice than fit into a size 6. Size 16 looks pretty good to me.

The Loose Tooth

Aidan’s front tooth is loose. I wish I could handle this stuff with a shrug and carefree attitude, but instead it is just one more signal to me that he is no longer my little baby, but a boy. So, I did what I always do in these type of situations. I cried. I also may have asked him if we could have a few minutes of hugs and cuddles while I worked the whole thing out in my head (and heart).

Yes, yes, I know. Many years of therapy await my children. I just can’t help myself. And yeah, I know the tooth has not actually fallen out yet. It’s only loose. I get it. Still didn’t stop the tears. And finally, yes I do hereby acknowledge I need help. Lots of help, probably of the professional kind.

But really - a loose tooth. He's all grown up! (tears.)

Welcome Monday

Whew. I'm tired. Exhausted, really. We survived a whirlwind of social activities crammed into two days.

Friday was my girls' night out. Dinner at La Tee Da on Allen. I wanted to hate this place after the nightmare that is their reservation system. But, like most of Buffalo, I loved it.

We spent Saturday grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning and preparing for the big ol' christening. I managed to grab a quick shower and make myself somewhat presentable to head off to our dear friends Carolyn and Mike's annual Rum Party and fancy drink extravaganza. (Sidenote - really loved the rum lemonade and pomegranate daiquiri!)

Sunday was the christening. I spent most of the morning in a frenzied "what the hell was I thinking inviting forty people to my house" state. I was a bit grumpy.

Of course, the only time the church does christenings are smack dab during my children's nap time, so I knew we were on borrowed time from the moment we entered the church. Unfortunately, out of all of the christenings I have ever attended, our priest set a record for LONGEST ceremony ever. EVER. He discussed the historical significance of each and every part of the service. He gave us his own personal history for each and every part of the ceremony. He also wanted pictures with the christened babies after they were christened. From start to finish, we were in the church for almost an hour and a half.

My personal highlights? Aidan yelling out during the service, "Hey - where's Jesus?" Brennan constantly repeating, "I'm hungry" "I am so very hungry." And when the part of the service where they light the candle to bless the baby came, Brennan perked up and joyfully said, "A candle! Is there cake?"

While Griffin didn't really cry during the ceremony, he did screech and giggle, earning us quite a few pointed looks from the priest. Of course (OF COURSE!) there was another baby also being christened at the same time, who did not say a word during the whole ceremony. Not a peep. This baby was also appropriately dressed in the standard christening outfit - long white dress thing. I hate those damn white dresses. I put Griffin in cream pants and a sweater vest. It also earned me a pointed comment from the priest.

But, we survived. He's christened! We also enjoyed the time with family. My brothers and sister in law made sainted status by driving home from NYC just for the christening. 14 hours of driving for a 24 hour visit. Saints.

And thankfully, our next weekend is absolutely free of commitments. I will sleep and relax and may never get out of my pajamas. EVER. First, I must survive this week. Hmmm, I wonder if I can figure out the recipe to the rum lemonade pomegranate drink to ease my pain?

Losing My Religion

We scheduled Griffin’s christening for Sunday. It’s a little past the time when most Catholic families get it done, but with each child we seem to push it a little later and later.

I struggle a lot with the whole religion thing. Chris and I were both raised Catholic, attended Catholic school and married in a Catholic church. Our children are (or will be) baptized Catholic and will, most likely, attend Catholic school. But, yet, I am not sure if I feel Catholic or even subscribe to many of the teachings of Catholicism. Most of what I do for religion, I do because it is expected. We should do it. I am not sure we believe it.

I believe in God. I pray. I thank God every day for the blessings He has given me. But I don’t believe the Catholic Church is tantamount to God. I don’t feel I need Catholicism or its teachings in order to have spirituality and God as a part of my life. In fact, I disagree with many (most) of its teachings. And I shudder at so many of the things perpetuated in the name of religion, including Catholicism.

I will raise my children in the Catholic church because I want to expose them to religion in general. I want them to make their own choices, develop their own beliefs, and find their own religion, be it Catholicism or otherwise. But a small part of me feels like a hypocrite. How do you justify exposing your children to something you don’t yourself believe in? How do you balance the influence of religion with your own distinct spirituality? Can there really be a middle ground?

I want my children to be good people. People who care about the lives and rights of others. People who will treat others with kindness and respect. I’m just not sure how religion fits into all that. Or if it does at all.

