The Parent/Teacher Conference...Gone bad

Is it really necessary to take an entire week off of school in order to share with parents whether or not their child has mastered finger painting? I have nothing against parent/teacher conferences, obviously they are an important part of the educational process. But when we are talking about kids who have only been out of diapers for a year, it might be a bit much.

Last week, I met with my daughter's preschool teacher to go over her development. It did not go exactly as I had planned.

Socially, I thought they would tell me that my daughter is a happy, outgoing child that is normally a pleasure to be around. Academically, I thought they would tell me she had some work to do...and this I took full responsibility for. Let me explain...

When my son was little, I would spend hours with him in the bath going over letters, making all the sounds, and teaching him to spell. We would do flashcards, listen to kid’s songs, and read a hundred books a day. My son started each day out with Sesame Street and ended each day by reviewing the countries on the life size World Map we had tacked to his wall.

By the time my daughter came along, I had lost my steam. During bath time, instead of reviewing the alphabet, my main objective was to keep my two kids from drowning one another. My second goal was to keep them from splashing water outside the tub and causing the already moldy grout to get even more black and disgusting. Instead of reviewing flashcards, I somehow found myself spending the afternoons with her shopping or going through my closet. As I pulled out clothes, she would tell me if she thought I should keep, donate, or throw each item away. Based on the fact that my ‘throw’ pile was always the biggest, I knew that although she didn’t know her shapes, she had the fashion sense I had always desired.

Instead of listening to kids music like “Wheels on the Bus”, she and I spent most our time perfecting dance moves to songs like “Get on the Floor” by JLO and Jay Z’s “Empire State of Mind”. I have always thought that knowing how to break it down in the dance circle at your first middle school dance was way more important than math or reading, and because of this, I was prepared for the fact that academically we probably had some work to do.

So you can imagine my surprise when the teacher told me that in terms of academic progress, she was doing very well.

Me: “How can you tell?”

Teacher: “Well, she knows her letters and was able to identify the color grey.”

Me: “Knowing the color grey makes her smart?”

Teacher: “Yes, at this early stage in development, most kids can’t identify the color grey.”

If only I had known it could be that simple! In one quick color recognition exercise, she went from community college attendee to Ivy League hopeful. Things were looking up. Next, the teacher pulled out two pieces of paper from a folder and placed them next to one another on the table.

Teacher: “The drawing on the right is from September. The drawing on the left is from January. As you can see, she has shown a lot of improvement over the past 5 months.”

Me: “Really? They both look like scribble to me.”

Teacher: “Yes, but see how much better her scribble is in January?”

Okay, I didn't see it but I was still proud. She was a good scribbler, she knew the color grey, and she hadn’t had to use her extra pair of underwear. Maybe these conferences were great. For a quick moment I thought maybe I should write a parenting book and share my child rearing secrets with others.

But then, everything changed.

All of a sudden, the mood at the little table with the little chairs changed. The teacher and the two aides looked at each other and nodded. They closed her glitter and glue folder and looked at me with concern in their eyes.

Teacher: “Although academically she is doing well, we do have some concerns.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Teacher: “It seems as if she has fallen into the ‘wrong crowd’.

Me: (visibly confused) “She’s three. What do you mean ‘wrong crowd’?”

Teacher: “Your daughter used to be a very sweet girl. Not anymore. Unfortunately, her behavior has gotten worse and she is hanging out with a group of kids that are getting in a lot of trouble. They are pretty exclusive and don’t really include anyone else in their group.”

Me: “Wow, that doesn’t sound good.”

Teacher: “And another concern is that she spends almost all of her free time playing “husband and wife” with one of the boys in class. We feel it is not age appropriate”

Me: “What in the world could possibly be fun about playing Husband and Wife?”

The teacher nodded and agreed with me…she had been married for twenty-five years.

Teacher: “We suggest you help her change her social life and encourage her to make some new friends. Here is a list of nice girls and their mothers that you may want to start scheduling play dates with.”

