You Know You’re Crazy When…

Monday, October 15th, 2012

…right before you get on a plane with your husband, you email your closest girlfriends, your aunt and your brother a document titled “Final Wishes” that spells out exactly how you want your children raised, what type of schooling they should have and what sort of life you want them to live should you perish.

Yes folks, it’s called rock bottom crazy and I hit it last week.

Phil and I were flying to a wedding in Sante Fe. This is the first time we left both kids behind. Something I regretted and vowed to never do again. (Though drinking until 1 a.m. at the wedding and then sleeping in was a treat so I may retract that sentence.)

Earlier in the week I had our will all updated, legal guardians set, etc. But then the what-ifs started to creep into my brain. In a last minute frenzy I typed up the document and sent it out. Thing is, I didn’t feel crazy. Still don’t really. It made me feel saner.

After my cousin was killed earlier this year, I figured that having your bases covered was prudent. My aunt and brother agreed. My two girlfriends told me to go back to my shrink (who happens to be a hypnotherapist). I am heeding their advice, but more for my general need for a tune-up.

Needless to say, we got back safe and sound. My heart was aching for my babies and I said I wouldn’t leave them again. Then a work gig came up and 48 hours later I found myself flying to New York. Ack. But it was a quick 1-day shoot and I was back. My plane didn’t crash. And Phil didn’t go, so at least one of us would be around, god forbid.

My next trip is in a month. To Vegas. With one of my best–and most fun–friends. (Yes Dena, I’m talking about YOU!). Phil will stay home, so I’m covered. But after that, I swear, I’ll never leave my kids again… or on second thought, just seek the professional help I clearly need.

Anyone else want to tell me their version of crazy to make me feel better?

Airplane picture courtesy of Shutterstock

Do You Hate Music Class? Let’s Confess.

Monday, October 1st, 2012

Emmett’s music class makes me barf. Not literally, but I seriously hate it. Why? With Fia, all we did were Mommy and Me classes, including music. Perhaps it’s the teacher. Or the sticks banging on a hardwood floor, jarring all my senses. Or maybe it’s the fact that the teacher keeps saying, “When your child starts to make their first noises, like lalala, that proves Music Together is working. They are vocalizing what they hear from the class. That’s why it’s so important to listen to this music at home.”

Are you f-cking kidding me? Homework from a baby music class? Attributing first sounds to the world’s most annoying CD? I think when Emmett coos and laaas he is simply developing language skills that happen um, normally. Who in their right minds listens to this sh-t at home anyway? Okay, I’ll admit on our mom-kids getaway last week it was the only CD in the car. And Teddy and Fia were whining so we put it on. But it was STILL IN THE WRAPPING PAPER!!! BECAUSE I HAD NO INTENTION OF EVER LISTENING TO IT!!! (By the end of the drive I was ready to shoot myself.)

Maybe I’m just having an off-day, but I’m not sure I can take another class. Twirling a scarf around while trying to get my groove on with Emmett at eleven o’clock in the morning is just not fun. I suck at dancing anyway. Unless I’m drinking. Then I think I’m really good.

This is the difference between your first and second kid. The first time around you’re looking for connections with other moms. You’re also looking at how to get through the day. With number two, you’ve already got it down. I don’t need any more mom friends. I’ve got my posse and between our Failure Hours and beach trips, my calendar is full and our club is closed.

Maybe instead of class I should park myself next door at the taco stand, eat my burrito and have him laugh at the Spanish music blaring. I won’t leave with a headache from excruciating songs in my head. Plus, for $5 it’s a much better deal. And god willing, it won’t make me barf.

My New Version of “Mom-Up”

Wednesday, September 26th, 2012

My nanny has to be off the rest of the week for personal reasons. Of course, when I first found out, I panicked. I know, I know,  I can hear Cassandra in my head: Mom-Up like the rest of the world. Well, I am. Just not in the traditional sense. Two words:

ROAD TRIP!

In my previous travel-obsessed life, I would get antsy if I were home for more than a few weeks. Since moving to LA and having a house–oh, and a second baby–I have barely traveled beyond the perimeter of our neighborhood. To give you an example: Fia was on something like 18 flights the first year of her life. Emmett, so far, has only been on one (for his baptism). He doesn’t even have a passport yet. Gasp.

Cleo’s time off is actually perfect because I feel a bit antsy right now. I mean, with kids, the routine is so, well, routine, that I find myself getting a bit bored; wanting to shake things up. I decided the best way to do this was to flee–with babes in tow. That way I don’t have to watch the clock. Instead, we’ll all have an adventure. And room service. Time will fly whether it’s a disaster or not, simply because it’s a break from the daily grind.

I enlisted Courtney and Teddy to come along too. We’re heading to San Diego. We got a hotel right on the bay, so the kids can frolick in the sun and sand for a couple days. Our room goes right out to the shore, and since it’s the bay, there are no waves. I am convinced there won’t be much “work” involved. Because if any of you have taken your babies to the beach for just one day, you know how much labor it takes. Umbrellas, towels, chairs–all for a mere two hours. Then you break it all down to rush home for a nap. Or because your kid is hungry. Or you’re all overheated and cranky. Possibly all of the above. My beach experiences with two kids haven’t exactly been serene.

I know this all probably sounds whacked, because I’m sure lugging all the crap and three kids down to SD for a 2-day getaway will be exhausting too. But at least it will be 2 days worth, rather than 2 hours worth. So there is more payoff in the effort (at least that’s what I’m telling myself.). Plus, to stay home in a non-air conditioned house with a baby who won’t take long or regular naps just doesn’t sound as fun. (I’m sure Phil will appreciate the house to himself.)

So folks, I’m checking out the rest of the week. Wish me luck on my version of Mom-ing Up.

Picture at beach via Shutterstock

Fia Friday: Ballerinas in Blue

Friday, August 24th, 2012

When I was pregnant with Emmett, I used to joke that if he ends up being gay, then Fia will have  a sister. (I know, really bad joke.)

But, from the looks of these pictures, I’m on the right track. (Okay, another bad one. Sorry. Trying to keep things light after my rough patch).

Phil went to London for work last week. He promised Fia he’d get her a present. All week Fia and I debated what he was going to get her. She kept coming back to, “A blue tutu for Emmett.” I’d say, “And one for Fia?” “Yes, but mostly for Emmett.”

Well, Da (her word for Dada–in line with the whole British thing) heard her loud and clear.

I will add that right before he got home, she added, “I also want a cat, a dog, and a cookie.”

 Sorry it’s so blurry. But they are constantly on the go!

Can They Parent Without Me?

Thursday, August 23rd, 2012

The week before last a tragedy hit my extended family. The loss has been tremendous. But throughout the grieving process, you find moments of humor. Something my mother-in-law said to me is one of them.

We were leaving her house after Emmett’s baptism, heading to the airport. Phil was taking the kids home on his own while I went on to South Dakota. I was rushing around in a panic, telling Phil everything he had to remember to do for the kids while I was away. I was calling Cleo, explaining everything to her as well (as if she isn’t there every day already. Hello control freak!).

We got in the car and I turned to his mom and said, “Whew. This is going to be hard. I hope Cleo and Phil will be okay on their own.” To which she replied, (and yes, I’m putting this in bold), “You know what is really hard? When you come back and realize they’ve held it together just fine without you.” AAAHHHHH. Eh. She was obviously speaking from her own experience and we both burst out laughing. Thing is, she was absolutely right.

I am happy to report that I got home and my kids, my husband, my house, even my cat–were all unscathed. Thriving in fact.

It feels good to know we can laugh again, even in the worst of times.