If there is one thing in my house that defines "organized chaos", it would be my closet.
Now, I like my closet. It's a nice sized walk-in with a few shelves that have a tendency to fall down when I try to take (aka, yank) something off the top shelf. It has enough room to actually see all our clothes at once. Unlike my old house, which had a nice long closet that ran the length of the wall. To actually see what was in it, you had to grab a flashlight and go on an exploring expedition that looked like it came out of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In fact, every time I see that movie, MacGyver and I laugh about how it totally looks like us trying to get dressed in the morning. I swear, one day I totally expected to go searching for a pair of shoes and find Narnia...
Anywho, back to my closet.
I was looking for something to wear this morning, and realized that while my side of the closet was beautifully organized, I really didn't have much to wear. (Notice I said "side". Yes, in a closet with four walls, my clothes only fill up one side. One part of one side. I married a man that has at least 5x more clothes than me. How can that be possible?! Ah yes. He's half Italian.)
Here are my clothes, separated by type, sleeve length, and color. I start with my sleeveless tanks and camis (organized from light to dark), followed by short sleeve, long sleeve, sweaters, skirts, shorts, capris, pants, and finally, dresses. All from light to dark. All on matching wooden hangers (I have an aversion to metal hangers worse than anything you'll see from Mommy Dearest...) and facing the same way.
And, I have almost nothing to wear because nothing matches.
There are preppy Lily Pulizer tunics and capris hanging next to sexy Cache skirts and tank tops. Boring and slightly frumpy Ann Taylor capris next to brightly colored Juicy Couture tees. I have lost my "style". Or, worse yet, hung onto styles that looked great a decade ago (younger, no kids, 20 pounds lighter) and no longer fit my butt or my life (or, this century). "Hello, this is 1998 calling. I want my clothes back..."
I used to be a professional stylist of sorts. I worked in retail, and was even a Buyer's Assistant. I used to be on the cutting edge of fashion, and dressed my "clients" up for interviews and engagement parties and exotic vacations. And now, I can't even dress myself.
I think it's because I'm kind of a "tweener". I'm not young enough to pull off the low slung jeans and baby tees of my twenties, and I'm not old enough (I hope!) to consider Chico's "hip". Everything out there seems either too trashy or too frumpy. Or, just plain not flattering. So I keep everything, regardless of whether it fits, and hope that I'll find that one pair of "something-or-other" that will pull my whole closet together.
Until then, I'll have to continue to organize my chaotic, yet colorful, closet of unusable treasures. Or, at least find some matching storage boxes that I can label and stack in perfectly matched rows to contain my "pretties". But, then I'd be stuck in the same place I am now--with nothing to wear but my boring Old Navy capris, Ann Taylor shorts, and v-neck t-shirts, with the occasional yoga pants thrown in. The uniform of a 30-something "tweener".
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Motherhood Induced ADD
To do lists. Gotta love 'em!
I have to admit, I've always loved lists. School supply lists at the beginning of each school year (ahhh, the smell of new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils!). Recommended book lists that give me hope that I'll read something lifechanging. Or at least without cartoon pictures. Shopping lists with the potential to create amazing meals worthy of Nigella Lawson. Bucket lists of all the amazing and adventurous things I want to do before I die.
But, I still adore the mundane "to do list". A list of all the little and big things I think I'll actually have time to do. Vacuum. Dust. Create the month's menu. Re landscape the front yard. Read War and Peace.
Lists are what save me from forgetting all the things I need/should do. If it's not on "the list" (or "the calendar"), it doesn't exist. If I didn't have a weekly list of chores, I'd completely forget to wash sheets, go grocery shopping, or scrub toilets. Heck, I'd probably forget to make dinner if I didn't have a menu list staring at me from the refrigerator. I blame it on Motherhood Induced ADD (pronounced "Me Add"). That sounds better than a bad case of CRS (Can't Remember Sh!t)
I used to have a fantastic memory. Not quite photographic, but really awesome. I could read a text book and remember it all so I didn't have to really study for tests. I could drive to a place I hadn't been in since I was a little kid, and remember every turn and land marker. I could remember entire conversations from years and years ago.