I didn’t like what I was hearing and I didn’t like that they were telling me this while I was sitting in a small chair at a tiny round table that smelled like a mixture of glue sticks and rotten milk. I wanted to understand…Was she in a preschool gang? Did they find her sniffing finger paints in the bathroom? When they played 'husband and wife' did that mean they ignored each other the entire time or that they glared at each other while arguing about money problems and household chores?

I understood this was their job, but I feared we were getting ahead of ourselves. Of course I didn’t want my three-year old to be mean or hanging out with the wrong crowd. And I certainly didn’t want her playing husband/wife all day. But ‘falling into the wrong crowd’ was a bit premature. Her friends at school were the first friends she had ever made, how could she have picked so wrong, so soon?

I wanted to take all of this seriously, but I was struggling with what this information meant. Maybe she was just a kid that liked to do her own thing or possibly the 'nice' girls bored her to tears. All I knew is that it was a little early for us to be making a reservation at a Christian boarding school or grounding her for the weekend. I felt like we were doing okay. But my husband on the otherhand took it a little bit harder.

When he heard the news about her choice in friends, he was very upset. He immediately thought his dream of having the perfect daughter was shattered. He kept saying, "I always hated the girls that were in the "bad' crowd...what a waste!" I gently reminded him that all they were doing was coloring together and sometimes sharing paint, but still he wasn't happy. His idea that his daughter would be the classy girl who follows the rules, plays a division I sport in college and marries a nice guy was replaced with visions of motorcycle riding and marijuana problems.

As we discussed the situation over wine that night, we decided that for now we aren't going to be too worried. But we did go ahead and schedule some play dates with few ‘nice’ girls in her class. We had one little girl over earlier this week. They dressed up like princesses, had a snack, and then ignored each other the rest of the time. It wasn't perfect, but at least it was a start.

In the end, I still think conferences at this age are a bit much. Instead of taking the week off from school, I would rather have the teacher just drop a note in my kid's lunchbox that says something like, “good news is her colors and numbers are great, bad news is she thinks it is fun to play ‘husband and wife’ with a trouble maker, may want to get on that asap!”

But who knows, maybe they are important. Next year at her four-year old conference, they might tell me she knows the color Fuchsia. Can you say “genius”?

The Great Transition: My First Three Days as a Stay-at-Home Mom

Deep breathes…Slow down….You wanted this…Enjoy every minute. This is the mantra I have been telling myself ever since deciding to leave the medical field and become a stay-at-home mom/whatever else I am meant to be when I grow up.

I have been an unemployed for less than 48 hours and these are the things I have learned so far:

1. I had planned on making dinner for my family every night…tonight we had frozen waffles and cucumbers with salt. Tomorrow I will try harder…

2. Kids don’t go to school for very long. Why we are fundraising for playground equipment and computers when we need to be putting our money towards funds to allow kindergarten to go past 1pm? If my son is old enough to know how download an app, steal my password, and purchase the game without me knowing, he should be in school until at least 3.

3. Having the time to plant succulents was something I dreamed of doing when I was working…In reality, having the time and actually planting succulents was a bit anti-climactic and boring…One plant already died…note to self, lower expectations of becoming “Martha Stewarty.”

4. When my boss used to drive me crazy, I would send him hostile, passive aggressive emails and hope he would get the message. Now when my kids drive me crazy, I send them hostile, clearly aggressive messages and hope they get the message. Although neither scenario really works, both give me quick, immediate relief followed by overwhelming guilt and remorse.

5. I used to go to Starbucks alone, type on my computer and pretend to look busy while surfing Facebook. Now I make my coffee at home, type on my computer and tell my kids I am busy while surfing Facebook.

6. Picking my kids up from school was really great. Taking them home to hang out with me for the next 6 hours…still open to discussion.