Matching Buffalo

As you probably know already, I love Buffalo. And like most Buffalonians, I get both excited and nervous when Buffalo gets any national media attention for anything other than snow or chicken wings. (And let’s not discuss the MTV train wreck that was Fraternity/Sorority Life.) So it was with great trepidation that I watched the new A&E reality show, Confessions of a Matchmaker. The show follows the trials and tribulations of an old school, tell it like she sees it, matchmaker who attempts to find love for some, well – to be kind, quirky singles. And it’s all set in, you guessed it – Buffalo!

The people are a bit odd (and not all of us in Buffalo are odd! I swear!), but they manage to depict a lot of good, fun Buffalo places. In recent episodes, the daters dined at Bacchus, had drinks at Laughlins, flirted at Toro, and shared some tough love over dessert at the Chocolate Bar (Mmmm, can you say turtle cheesecake? I can – and I do often!).

The show is pure reality mind candy fare with a side of Buffalo in the mix. Let’s just keep the chicken wings and snow out of it for once.

Superhuman Daddy

Our coffee pot erupted like a volcano Saturday morning. The coffee bean lava exploded over the entire kitchen and made quite a doozy of a mess. As the boys ate breakfast, Chris was helping me with the clean up. In order to get at the grounds under and behind our fridge, Chris moved the refrigerator.

As he did so, the boys' mouths gaped open in silent awe, eyes wide in shock.

"Wow," Aidan whispered under his breath. "Daddy, you are so strong."

"Yeah, " whispered Brennan.

Four eyes gazed at Chris in absolute adoration. Their Daddy was as strong as Batman or Superman and he was their Daddy! Just theirs.

I didn't have the heart to tell the boys the fridge has wheels. I think Chris wants to keep that a secret too. For just a little while at least.

Free at Last

He has figured it all out. Griffin was once content to explore around him wherever we put him. He could move about the room (our little mad roller), but mostly he stayed put. This was good. This was very good, because we live in a house where it looks as if Toys R Us threw up and toys spewed everywhere.

But now? Griffin has perfected the art of the military crawl and he has also figured out, to his great glee, he can go anywhere he wants. Anywhere. From the family room to the kitchen. From the kitchen to the playroom. You turn your back for just a moment (or two, or three, or well, closer to five) and he has crawled to the back door and found a nice, ol' flip flop to gnaw on. Or he has decided to chew on a kitchen rug. Or (my personal favorite) he has made his way into the bathroom and is playing with Brennan's little potty chair. (Only action that potty chair has seen in QUITE SOME TIME. )

The absolute joy in his eyes as he discovers yet another unknown is beyond adorable. He giggles as he moves or will let loose high pitch shrieks of excitement. He loves his new freedom. Me, not so much. I may need some time to adjust.

The Princess Side of Boys?

Before I had kids, I believed there were not a whole lot of differences between boys and girls. Coming from me, the person who grew up with two of the boy-est, jockiest, guys guys, brothers in the planet – this is pretty funny. I mean, I knew there was the addiction to sports (hello – many years of nothing but football, college football, high school football and ESPN Sports Center on our television in our family room.) I knew they dealt with their frustration differently. (My mom had patched many a hole in our walls after a particularly bad football game loss. Or do not even get me started on the video game tournaments that ended up with the victor gaining the right to fart on the others head.) I knew they had much comfort in their bodies. (My brothers never felt the need to AHEM cover themselves up when my friends came over. My friends found this funny. I spent many years screaming at my brothers to ‘for the love of god, put some CLOTHES on already!') And I knew they had some shall we say, different bathroom manners. (I mean, really, could you either pick up the toilet seat or as least work on your aim, please?)

But yet despite my upbringing with my beloved brothers and all they taught me, I still believed that as young uns, boys and girls played the same, acted the same and were no more different, but for their individual personalities. Heh.

Last night, we celebrated our neighbor's fourth birthday with pizza and cake. She is a sweet, adorable little girl. After devouring the cute Disney Princess cake, attention turned to the opening of the presents. One by one, she opened up her parent’s birthday presents. Disney Princess jacket. Disney Princess shoes. A dress up Ariel wedding dress. A dress up Ariel pink frilly gown. The Disney Princess figurine pack.

During the present opening, neither Aidan or Brennan said one word. Not a peep. Normally, they yell out “wow” or “I want that too!” or “can I play with that?” They stood off to the side, watched the presents as they were opened and looked both confused and bored. The girls were hooting and hollering in their enthusiasm. “The Disney wedding dress?” “NO WAYYYY!” “Can I try it on?” “Can I?” The birthday girl turned to show Aidan the pink dress and he gave a polite smile, a shrug and a look at me that said, “Where in the hell are the real presents?”