Now I can't remember what I had for dinner last night.
And, without a list (or three) guiding me through the day, I'd have a bad tendency to go off on tangents. I can't concentrate for more than a few minutes. I've been meaning to write this entry for days, but I get. a. little. sidetracked...
I sit down to fold laundry, and see toys on the ground. So I stop the laundry and pick up the toys. But, then I find the missing Lego from WMB's police cruiser, so I go upstairs to find and fix it. But on the way up the stairs, I hear a ping from the computer so I check email. And, while I'm here, I'll check Face Book. Where someone mentions the pool, so I run upstairs to get bathing suits and call to the kids to get ready while I get snacks. Then I see there's no good snacks, so I start a grocery list. Which reminds me to update my coupon binder...
This is why I need lists. A list of daily chores (thank you Fly Lady for showing me how to do this). A list of things to bring to the pool. To put in the van. A fancy schmancy grocery list, separated by store and aisle, to remind me to pick up milk. A monthly menu so I don't panic every afternoon about what to make for dinner.
I have lists of blog ideas, long term to do lists, Christmas gift lists for next year, summer vacation ideas for the kids. I have notebooks and composition books, and cute little magnetic flip charts of lists. I have a list of things I need to put on a list. Because without my lists, I'm lost.
Others see my lists, and probably think I'm so organized. So on top of things! Nope. Not even close. I have lists so I don't lose what little mind I have left. Without these lists reminding me that I have a family to feed, clothe, and clean up after, I'd be flittering off to whatever I see glittering prettily in the distance.
I also need lists to remind me to take care of myself. To take a break. To get a haircut. To remember to give myself a manicure/pedicure--or, at least cut my nails. To eat more fruits and veggies. To schedule a girls night out. To schedule a date night. To go for a walk. By myself.
Because, sometimes us moms forget things. And it's not just trying to remember to sign up for summer camp or pick up milk and bread on the way home. We forget the funny things our kids say. We forget to call to make the dental appointments. We forget to take a break and regain our sanity. My lists keep me on track in a crazy but fun world, where I'd forget that DQ has a doctor's appointment when I'd rather go to Brownie Beach and collect sharks teeth (hey, I need to remember to put that on my summer "to do" list...) I'd love to chat more, but I have to make the kiddos lunch and then pack for the pool. I hope I have my list of pool things around here...
I have to admit, I've always loved lists. School supply lists at the beginning of each school year (ahhh, the smell of new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils!). Recommended book lists that give me hope that I'll read something lifechanging. Or at least without cartoon pictures. Shopping lists with the potential to create amazing meals worthy of Nigella Lawson. Bucket lists of all the amazing and adventurous things I want to do before I die.
But, I still adore the mundane "to do list". A list of all the little and big things I think I'll actually have time to do. Vacuum. Dust. Create the month's menu. Re landscape the front yard. Read War and Peace.
Lists are what save me from forgetting all the things I need/should do. If it's not on "the list" (or "the calendar"), it doesn't exist. If I didn't have a weekly list of chores, I'd completely forget to wash sheets, go grocery shopping, or scrub toilets. Heck, I'd probably forget to make dinner if I didn't have a menu list staring at me from the refrigerator. I blame it on Motherhood Induced ADD (pronounced "Me Add"). That sounds better than a bad case of CRS (Can't Remember Sh!t)
I used to have a fantastic memory. Not quite photographic, but really awesome. I could read a text book and remember it all so I didn't have to really study for tests. I could drive to a place I hadn't been in since I was a little kid, and remember every turn and land marker. I could remember entire conversations from years and years ago.
Now I can't remember what I had for dinner last night.
And, without a list (or three) guiding me through the day, I'd have a bad tendency to go off on tangents. I can't concentrate for more than a few minutes. I've been meaning to write this entry for days, but I get. a. little. sidetracked...
I sit down to fold laundry, and see toys on the ground. So I stop the laundry and pick up the toys. But, then I find the missing Lego from WMB's police cruiser, so I go upstairs to find and fix it. But on the way up the stairs, I hear a ping from the computer so I check email. And, while I'm here, I'll check Face Book. Where someone mentions the pool, so I run upstairs to get bathing suits and call to the kids to get ready while I get snacks. Then I see there's no good snacks, so I start a grocery list. Which reminds me to update my coupon binder...