7. Going to Chick-Fil-A for 3 days in a row is not good for anyone.

8. When my son’s teacher said “That’s great! Now you can make Tuesday’s your craft day and Thursday’s your science day. There are so many great projects you can do at home!”, I immediately got very dizzy/lightheaded and needed to lie down.

9. My kids don’t miss their nanny or after school programs…neither do I. My kids really miss their nanny and after school programs…so do I. We all seem to be very conflicted.

10. Target isn’t as fun when you can’t go alone.

11. There are a lot of ways to get involved in your kids school, none of which sound appealing to me just yet.

12. When you are at home full time, doing laundry becomes a lot like breathing…you are continuously doing it and no one congratulates you for it.

13. When my husband got home from work, I envisioned meeting him at the door dressed in a cute apron with a glass of scotch in my hand. When he got home last night, I met him at the door dressed in old sweats with an empty bottle of wine in my hand. Tomorrow I will try again…

14. When I was working, I only let my kids watch 30 minutes of T.V a day. Now that I am home, I only let them watch 30 minutes every hour.

15. I haven’t taken my hair out of a ponytail in over three days. It doesn’t smell right.

16. I love sitting around playing Chutes-n-Ladders and Uno with my kids. (This isn’t true but if I keep saying it, maybe it will stick.)

17. I am still late dropping them off and picking them up for school. Now I simply have no idea why….

18. There is a parent board meeting tonight and I lied and told them I had a work meeting. Some things should be kept private for a while…

19. I have been playing a lot of Hide n Seek with the kids. You won’t believe how long it takes them to find me…

20. My closet is now officially organized by color. And all my hangers match. And they are all the new skinny, fabric ones…And I have no idea what I am going to do tomorrow.

The Vasectomy: The end of an era and the birth of large baby

A vasectomy is something my husband swore he would never do.

For years, we couldn’t even say the word in our house because he would become so visibly uncomfortable. It was strange to see him so scared because, in general, he is a pretty tough guy. Sure, his favorite movies are Patch Adams and Mr. Holland Opus, but other than that, he really makes me feel safe. If there was an earthquake and an intersection fell on me, he would lift it off. If an intruder came into our home, he would kill them with his bare hands. If a tsunami washed our family out to sea, he would become a whale and let us ride all the way to shore on his back.

But this vasectomy thing had him all worked up.

Believe me, I understand that having someone cut your privates is not fun. The 42 stitches I had after my son was born don’t exactly provide me with warm memories. But the truth is, we were done having kids, and I had done my part. Someone needed to make sure it couldn’t happen anymore and that someone needed to be my husband. In a last ditch effort, I told a little white lie. “Honey, if you get this done, we will have SO much more sex because I won’t worry about getting pregnant anymore.” Maybe that statement, or the fact that our deductible was going up finally pushed him over the edge. Nobody will ever really know what happened...but once he agreed, I moved quickly.

The truth is we both knew it was time. A few months ago it became very clear to us that we were in the honeymoon phase of parenting. Both our kids can use a toilet, pour a bowl of cereal and sleep in a regular bed. They speak English, they go to school and they think we are great. Right now they are old enough to know we like to sleep in on the weekends, but young enough not to know anything about sex or drugs. These are the glory days for the Chittick family.

So, we said a prayer for his Vas Deferens, said goodbye to our days as a fertile couple, and made the appointment.

On Friday morning, I met my husband at home about 2 hours before the procedure. I arrived home to find my husband outside sitting on a stool. He was scared, sweating, and shaving his privates.

Me: Are you okay?

Husband: Not at all.

Me: Can I help?

Husband: There is nothing anyone can do.

Me: What are you most worried about?

Husband: My balls.

Me: It will go quickly.

Husband: I don’t want to do this.

Me: I know.

Husband: I am really scared.

Me: I know. Now that’s enough.

