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Go Nigel, Go!
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Would You Like To Buy My Monkeys?
Jan
22
We had playgroup at my house today. And since I like to celebrate things, and Chinese New Year is just around the corner (February 7th for those of you not in the know), we did it up Chinese New Year style. That means, I made a snack with a theme.
It’s a rat pudding cup. Because 2008 is the Year of the Rat, which is pretty much the only reason you might serve children food bearing a resemblance to a rodent.
Then, I showed the kids Chinese numbers from one to ten alongside our numbers, so they could see how cool and different they were. I had found a website with audio pronunciations and I learned them ahead of time so I could count to ten in Chinese correctly for them. And I showed them the Chinese symbols for the days of the week. I had learned how to say those in advance, too. Dave made fun of me for it and called me a dork. So, I said, “Xing qui tian,” which means “Sunday,” but Dave didn’t know that. I could have been telling him to blow it out his ass for all he knew. If you can’t beat him, confuse him, that’s what I like to say.
I also prepared a craft - rat puppets, made from construction paper and small paper bags - but we didn’t assemble them at playgroup. Because of all the playing, which is really the top priority of the playgroup. So, everyone took one home as a remembrance of this fine day where I showed off the cool and colorful calendar I got free from the China Star restaurant last week.
Dec
19
There was only one thing that went wrong during yesterday’s now famous Playgroup Christmas Party. It was really just a little something, in terms of the time it took to happen. But. It was so embarrassing and traumatic; it has become the reference point by which I will measure my life from this point on.
When was Lucy born? Right after THE INCIDENT. How long have Dave and I been married? Well, it was before THE INCIDENT, so at least X number of years.
You see, I’m a procrastinator. And while I said I spent the last month planning and anticipating the party, which I did, in my head; I did not spend the last month putting those plans into action. I saved the action for the very last possible minute. It’s what perfectionists like me do. We wait until the last minute to do things for fear of failing miserably. I mean, the more time I have to do something, the greater that something I do should be, right? But if I wait until the last moment and then pull off something great under the gun, I can feel good, because I delivered against the odds. I can also tell myself that while what I did was good, it could have been better if I’d had more time. Sure, I’m the one who made it a race against the clock, but that doesn’t matter in crazy Leslie’s brain.
So, I saved the bulk of my housecleaning for the party up until the day before. I mean, who can’t clean 2,000 square feet of dwelling space for four adults, one toddler and four cats in less than 24 hours?
The answer would be me at five months pregnant.
So, around 1 a.m. on Monday night / Tuesday morning, I conceded defeat to the powers of filth and clutter and made a compromise. In other words, I got so freaking tired, I took some shortcuts. I did not wash down all my woodwork; I swiffered it. I did not wash all my windows; I spot cleaned the finger marks. I neither folded and put away my clean laundry, nor did I sort and wash my dirty; I threw it all in my bedroom. I did not repair Julia’s ripped books or clean her dirty toys; I threw them in my bedroom. I did not haul boxes meant for the attic to the attic; I threw them in my bedroom. I then ripped into the boxes while trying to find the Santa sack I’d purchased last year and I neither replaced the items I pulled out of them nor did I restack them in an organized fashion. I also piled a box fan, one humidifier, a sewing stool, various scrapbooking supplies, boxes of photos, books, and cds into my bedroom. After I turned out the light to go to bed and I knocked various unidentifiable items over, I did not pick them up. I just neglected to pick up my feet and, therefore, created a path from the door to my sleeping spot. When I woke in the morning, I did not make the bed. I did not lift a finger in that bedroom. I simply shut the door and gave Julia a very stern warning that the door was not to be opened during playgroup under any circumstances at all.
This meant that during playgroup, Julia opened the forbidden door and invited all of her friends in to hunt for monsters, which one of the other playgroup mothers discovered first. To make matters worse, her daughter was hiding in there for the monster hunt and did not want to come out. So, she had to go and get her out. She not only viewed the scene but had to go in and experience my pit of humiliation and retrieve her child.
I was mortified.
I’m not certain what my next step should be. A written apology? Perhaps I should just let it go so as not to draw more attention to it. Or now that the room is clean, perhaps I could invite her over and be certain that she walks past the open door to see the now spotless bedroom to prove that I’m not as negligent as that room may have insinuated. And my unborn baby really was not conceived in a pig sty.
I don’t know people. I guess what I really need is for you all to tell me that you have a hidden room like that. You do, right? Oh for the love of my sanity, please tell me you do.
Dec
18
After a month of planning and anticipation, the day finally arrived. The Playgroup Chrstmas Party. Julia and I have been so excited about hosting this event. And I’m telling you people, it was AWESOME. We have the best playgroup in all the land. Seriously. You so want to be in our playgroup.
I made and served my standard Santa cupcakes, among other delicious things.
I stacked those edible Santa heads on tiers and surrounded them by cute little keepsake Christmas characters like this -
- each displaying the face of a playgroup member.
I had also made a video slideshow of our playgroup from the past year and put it on DVD as a gift to each of the parents. We viewed it after everyone arrived. Then, the kids played until a special visitor arrived.