This is why I need lists. A list of daily chores (thank you Fly Lady for showing me how to do this). A list of things to bring to the pool. To put in the van. A fancy schmancy grocery list, separated by store and aisle, to remind me to pick up milk. A monthly menu so I don't panic every afternoon about what to make for dinner.
I have lists of blog ideas, long term to do lists, Christmas gift lists for next year, summer vacation ideas for the kids. I have notebooks and composition books, and cute little magnetic flip charts of lists. I have a list of things I need to put on a list. Because without my lists, I'm lost.
Others see my lists, and probably think I'm so organized. So on top of things! Nope. Not even close. I have lists so I don't lose what little mind I have left. Without these lists reminding me that I have a family to feed, clothe, and clean up after, I'd be flittering off to whatever I see glittering prettily in the distance.
I also need lists to remind me to take care of myself. To take a break. To get a haircut. To remember to give myself a manicure/pedicure--or, at least cut my nails. To eat more fruits and veggies. To schedule a girls night out. To schedule a date night. To go for a walk. By myself.
Because, sometimes us moms forget things. And it's not just trying to remember to sign up for summer camp or pick up milk and bread on the way home. We forget the funny things our kids say. We forget to call to make the dental appointments. We forget to take a break and regain our sanity. My lists keep me on track in a crazy but fun world, where I'd forget that DQ has a doctor's appointment when I'd rather go to Brownie Beach and collect sharks teeth (hey, I need to remember to put that on my summer "to do" list...) I'd love to chat more, but I have to make the kiddos lunch and then pack for the pool. I hope I have my list of pool things around here...
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Snack-mobile
As I casually mentioned in an off-hand sorta way, I have a van. A minivan. And, may I say in all honesty--I love it! I can cram 8 people into it and still have room for 3 weeks of groceries in the trunk. It has all these neat hooks and hangers and secret compartments for hiding all the crap that accumulates when you have munchkins (like my now famous first aid kit). And, it has more than enough room for my snacks.
Snacks, you say?
Yes, snacks. And drinks.
I have enough juice boxes, water bottles, granola bars, fruit snacks, Cheez-Its, mini-cereal boxes, little individual milk cartons (I mean, what if someone wanted milk on their mini-cereal?), and fruit leathers in my van to last a family of four at least 6 months. Why? Because my kids NEVER STOP EATING.
For some reason, I have given birth to two munchkins with hollow bones. They can each eat more than an adult three times their size. And a simple three hots and three snackaroos a day is completely unacceptable to their delicate palates. They're like freaking hobbits. They need breakfast, snack, brunch, snack, noonsies, snack, lunch, lunch, lunch, snack, supper, dinner, another dinner, and at least three more snacks before bed.
Which brings us to the snack-mobile. For some reason, my kids (and all of their BFFs) get ravenously hungry the minute I pull out of the driveway. I mean, weeping, screaming lunatic hungry. The DQ can put on an Academy awarding winning act about how she hasn't had anything to eat all day and she will whither away and die of starvation in the five minutes it takes to get to Chik Filet. Doesn't matter if we're only going three miles down the road--they need a snack. And, obviously, the snack will make you thirsty. So you need a drink. And the drink makes you have to pee, so I have to pull to the side of the road and get out the port-a-potty. It's like the story "When You Give a Mouse a Cookie".
Oh, and yes, I carry a potty in the van. My kids think it's the best thing ever and totally show off to their friends about how they don't have to pee on a tree when they go to the park. They can pee in the van! Oh, joy. And, did I mention I have a little boy? Who doesn't have the best aim? Now you know why I have Nature's Miracle in the van, too...
The snack stash also comes in handy when I'm stuck in traffic and starving. Or in the carpool line at preschool, feeling a bit peckish. Or, at happy hour at the park and all us grown-ups have remembered to bring our booze, but forgot to bring water bottles (yes, this happened last Friday...)