I was struggling to have compassion. He was going in for a thirty-minute outpatient procedure but was acting as if they were removing a limb. It took everything in my power not to remind him that during both my childbirth experiences I was certain that I was going to die. With each child, I was poked, prodded and pulled so much that I still struggle to talk about it. Each child was vacuumed out and on both miraculous occasions, I tore all the way through. I had so many people with their hands in my business that at one point, when the Janitor came in to clean my room, I fully expected him to lay down his mop, put on a glove, and check to see if I was dilated.

I wanted to care that he was scared and nervous, but for some reason, it just wasn’t happening.

His anxiety about this was very high (aka...off the charts). During his consultation, the urologist insisted that he take a Valium prior to the procedure. The problem is, my husband doesn’t take drugs. They make him nervous. He doesn’t smoke pot, he has never done mushrooms, and often claims that Sudafed and Mucinex make him hallucinate (shoot me). When we got in the car, he carefully swallowed the pill and looked at me with a serious expression, “How long until I feel it? Oh God, my heart is racing.” I tried to get him to relax, to talk about normal things, but nothing was working.

Eventually the drug started to take effect, but the result was less than ideal. He seemed very far away and still extremely anxious. At one point, as we pulled into the parking garage, he began whispering to himself like a crazy homeless person, “You can do this! Don’t be afraid! You are strong! You got this one!” It was uncomfortable to witness, but I did my best to be supportive.

During his surgery, I sat in the waiting room. I wish I could say I hurt because he was hurting, or that his pain was my pain, but that would be a lie. While he was under the knife, I found myself reveling in the silence and peace of the empty waiting room. It has been so long since I had been alone in a room, with nothing to do and no one around me. It felt like a mini vacation! I read a bunch of magazines from 2010, caught up on some emails, and ate a Snickers candy bar. To be honest, I had a lovely time.

Barely thirty minutes later, the doctor came out, said that all went well, and my husband should be out soon. As I looked up, there was my sweet husband, slowly walking towards me. He looked horrible. He was white, shaky, and appeared to have aged ten years. This is the conversation we had next:

While reading the dialogue below: Please picture a big, blonde man with a low deep voice that speaks very slowly while sweating profusely from his forehead

Me: How did it go?

Husband: It was horrible. The worst thing I have ever gone through.

Me: Oh honey, it only lasted ten minutes and now you are done.

Husband: I wanted to die, I felt so violated. I prayed for it to be over the whole time.

Me: Don’t you think that is a little dramatic?

Husband: Not at all, you have no idea. There was smoke coming from my balls.

Me: Honey, I had two kids. They were 8lbs each and left me with 42 stitches. But you are right; the smoke thing would be strange.

Husband: I am so glad it is over. It was awful. Oh, I was so scared!

Me: (giving husband side hug while thinking to myself “What a baby!”) I am so proud of you.

Then the doctor came out and explained the procedure and what we needed to do next.

Husband: So doc, you cut into my balls and snipped the thingy that the sperm travel in?

Urologist: Yes, I made an incision into your testicles and cut the vas deferens.

Me: So his balls are going to be swollen for a while and there is no way we can do it for at least a month, right?

Urologist: Yes, his gonads will be slightly enlarged for a period of time and it would be best to abstain from intercourse until he heals.

Me: So I don’t have to do it for a while?

Husband: He didn’t say that.

Urologist: (visibly uncomfortable) That’s something that you two can work out later.

Me: But really we should give that area a break, right?

Urologist: (more visibly uncomfortable) Again, it is up to you all how you want to move forward.

Husband: How soon can we do it again?

Eventually the doctor realized this conversation was going nowhere and quickly excused himself.

Today, for the third day in a row, I woke up next to a very large man with a bag of frozen peas on his privates. I have done my best to take care of him but, I am pretty sure I won’t be winning any awards. I am trying to understand that what he experienced was traumatic, but on some level, I am just not buying it. After having my kids, I know I didn’t come home and spend the entire weekend watching football, drinking beers and laying on the couch with my friends. If I remember correctly, I was woken up every two hours by a small newborn who would gnaw at my breast, scream in my ear and poop all over me. When my husband says he can’t stand up and would I mind bringing him his breakfast in bed, it takes all I have not to lunge at his throat.