I don’t know about you, but I think that’s the hottest Santa I’ve ever seen.
Throughout the chaos, I was able to grab a tiny bit of video. There’s a 20 second snippet of my very hot husband Santa in action here.
I wish I had caught the kid’s reaction when he first came through the door. It was priceless. I’ll never forget Julia and her friends jumping around and shouting, “It’s Santa! It’s Santa!”
We had worried a little bit that Julia might recognize her Daddy through the costume - she’s not easily fooled. But we knew all was well when, after Santa left, Julia told me, “I wish Daddy could have seen Santa!”
Once the big man had left the building, the kids exchanged gifts, which was glorious because the presents were so very thoughtful and appropriate. Every child was gracious and happy, and incredibly willing to share their new toys. I’m telling you - we have the best playgroup in the world. And that’s the best Christmas present I could ever receive - a home full of friends. And maybe seeing Dave in a Santa suit.
Nov
14
Let’s Talk Turkey
by Leslie
I hosted our playgroup yesterday. And while each of us normally hosts only once every other month, I’m also hosting next month. Because I freaking LOVE the holidays. And having kids here is a great excuse for me get all up in that holiday spirit.
Yesterday, we celebrated the turkey. Because three-year olds get turkeys.
You may be thinking that it’s the month of Thanksgiving and perhaps we should have been giving thanks at playgroup. But I struggled to come up with a gratitude game. And I really wanted to make a hat. It is common knowledge that turkeys make great hats.
Here is Julia posing in her hat. See that arm up there? High fashion modeling.
And then, we had a Turkey Hunt. I hid a bunch of them all over our family room. Then, I set the kids loose to find them. Once we’d gathered them all up, we attached them to a big piece of orange paper. Because orange makes me think of Thanksgiving. And three-year olds really like to stick things to other things.
I was also sure to plant my new turkey pumpkin in the center of the table, so everyone would have to look at how cute he is.
And I made a turkey-themed snack. Turkey tracks! Ritz-like crackers smeared with a cheese spread and topped with Chow Mein noodles fashioned to look like a turkey footprint. I did not get a picture, because we ate them all.
Before everyone left, we drew names for a Christmas gift exchange that will go down at the playgroup Christmas party at our house next month. It’s gonna be awesome! Gifts, food, fun and a visit from the man in red. I cannot wait! Until then, if you have any great ideas for Christmas games, snacks and activities, I’d love to hear them.
Oct
9
Pumpkin Pandemonium!
by Leslie
Today, our playgroup went pumpkin picking at Burfield Wiseman Farm.
It was the double-freaking-butt-kick.*
We started with a wagon ride out to the pumpkin patch, where we made our pumpkin selections.
Julia was a discerning pumpkin picker. Her pumpkin had to be big. It had to be smooth. It could not have any flat places. And it had to pass the kick test. She looked like my husband on a car lot.
Her method proved to be valid. She came up with a winner. A big, heavy winner that Mommy got to carry.
Then, it was on the wagon to head back for a snack.
One of the mothers brought rice cakes, an orange philly cream cheese spread and raisins for the kids to make edible jack-o-lanterns, as well as apple cider and the most delicious pumpkin bread I’ve ever tasted.
We ate. The kids played. The parents chatted.
Then, we took off for the corn maze animal encounter. We walked through the maze and met a furry new friend around every corner. Goats, ponies, calves, alpacas, sheep and ducks were all part of the tour.
Do you want to know what the funniest thing in the whole wide world is to a pack of three-year olds? Well, next to blowing raspberries. It’s this. There is nothing funnier.
I’m so glad we made this trip as a group. Sure, Dave and I could have taken Julia and it would have been fun, but not near as fun as it was with eight of her friends.
I hope with all my heart that my girl will always know the feeling of being with people who enjoy and appreciate each other. I hope she’ll always have those special people who “get” her and laugh with her. And I am thankful for these people who are showing her that the world is a better place when you have friends to share it with.
*double-freaking-butt-kick Copyright © 2007 by Suz.
Aug
15
I hosted the playgroup today. Did you read that?
I hosted THE PLAYGROUP today.
It went down here. At my house. Where I live. In my very own environment.
Mothers brought their children to hang out with my child in our natural habitat. In our crib. In our casa (they tell me that’s Spanish for house. Or Italian. Whatever you prefer).
Why didn’t I tell you about this yesterday, you ask? Well, you know how much I freak out about playgroup on a regular day. Can you imagine the torture I’ve been putting myself through? Okay, whatever you’re imagining, multiply that by infinity.
Mainly, I focused all my crazy into cleaning. I cleaned every single toy Julia owns. If I couldn’t clean them to my satisfaction, out they went. Just so you know, my satisfaction meant just like new. Then, I organized the clean toys first by function, then size and color. It was very serious business. And I didn’t even consider at 3 a.m. this morning as I was sorting Mr. Potato head parts that I might be going a little overboard. It had to be done. As I washed down walls, scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees and cleaned the windows, my family tried to reassure me that the playgroup members would have fun regardless of how clean my heating ducts were. Deep down, I knew they would. Because they were coming to be with Julia and Julia is fun. But, I wanted to have fun, too. I knew I couldn’t have fun unless my house was so clean we could do emergency surgery in there.