So, that's why I have a big basket of non-perishable treats in my van. Not because I'm a rugged survivalist who wants to be prepared for the melting polar caps. Or a paranoid cult member who believes the four horseman of the apocalypse are going to thunder through my backyard heralding the start of Armageddon. It's because I have two small kiddos who can't go 30 seconds without chewing and swallowing something. And, I can't stand the sound of whining. And it's hard to whine with a granola bar in your mouth.
Snacks, you say?
Yes, snacks. And drinks.
I have enough juice boxes, water bottles, granola bars, fruit snacks, Cheez-Its, mini-cereal boxes, little individual milk cartons (I mean, what if someone wanted milk on their mini-cereal?), and fruit leathers in my van to last a family of four at least 6 months. Why? Because my kids NEVER STOP EATING.
For some reason, I have given birth to two munchkins with hollow bones. They can each eat more than an adult three times their size. And a simple three hots and three snackaroos a day is completely unacceptable to their delicate palates. They're like freaking hobbits. They need breakfast, snack, brunch, snack, noonsies, snack, lunch, lunch, lunch, snack, supper, dinner, another dinner, and at least three more snacks before bed.
Which brings us to the snack-mobile. For some reason, my kids (and all of their BFFs) get ravenously hungry the minute I pull out of the driveway. I mean, weeping, screaming lunatic hungry. The DQ can put on an Academy awarding winning act about how she hasn't had anything to eat all day and she will whither away and die of starvation in the five minutes it takes to get to Chik Filet. Doesn't matter if we're only going three miles down the road--they need a snack. And, obviously, the snack will make you thirsty. So you need a drink. And the drink makes you have to pee, so I have to pull to the side of the road and get out the port-a-potty. It's like the story "When You Give a Mouse a Cookie".
Oh, and yes, I carry a potty in the van. My kids think it's the best thing ever and totally show off to their friends about how they don't have to pee on a tree when they go to the park. They can pee in the van! Oh, joy. And, did I mention I have a little boy? Who doesn't have the best aim? Now you know why I have Nature's Miracle in the van, too...
The snack stash also comes in handy when I'm stuck in traffic and starving. Or in the carpool line at preschool, feeling a bit peckish. Or, at happy hour at the park and all us grown-ups have remembered to bring our booze, but forgot to bring water bottles (yes, this happened last Friday...)
So, that's why I have a big basket of non-perishable treats in my van. Not because I'm a rugged survivalist who wants to be prepared for the melting polar caps. Or a paranoid cult member who believes the four horseman of the apocalypse are going to thunder through my backyard heralding the start of Armageddon. It's because I have two small kiddos who can't go 30 seconds without chewing and swallowing something. And, I can't stand the sound of whining. And it's hard to whine with a granola bar in your mouth.
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Bandaid Queen
Okay, I'm going to start off this blog by telling the story of why I have a first aid kit in my van. And my purse. And my park bag. Hell, I'd probably stuff one down my bra when I take the kids for a walk, if I could jam it in amongst the boobies.
And, this is not just some lame first aid kit with a couple of bandaids and a wet-wipe. We're taking cold packs, emergency blanket, multiple packages of bandages of various size and colors (because, really--doesn't a Scooby Doo bandaid make everything better?), Ace bandages, athletic tape... I'm talking a first aid kit that would make MacGyver swoon!
Every time I whip out one of my kits when I hear the wails and screams of a child (usually mine) who has gotten the worst scraped knee (or paper cut) in all of history, I get other moms practically cooing over it. They can't believe that I have such a wide assortment of goodies at my immediate disposal. They're amazed when I offer the bleeding munchkin a choice of Strawberry Shortcake, Transformers, Star Wars, Scooby Doo, Barbie, or Pooh bandages. And, we're not talking about the three or four types I have that are brightly colored (and have antibiotic ointment in the pad!).
Wanna know why? Because if there is any child in a fifty mile radius who will crack his head open on a slide, and then proceed to bleed out all over the park bench where dozens of parents watch me freak out and start screaming for help--it will be my child.
Wait--that was my child!