After the presents were opened, the girls rushed off to try on the new princess outfits. Aidan and Brennan stood alone amidst a sea of princessness. After a few moments, they started to play with the Disney princess figurines. I smiled and thought, “See, boys can enjoy the girly stuff, even for just a moment.” I walked closer to watch them play.

Apparently, Cinderella had staged an evil coup to take over the empire from Snow White and Belle. Ariel was going to ambush her to make her “dead” before the dwarfs found their secret stash of “guns” and “tried to make them dead.” Then there was much fighting amongst the princesses with Cinderella delivering quite a blow to Snow White, who countered by smashing her in the head with Belle’s foot. Lots of chasing, lots of fighting and whole lot of smashing. It was quite a spin on the traditional Disney princess play.

Sure, boys play just like girls. Yep.

Hockey Lollipop

Something I never thought I'd have to say to my two year old:

"Brennan, please, stop sucking on the hockey stick."

Anatomy 101: The Power Ranger

To endure a day of shopping and errands yesterday morning, I allowed the boys to each pick out one toy from a clearance sale at the Disney Store. Aidan picked a pack of Power Rangers. Brennan picked (yet another) Buzz Lightyear doll. (We have enough Buzzes in our house to start our own little Toy Story.)

On the way home from shopping, Aidan asked: “Mom, why do my power rangers have bumps on their tummies?”

Me: “I don’t know Aidan. They have bumps?”

Aidan: “Yes. Bumps. Two Bumps. Can you look at them?”

Me: “Aidan, Mommy’s driving. Can I look at them when we get home?”

We arrive home. Aidan brings me the power rangers and shows me the bumps by pinching both bumps on the figurines with his fingers.

“See Mom, bumps.”

It takes every ounce of my willpower to not smile, to not grin and to certainly not giggle.

Finally, I manage a response. “Aidan, the bumps are breasts.”

Aidan’s mouth opens in a shocked “o” and gazes at the power rangers in silence.

After a beat he asks, “Sooooo, are these boy power rangers or girl power rangers?”

Me: “I’d say they are girl power rangers.”

Aidan: “Because of the breasts.”

Me: “Yes.”

Aidan glances at the power rangers again and asks, “Because girls have breasts?”

Me: “Yes.”

Who knew that the mere purchase of two power rangers would require a lesson in male and female anatomy? Damn Disney Store and their anatomically accurate figurines.

Rockin' The Hair...

When I walked into Brennan's room this morning and caught a glimpse of his crazy head of morning bedhead, I asked him: "Wow! Brennan, what happened to your hair, buddy?"

Brennan: "I had a party Momma. With my hair. In my room. While I was sleeping."

Me: "Really? Was I invited to the party?"

Brennan: "Nope. Just me. My hair. My friends from school."

Must have been quite a party. I'm glad I wasn't drinking that Kool-Aid:







P.S. There are many firsts I want to remember in my children's lives. Today, we all witnessed a momentous first. Griffin had his very first french fry. Welcome to the beauty of fried food, little one. I know it felt good to gum the hell out of that french fry on your swollen, teething gums. Enjoy being the third child - who gets a french fry before eight months, while your older brothers had to wait forever and ever so I could torture them with nutritious foods. Next month, you may get your own Happy Meal.

The Potty Chronicles: Chapter One

We have finally dusted off Aidan's old Fisher-Price potty and put it in the bathroom for Brennan. Our adorable two year old who has been ready for MONTHS to be potty trained, but was held off by his overwhelmed and lazy parents, has now decided he never wants to be out of diapers.

He doesn't want to go on the potty. He hates the potty. He loves his diapers. Pull Ups suck.

Chris and I have decided to be patient. We will not push him, but take this nighmare called potty training nice and easy. And tonight? A glimmer of hope!

Brennan walked into the bathroom, saw his little potty and said, "Look Daddy, my potty."

Chris: "Yep, that is your potty Brennan. When are you going to use your potty?"

Brennan: "Hmmmm, pretty soon."

The Itch

A sign I may be raising the most codependent children on the planet:

Aidan stretches out his arm towards me and says, "Mom, I have an itch on my arm. Will you scratch it for me?"

It smells like what?

As I tucked Aidan into bed last night, he sniffed at my arm and asked, "Mom, what does your arm smell like?"