In the end, I am grateful he decided to go through with this and provide me with the assurance that the days of breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and hemorrhoids are over. Yet I still dream that one-day, just for a day, he could know what it is like to be a woman. And then maybe, just maybe, he will understand.

Dear Facebook...we need to talk

Dear Facebook,

It’s a new year and I think its time to start off with some new resolutions. Over the past few years, you have changed a little bit and honestly, you have made some people get a little weird. You started out as this great avenue to help people connect with friends, family members and old boyfriends. But as time went on, you have lost sight of your original goal and its time to get back to the basics. We can no longer sit back and witness people making fools of themselves. It is time we addressed the people who say to much, post too often, and unknowingly make themselves look like idiots.

In honor of new beginnings and being better people, lets set a few guidelines for 2012:

1. If you look good in a bikini, we are SO happy for you! Weight Watchers worked, you laid off the McDonalds, or you simply have good genes. That is awesome and we are glad you loved your trip to Cabo…that place you stayed in really looked beautiful. All we ask is that you go easy on the bikini photos, and please don’t make them your profile picture. We all want our ex-boyfriends to see us looking skinny, tan and happy. Let’s be honest, that is the main reason we post those pictures in the first place. Just go easy on the semi nude photos or you start to look a little desperate.

2. We are so happy you had a nice meal. Everyone deserves a good steak once in a while. And your dessert looks great too, even though we have all seen a nice piece of cheesecake or tall glass of cold beer. Go ahead, put the phone down, take a bite, and enjoy the people you are eating with. If you are eating alone, and that’s why you keep taking pictures of food, we feel your loneliness and are sending you a big hug. I promise, it is going to be okay.

3. Ladies, we know you love your husbands. That is why we assume you married them in the first place. Here’s an idea…if you love them so much, go ahead and close your computer, log out of Facebook, and do something to them you haven’t done since before you were married. On the other hand, if you only say gushy and overly sweet things about your husband to cover the fact that you two hate each other or don’t want to admit that your marriage is barely hanging on, we understand. The reality is that we know the truth about your relationship and it is clear to many people it is probably not going to work. Remember, a lot of us were at your wedding and thought it was a bad idea in the first place.

4. Everyone has questions in life. “Where do I find a painter?” and “What’s a good song to jog to?” and “Does anyone have a good Dentist?” We know that there are times we all need some help, but let’s go ahead and bring back the idea of community. Go outside, knock on a neighbor’s door, or call a friend. I know it’s not as fun or easy as getting 42 comments on your wall in response to your question about “Is an iphone or Blackberry better?”…but you’ll survive. The next time you are out on a walk, stop a stranger and say “Hey, where’s the best place to get Mexican food around here?” It will be great because you might make a new friend and we won’t be bored with your unending questions about where to get a new washer and dryer. See, everybody wins…

5. Cryptic statements are never good. When you post something that says, “Waiting and waiting…will tell you all more soon!”, it makes us very concerned. Then, after we realized you didn’t sound very sad in your post, we automatically think you are pregnant. All this does is cause a lot of people to say things like, “OMG are you Pregnant?” or “WTF! Call me soon! I think I know what this means!” Save the guessing game and just tell us what is going on. If you have some good news, let the world know. If you are waiting for a new job, tell us and we’ll send prayers. If you posted that lame comment so you could get a thousand comments on your wall, we forgive you. Just next time, instead of a weird, strange message, simply say “Hey I have nothing to say but need some love…can 20 of you comment on my wall to make me feel special and popular?” It is a lot less annoying and makes us like you more.

6. Most people have pretty busy lives. Between work and family, nobody has a lot of time to spare. If your status update has to do with carpooling, grocery shopping, or getting ready for holiday parties, no problem. But if you make those things sound like the reason you are stressed, overwhelmed, or busy… we can’t help but hate you. We don’t want to be judgmental, but if your biggest problem is the fact that you can’t find 600 thread count sheets at Pottery Barn, we really don’t give a damn.