It all started on a lovely trip to a zoo (which will remain unnamed) with my SIL and my nephew. It was a glorious day, and my children--then 7 year old Drama Queen (DQ) and 3 year old Wild Man of Borneo (WMB)--were out of their minds to get to see their cousin and hang out with the animals. I mean, there were giraffes you could feed by hand! Fake lilly pads (on actual water!) that you could leap on (and fall off of) like a drunken frog after a late-night bender! And--taa daa!!!--the most awesome, huge, amazing fake tree with a slide. The kiddos could climb up a spiral staircase in the "trunk" of the tree and then slide down one of two big slides down to the benches where all the wonderful and loving parental units were waiting (aka: trying not to fall dead asleep from exaustion) to clap for them and encourage their precious off-spring to go down again and again and again so we could get our only break of the day.
Oh, and in case you're wondering--there was a big sign up that said "Children Only--No Adults" on the staircase or the slide. I, being the non-helicoper, ever-so-slightly free-range parent that I am, obeyed. Other grown-ups? Not so much. Really--does your 5 year old need his mommy or daddy to slide down a freaking slide with you? Between his/her legs? While saying "weeeeeee! Isn't this fun??!!!" I think not. But, I digress....
Well, after watching a dozen or so kiddos go down the slide, I see DQ posing at the top of the slide to get my attention. Then, I hear the sounds of thumps and a blood curdling scream. Yes, my WMB was pushed (WMB claims, shoved) by a being that appears not to have been "child-sized" and then fell down, backwards, down the METAL SPIRAL STAIRCASE. (I was told by other moms in the area that a dad wanted to go down the slide with his child b/c he was worried his little one would be scared, so he tried to get around WMB, who was next, to get to his child who was on the second slide next to DQ. Yeah--thanks dude.) Judging by the blood and bumps, WMB must have hit every damn step with his face.
My SIL was thankfully at the bottom of the staircase (I was manning the bottom of the slide, so it's not like I was slacking off or anything) and pulled my blood covered bunny to safety. I looked around for a security guard, a first aid station,... Heck, I would have welcomed a food cart worker at that point! But, no. We had to walk around the zoo, with a toddler dripping blood in his wake, begging for help. Parents were offering tissues and wet-ones (of which, I had some too), but no one was carting around a fully stocked kit of first aid loveliness. Apparently, no workers at the zoo were either. Because--get this--THERE WAS NO FIRST AID STATION. In a zoo. That caters to kids. Not a single place to even buy a bandaid or ice pack. Heck, it took me at least 10 minutes of screaming and running around to find anyone who even worked at the zoo. Or, would admit to it... Who knows. Maybe they saw a screaming lunatic of a woman with a drippy bloody toddler and decided to run for the hills.
Anyway, when we finally found someone, all she did was offer to call 911 and have WMB sent to the ER. Did I mention this was at the height of the Swine Flu epidemic? No, I didn't? So sorry to have left that out... I asked for a bandaid. No can do. I asked for an ice pack. So sorry. I asked for a darn ziplock baggie with ice from the cafeteria. Fine, that they can do. Then, they put the whole bunch of us on a golf cart and rushed us out to our cars. No doubt to get us the heck out of there, before any other visitors could see us. Then the worker took my information to fill out a "report" (no, they never did give me a copy. Or even call to see how WMB was...) and told us to leave.
And that, my dears, is why I carry a super duper first aid kit with me at all times. So I can keep myself, and others, from the embarassment of being "that mom" who looks like an extra from an ER episode.
Oh, and just to let ya'll know--WMB was fine (no concussion, no stitches) and he and his sister love to talk about "the slide incident" and how cool it was to "race" in a golf cart. Kids. It's all about the golf cart to them...
And, this is not just some lame first aid kit with a couple of bandaids and a wet-wipe. We're taking cold packs, emergency blanket, multiple packages of bandages of various size and colors (because, really--doesn't a Scooby Doo bandaid make everything better?), Ace bandages, athletic tape... I'm talking a first aid kit that would make MacGyver swoon!
Every time I whip out one of my kits when I hear the wails and screams of a child (usually mine) who has gotten the worst scraped knee (or paper cut) in all of history, I get other moms practically cooing over it. They can't believe that I have such a wide assortment of goodies at my immediate disposal. They're amazed when I offer the bleeding munchkin a choice of Strawberry Shortcake, Transformers, Star Wars, Scooby Doo, Barbie, or Pooh bandages. And, we're not talking about the three or four types I have that are brightly colored (and have antibiotic ointment in the pad!).