I sniffed my arm and paused for a moment to admire the tangy, but sweet lime aroma of my beloved Philosopy Senorita Margarita hot salt scrub.

"Mmmmm," I said as I sniffed again for another lovely lime whiff. "It smells good doesn't it?"

Aidan sniffs my arm again, thinks for a moment and responds, "I don't know. I think it smells like dirt."

Well, I guess that was thirty some dollars well spent.

Happy 4th of July!

Happy 4th and Happy Birthday to my Mom - otherwise known as Grandma JoJo around our house. And a belated very Happy Birthday to my Grandfather, whose birthday was yesterday.

To celebrate JoJo's birthday, some of the women in my family gathered for drinks and dinner last night at Nektar on Elmwood. Plentiful martinis, fantastic food, wonderful ambiance and great company. It was a good night out.

My personal highlights of the evening? When I caught one of my Aunts muttering into her cell phone after a few martinis and many glasses of wine and I asked my cousin who my Aunt was talking to on the phone. Her response? "She's drunk dialing Grandpa." Heh. 'Cause, why not drunk dial Grandpa after you've had a few, right? Or when my other Aunt ordered up a bottle of wine and when the server asked her how many glasses to bring with the bottle, she looked around the table, shrugged and said, "One." Yes, we may have imbibed a bit. Just a bit.

We also had a chance to see some of the carvings displayed throughout the city as part of the fundraising effort to retree Western New York after the "Surprise October Storm of 2006." They are beautiful, intricate, HUGE carvings made from trees destroyed in the "Surprise October Storm of 2006." (Yes, I have to keep referring to the storm in all of its media hyped glory.) It's a fantastic idea and it is great to see the carvings out and about the city.

Our day today is much more low-key. First rain in quite a while. It's nice to have a chance to regroup at home on a holiday.

Get in Mah Belly!

Brennan has always had quite an appetite. From the moment he was born, the boy has loved to eat. He has an enthusiasm about food that is both adorable and infectious.

Over the last few days, his appetite has increased tenfold. He seems to be hungry all day, all the time. His first words to me this morning were, “I’m hungry Momma.” Throughout the day, Brennan, “I’m hungry again Momma.” On Sunday, he ate two bowls of cereal, a yogurt, a bowl of blueberries, two fried eggs and toast – all before 9 a.m. It must be a growth spurt.

Yesterday, Brennan came up to Chris and me and showed us that the heads from the boys’ Star Wars figurines are removable. The little, itty bitty, heads actually come off of the bodies. Brennan demonstrated the removable head to me, gazed at the head in his hand, and said, “It taste good?”

Me: “No Brennan, we don’t eat the heads.”

Brennan: “Yes, I eat the heads. They taste good?”

Me: “Brennan, we do NOT eat the heads. Do you understand? You do NOT eat the heads.”

Brennan looks at me sadly with brown eyes wide with confusion, “I can put all the heads in my mouth, Momma.”

I sigh and look at Chris for reinforcement.

Chris: “Brennan, if you eat the heads, we have to take the toys away. Do you understand?”

Brennan: “Okay Daddy. I’m sorry.” He shuffles away from us, still playing with the heads in his hand.

Chris and I look at each other.

Me: “What are the odds we are picking Star Wars heads out of our children’s poop sometime this week?”

Chris: “I’d say pretty good.”

All is Well that Ends Well

Brennan can walk. It appears after all the melodrama of Friday, he is fine. I chose to find the humor in this situation. (And if I repeat that enough to myself, I just might believe it. Ha!)

Date night for Chris and me last night. We went to a new Mexican place, but I admit all I was looking forward to was the margaritas. Margaritas, margaritas and some more margaritas. It was totally going to be the highlight of my night. After we placed our order, the waitress sadly told us the restaurant was still waiting for their liquor license. No margaritas, she said, but would I care for a soda instead?

No, I wouldn't. I really wouldn't care for a soda instead. Do I need to revisit the week I just had? Do you know how rarely I get to leave the house without children and with the promise of an adult beverage? The disappointment on my face must have been pretty intense, because both the waitress and my hubbie asked if I wanted to go elsewhere. Sigh, but we stayed, sans margaritas and all.

We managed to sneak in a drink after dinner, but before the movie. (Yes, I clearly have a problem.)

And movie too! Hello Brad and George - thank you for agreeing to come along on my date with my husband. Oceans 13 was cute, but the eye candy was way cuter. Hmmm, now if I could just get the movie theater to serve me margaritas along with my eye candy.