7. Most of us need a good motivational or spiritual quote each day. Sometimes reading an inspirational saying can change our whole day. Jesus, Buddha, and a lot of other smart people have said some pretty amazing things in the past and we love when you share them. Just be careful…too many spiritual quotes in one week and we start to get suspicious. How can someone so filled with wisdom have so much time to post on Facebook? Shouldn’t they be out raising a foster baby or working at a soup kitchen for the homeless? If, on the otherhand, the quotes are posted in order for you to remind yourself not to be the angry, uptight, and stressed out person you tend to be…that’s another story. Every now and then, mix up the spiritual quotes with the honest mean and rude things you really want to say.

8. It is never, ever, ever appropriate to post the following status update…“Off to bed, what a great day!” First, people don’t really care when you go to bed. Second, don’t let people know that last thing you did before you went to sleep was look at the Christmas album of your 8^th grade boyfriend…it doesn’t look good. Enough said.

9. Here’s a rule of thumb, if your baby isn’t born yet, don’t post pictures of it on Facebook. Sonogram pictures are strange and unattractive, and the truth is most people don’t even know what they are looking at. We don’t want to see a picture of an alien with a circle around his privates with a comment that says, “Looks like he has his father’s genes’ already!” That is creepy. Just hold out…Let the first time we see your child be moments after he has shot out from between your legs and is all swaddled and cozy in your arms. It makes for a better first impression.

10. The MOST important rule of all: Women keep up with old boyfriends on Facebook. It doesn’t matter if we dated them, had a crush on them, wanted to marry them, or simply hooked up with them at a bar…no matter what the story is, we are going to stalk your profile page often. Because we get tired of looking at the same photos of you over and over again, it would be nice if you could do us all a favor and update your pictures regularly. If you want to go the extra mile, hit the “like” button on one of our bikini pictures from Cabo…it would really make our day.

Halloween 2011- The Longest Damn Holiday of My Life

I was putting my son to sleep on Thursday October 27^th, and he couldn’t settle himself down. I asked him what the problem was and he said, “Mom, Halloween starts tomorrow and I am so excited that I can’t sleep!” I reminded him that Halloween was four days away and he better get some sleep. As I kissed him goodnight, he just said “Mom, you don’t know what you are talking about.” Truer words have never been more spoken.

Looking back, it seems like it was months ago that we were first putting on those plastic Target costumes and getting ready for the school parties. I can’t remember when I last ate something that was green or not wrapped in cellophane paper. My memory of this holiday is just one big blur of a Twix/Snickers/Fat Tire/Tantrums/Candy Corn/Tantrums/Football/Tantrums extravaganza.

Today, the day after Halloween, I don’t feel right. For the past four days, water, vegetables, and sleep have been forsaken. Because of all the sugar my kids have ingested, their mood swings have been unbearable. They have gone from depression to elation and back again like a never-ending roller coaster.

To begin…we started last week with a party at the preschool on Thursday, which was then repeated again on Friday. Because my daughter is nothing like me (fashion has never been my strength), she wanted to have a different look for each party…Cinderella on Thursday, Southern Belle on Friday. I barely managed to remember the $5 for the Thursday party, the Pin the Tail on the Cat game for the Friday party, the individually wrapped candy for my son’s after school party, and the video camera for the Spooky Song Fest. At the last minute I remembered to bring the required copy of my TB test to the school so I could help out with the parties. Who knew you have to prove you are not a carrier of some communicable disease in order to hand out orange and black frosted cupcakes. It was never ending.