Wanna know why? Because if there is any child in a fifty mile radius who will crack his head open on a slide, and then proceed to bleed out all over the park bench where dozens of parents watch me freak out and start screaming for help--it will be my child.
Wait--that was my child!
It all started on a lovely trip to a zoo (which will remain unnamed) with my SIL and my nephew. It was a glorious day, and my children--then 7 year old Drama Queen (DQ) and 3 year old Wild Man of Borneo (WMB)--were out of their minds to get to see their cousin and hang out with the animals. I mean, there were giraffes you could feed by hand! Fake lilly pads (on actual water!) that you could leap on (and fall off of) like a drunken frog after a late-night bender! And--taa daa!!!--the most awesome, huge, amazing fake tree with a slide. The kiddos could climb up a spiral staircase in the "trunk" of the tree and then slide down one of two big slides down to the benches where all the wonderful and loving parental units were waiting (aka: trying not to fall dead asleep from exaustion) to clap for them and encourage their precious off-spring to go down again and again and again so we could get our only break of the day.
Oh, and in case you're wondering--there was a big sign up that said "Children Only--No Adults" on the staircase or the slide. I, being the non-helicoper, ever-so-slightly free-range parent that I am, obeyed. Other grown-ups? Not so much. Really--does your 5 year old need his mommy or daddy to slide down a freaking slide with you? Between his/her legs? While saying "weeeeeee! Isn't this fun??!!!" I think not. But, I digress....
Well, after watching a dozen or so kiddos go down the slide, I see DQ posing at the top of the slide to get my attention. Then, I hear the sounds of thumps and a blood curdling scream. Yes, my WMB was pushed (WMB claims, shoved) by a being that appears not to have been "child-sized" and then fell down, backwards, down the METAL SPIRAL STAIRCASE. (I was told by other moms in the area that a dad wanted to go down the slide with his child b/c he was worried his little one would be scared, so he tried to get around WMB, who was next, to get to his child who was on the second slide next to DQ. Yeah--thanks dude.) Judging by the blood and bumps, WMB must have hit every damn step with his face.
My SIL was thankfully at the bottom of the staircase (I was manning the bottom of the slide, so it's not like I was slacking off or anything) and pulled my blood covered bunny to safety. I looked around for a security guard, a first aid station,... Heck, I would have welcomed a food cart worker at that point! But, no. We had to walk around the zoo, with a toddler dripping blood in his wake, begging for help. Parents were offering tissues and wet-ones (of which, I had some too), but no one was carting around a fully stocked kit of first aid loveliness. Apparently, no workers at the zoo were either. Because--get this--THERE WAS NO FIRST AID STATION. In a zoo. That caters to kids. Not a single place to even buy a bandaid or ice pack. Heck, it took me at least 10 minutes of screaming and running around to find anyone who even worked at the zoo. Or, would admit to it... Who knows. Maybe they saw a screaming lunatic of a woman with a drippy bloody toddler and decided to run for the hills.
Anyway, when we finally found someone, all she did was offer to call 911 and have WMB sent to the ER. Did I mention this was at the height of the Swine Flu epidemic? No, I didn't? So sorry to have left that out... I asked for a bandaid. No can do. I asked for an ice pack. So sorry. I asked for a darn ziplock baggie with ice from the cafeteria. Fine, that they can do. Then, they put the whole bunch of us on a golf cart and rushed us out to our cars. No doubt to get us the heck out of there, before any other visitors could see us. Then the worker took my information to fill out a "report" (no, they never did give me a copy. Or even call to see how WMB was...) and told us to leave.
And that, my dears, is why I carry a super duper first aid kit with me at all times. So I can keep myself, and others, from the embarassment of being "that mom" who looks like an extra from an ER episode.
Oh, and just to let ya'll know--WMB was fine (no concussion, no stitches) and he and his sister love to talk about "the slide incident" and how cool it was to "race" in a golf cart. Kids. It's all about the golf cart to them...
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