My name is Kathy, and I am a list freak. In fact, if you read my column regularly, you’ll know that I’m Queen of the Bullet Point. It’s how I often write, it’s how I usually talk, and frighteningly enough, it’s the way I think. Here’s why. In bullet form. Oh be quiet.
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“What’s this fancy envelope?” I ask Gideon, my 7 month old, spooning vegetable mush in to his mouth. I decided to open the mail this morning between swallows because even though caring for an infant in my forties has me so exhausted my head feels numb a lot of the day, I still feel compelled to multi-task. My new favorite tandem activities are checking e-mail on my phone while breastfeeding, when I’m not busy making dinner while wearing my child as a hiking accessory.
Gideon opens his mouth like a blonde bird begging for more grub worms. I give him a lump of squash while I slide my thumb underneath the seal of what appears to be an invitation. I think, “but no one we know is getting married.”
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It’s our oldest son’s first vacation. We’re headed to Family Club Med Ixtapa, an all-inclusive resort on the fabulous Mexican Riviera. As we pack the night before the trip, my wife, Debbie, is a little nervous about going to Mexico with a six month old baby. I’m more nervous about who we’re going with.
Before I go on, let me be clear about something. I love my wife’s family. When I’m done, some of you may have the impression that I find them obnoxious, annoying, intrusive, irresponsible, ridiculous, baffoonish, drug-addled, and borderline insane. And while technically this is true, they’re also some of the warmest, kindest, most fun-loving people you’d ever want to meet.
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Sometimes the pacifier habit will phase out on its own. But sometimes your kid is entering Kindergarten and people are giving you looks (no judgments here). It’s time to bring in the big guns. Getting your child to give up the pacifier without major drama can be quite a challenge. Here are ten tips, which might make it easier.
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I was definitely not feeling pissy when I Googled the one term that, quite frankly, makes me nauseous. I was curious, is all. What are people saying about supermoms these days?
I was expecting cutesy articles about how to be a pretty, waif mom who is also a CEO who is also running her own business and growing her own organic vegetables. I was not expecting action figures.
But honk my hooters, there she was in all her glory: The SuperMom action figure.
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Having a baby is like being offered a trip to Neptune. People you know have gone and they say,
”It’s great, there’s nothing like it, everyone should go!”
And so you plan your trip and book it with the travel agent.
When you ask what it’s like after you go to Neptune, she won’t give you a straight answer. But the fact is, everyone you know who has gone to Neptune is just DIFFERENT now. They are changed and can’t explain all the reasons why. But you think, that won’t happen to me, what could happen, I’ll still be the same person right? I mean, REALLY, how different could my life be?
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When my mother remarried when I was 10, she married into a large Italian family that ate dinner together once a month, at least. Where you sat at the table said everything about your rank in the family. My stepfather sat at the head of the table next to his shriveled up parents, then came the aunts and uncles, then the cousins and mailman, then me and my younger brother. I think my mother sat somewhere in between; it was hard to see her over the vats of ziti.
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There was a time when my two year-old only wanted me. I was her sun, moon and stars as I should be…I’m the one who went through labor and delivery for crying out loud! And while I did find it a tad irritating to hear her cry when I had to pee or moved momentarily out of view, I was generally overjoyed with the attention. I knew my daughter loved me always, but being adored by her in that way was intoxicating as a first time mom. I had never experienced anything quite like it before.
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My friend Anna and I had barely sat down to lunch before I moaned, “I think I hate my husband.” (Anna is single right now. No kids. Nice shoe budget.) I continued: “I’m tired of his dirty socks on the floor, wet towels on chairs, empty milk cartons in the fridge, dusting, vacuuming, washing sippy cups. He actually had the nerve to tell me—after handing me the kid—that he needs a break!” Anna proceeded to tell me about her sister, who is a mother to three, and how they had had an almost identical conversation days before. Here I was, thinking I was dropping some kind of bombshell about my husband when all along Anna and her sister had been standing at the signpost, “Men can suck,” waiting for me to arrive.
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Despite our ravenous appetite for organizational products, news articles and TV shows, very few people feel that they’re effectively staying on top of the chaos. In a recent survey, we learned that over two thirds of women worried that they were not organized enough. Nearly as many indicated that they were constantly frustrated that they never able to get as organized as the experts say they should be. And worse, most felt they would never be buttoned up enough, no matter how much help they got.