We had Preschool parties, Kindergarten parties, Costume Parties, Halloween Block parties, Chili + Costume Parties, and a 3 hour Trick or Treat Marathon Party. We ate, we drank, and we carved pumpkins that did not turn out that well. When we weren’t eating or putting on costumes, we were taking Halloween pictures. My kids wore their costumes for so many days that I am afraid to wash them...I am confident the slightest bit of water will cause them to disintegrate. We took photos of every moment, every parade and every party…at this time, I now have over seven hundred pictures of my kids in the Exact. Same. Outfits.

Looking back, I am amazed at the intensity and effort that goes into Halloween. The only thing that amazes me more is the amount of pictures people have uploaded onto Facebook in the last five days. The fact that the website has not crashed over the last 96 hours is a miracle. Was Facebook really prepared for a Halloween that fell on a Monday? Did they know that for five straight days, millions of people, all across America, would literally lose control and upload pictures by the thousands? Every costume imaginable and every pumpkin patch in the country is somehow represented on my News Feed. The comments are endless…“Aw, cute costume!”…“OMG, precious!”… “I can’t believe how BIG they are!” I am just waiting for someone to say to a woman who made her children’s costumes by hand, “Is that all you got?”

When I somehow find the one picture where I look relaxed, rested and young, I too will change my profile picture. It may take awhile…

I just don’t remember it being like this when I was a kid. All I know is that my dad got home from work, took off his tie, and poured himself a tall stiff scotch while yelling at us to get ready. My brother and I would quickly slip on our costumes and head out the door. We always made our own costumes from what we had in the house. They weren’t homemade in a “cool creative” way…it was more like the “you are on your own” way. For a couple of years, I was a cockroach (black garbage bag covering my body plus foil attached to a headband) and I was happy. Normally, once we were ready, my mom would take ONE picture of my brother and I in front of the house and have it developed in the next two to three years. You never realized how ridiculous you looked until many years later.

As my dad followed behind us, with his red solo cup and flashlight, we would knock on doors, get some candy, and go home. Once home, my mom would tell us that she hoped we had fun but that we were not allowed to eat any of the candy until she inspected it. Growing up she had many fears…from satellites falling from the sky to having an amoeba swim up our nose and eat our brains away. Yet one of her biggest fears was having us be poisoned by our Halloween candy. Once home, that woman became an FBI agent. She left no Starburst unturned, no Snickers unopened. Nothing makes Halloween scarier than a deep embedded fear that one wrong Tootsie Roll could end your life.

I remember dumping the candy on the floor and getting to choose the ten pieces I wanted to keep. Back then there was no such thing as the “Candy Fairy” that allowed you to trade your candy for a special toy. Instead we had the “Parent Fairy”, which was a little different. Basically when you weren’t looking, your parents would grab all your candy and throw it away…no toy, just a promise that they knew what was best.

Last night, as my husband and son were walking home after literally canvassing the neighborhood, my husband said “Son, I am getting pretty tired. I think we need to be done.” My son looked at his father and shook his head in disappointment. He walked up to his dad and said “Come on Dad, be strong. You are better than that…we are not done yet.” And so they kept walking, and the holiday kept going, and the longest Halloween of my life continued on.

This morning my son woke up with the attitude of a sullen teenage boy. He wouldn’t talk, smile or say good morning. He didn’t want cereal or a bagel for breakfast, and he said he wasn’t going to school. I asked him what the problem was and he just rolled his eyes at me. As he walked away he turned around and said “Mom, this was the worst Halloween ever! I didn’t even get to hand out any candy BECAUSE YOU took me trick or treating for too long!!!!”

REALLY?!?!?!?

Next year my kids are going to be roaches and I am going to have a water bottle filled with scotch…

Too old to go so low - Why Girl's Weekends are Required

This weekend I headed back to Chapel Hill, North Carolina to meet up with my girlfriends from college. It had been a couple of years since we have all been together and I was very excited about the trip. Although it would be much cooler to say I didn’t care what I looked like for the weekend…that what I wore, how much I weighed or how dark my roots were didn’t matter…that would be a lie. The truth is I did care. It wasn’t about impressing my friends or trying to look better than them...it was simply about showing some improvement.

I love the emails that start about three weeks prior to these trips. One girl will say, “Hey ladies! What’s the plan?” Someone will email back “Plan? I PLAN on getting drunk from the time I am there until the time I land back home! I SO need a break!” Another friend might say, “You know it! The old girl is back so WATCH OUT! HOLLER!” And so on and so on. It is important to note that most of these emails are most likely sent while these women are driving minivans, packing lunches, and unloading the dishwasher. Good to remember when you are setting expectations.

Everything was going as planned until two weeks prior to the trip when I received the following email:

“Kelsey, bad news…no good on childcare for girls weekend. Husband is going to be out of town, looks like we are going to have to bring baby Carson with us…grandma will pick her up when we arrive… Lsorry”

Normally that news wouldn’t have been a big deal. But when your flight consists of completely sold out, 6-hour red-eye from LAX to RDU, this becomes a problem. In one quick email, my hopes of an ambien + wine + kid free start to my weekend were over.

There is not much to say about the flight except that it was close to unbearable. That sweet child who we all love so much on Earth became a demon while 40,000 feet in the air. From the moment we went through security, until about 2 hours into the flight, she screamed as if she was being tortured. She wiggled, banged, screeched, and spilled until eventually, as her mother held her in a hog wrestling rodeo hold, she finally fell asleep. The fact that we didn’t have a ticket for her made it even more fun. For the remaining 2 ½ hours, we sat frozen, afraid to move and overwhelmed with fear. At point during the flight, my girlfriend and I looked at each other and said, “This was a bad idea. We should have just stayed home and organized our linen closet.”

Somehow we made it, handed a naked and exhausted one-year old to her grandma, and headed into Chapel Hill. When I saw all my friends, they strangely recognized me right away. I could barely believe it because I was certain all my highlighting, self-tanning, crunching, and shopping would have made me unrecognizable. Not so much. We all hugged each other and spent a good thirty minutes telling one another how good we looked, how much fun we are going to have, and how great it was to be back. We checked our phones one last time and then committed to the next 48 hours.

With no sleep, a time change, and deep desire to relive our past, we met for cocktails at the hotel bar. We started the evening with adult drinks like Cosmos and beer…we ended the evening with not so adult drinks like Irish car bombs and Goldshalger shots. We went to every bar on Franklin Street, both old and new, and relived each minute of our four years in college. Eventually we found an Irish bar that played Hip Hop, Katy Perry, and JLo…we had found our home and things were looking up.

Throughout the night, I brought out dance moves that I haven’t used in over 10 years. At one point, I fell down on the dance floor. My friends may say it was because of the drinks, but in my heart, I know it was simply because I took it too low for my legs to handle. Later in the night, a few of us decided it would be a good idea to buy some cigarettes. There is nothing cooler than watching a bunch of moms who have never really smoked before, pick up the habit around 2am in a college town. Slowly, over a span of 5 hours, we had become those thirty something women I used to feel sorry for. Why did we think dancing in a circle holding hands was a good idea? Is requesting “Get on the Floor” at age 34 really appropriate? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

I am not sure when we all knew it was time to go, but the signal was given, and we eventually got into a cab. The price of the cab ride was $30…the distance we traveled…3 blocks. Some things never change. We got back to our hotel room, threw on our pajamas and listened to old school rap. We laughed, we made fun of each other, and we ordered pizza to our room.

The following day we took it down a notch. We all walked to the football game, bought UNC gear for our kids, and had dinner together. And this is what I realized…getting away these days takes a lot of work. There is a lot scheduling, organizing, and planning that has to take place. Lists have to be made and car pools have to be set up. But in the end, no matter how much we have to do to make them happen, they are a necessity. They remind us who we were before life got complicated. They make us laugh, and in the end, they give us a reason to take off our sweats, throw on self-tanner, and show everyone that we have made some improvement.