And it didn’t just start yesterday. I’ve had Dave working like a slave out in the yard for five days. All of that so I could say, “I’m sorry things are such a mess.”
Who am I kidding? The house doesn’t get better than this. I had to call myself on my own fib and admit that I cleaned all night because I so wanted them to come and enjoy being there.
In addition to providing the play place, I was also responsible for providing snacks. I bought a fruit tray, a veggie tray, Keebler Snack Stix and offered beverages from my cool-beaner cooler thingy on the porch. I offered juice, water and pop (you know, for the grown-ups). Reasonable, huh? You cannot imagine the restraint it took to keep it that simple. I agonized over the snack decision. In the grocery store. I stood there in the beverage aisle, “Okay, water. I should definitely have water out. And some juice for the kids. 100% juice, though. Apple. Well, maybe everyone doesn’t like apple? I’ll get white grape, too. Hmmm, maybe a fruit punch? I’ll get pop, too. I like pop. I better get something else, though. Not all the moms drink pop. Lemonade! Yeah! And tea. They like iced tea. Hmmm…but I shouldn’t just get one kind of pop. What if they don’t like diet?” Eventually, when my cart was overflowing with drinks, I decided I better tone it down. I needed to make room for the food part. I think I did pretty well, although the fight I had with myself at the IGA was pretty severe. It lasted five aisles and by the time I reached the cashier, she seemed a little scared of me. And when she had to ask me if I wanted the 7 pound bag of ice or the 22 pound, I almost felt sorry for her as I weighed the pros and cons of each as if the fate of the planet would be determined by this decision. All she wanted was to get this weirdo who keeps talking to herself the hell outta there. But somehow, it felt like the most important decision in the world to me. I mean, if I screwed up the ice, they may never let me host playgroup again!
After all the preparation for this day - cleaning the house, organizing the toys, doing the yard work - I thought I’d covered everything. I’d eliminated all evidence that we owned pets - you couldn’t find a single cat hair on the couch or piece of poop in the yard. Then moments after everyone arrived, my cat Emily brought us a snake.
Anyone want a cat? Stinkin’ cat.
But, still. Fun was had. The kids played in the playhouse, dug in the sandbox, bounced balls, slid down the slide, rode the Barbie Jeep, jumped in the baby pool and slipped on the slip ‘n slide. They ate fruit and veggies and crackers and drank juice. They thought the snake was awesome. The played in the play room. They played in Julia’s bedroom. They played all over this land.
And now that it’s over, I suddenly feel the ache in my feet. And my legs. And my shoulders. And my head, too. I realized I have an underboob heat rash. I have a chemical burn on my hands from all the cleansers I used. And dammit, I’m hungry. But it was worth it. I hope they come back.
Aug
8
Do you ever just feel completely inadequate in every possible way? Like everything is just too much and you’re not enough? Physically. Emotionally. Intellectually. Financially. That’s how I’m feeling right now. And it’s ridiculous and it’s completely selfish because no matter what I’m thinking about, it all comes down to me thinking about myself. Obsessing about myself.
At playgroup today, as I looked around at the other moms, I couldn’t stop thinking, “I’m the fattest one in the room. I probably weigh more than any two of these women combined.” I try to console myself by thinking about when I was thinner and cuter, but who cares about what I looked like when I was 17? I don’t even care. Then, I decide I’m going to get back on that diet and exercise everyday…which, I’ve actually been doing for a few days now, the exercising…but, still. I just feel like I’m not skinny enough. I’m not pretty enough.
Then, the kids are playing and having fun. Now and then one of them will do something they shouldn’t and their mother will correct them. I’m in awe of these women who, with their soft and gentle tones, lovingly guide their children toward better behavior. I take notice of their tone because I have just corrected Julia a little too loudly. Too loud and too desperate. I realize I used the kind of voice that might be appropriate when you’re child is in immediate danger - like standing in the path of an oncoming car. But Julia wasn’t in danger. She was just doing something that was annoying to everyone else and was ignoring my request for her to stop. And then I worried - why do I sound like that? Do I sound like that when I talk to her all the time? Am I really about to lose my shit because she isn’t listening, which is absolutely understandable for a 3 year old who is having the time of her life with her friends?
One of my fabulous new playgroup friends is a lawyer and all I can think about is what I’m not. I’m not a lawyer. Hell, I barely completed a semester toward my master’s degree. I listen to the way the moms in the playgroup speak and suddenly I feel very…white trash. I hate the words I choose to use and the sound of my own voice begins to bother me. I realize that, while I’ve been so mindful about whether or not Julia is using her manners, I’ve just interrupted and neglected to say ‘excuse me.’ I feel like a barbarian.
I look around at the house we’re sitting in - at the stainless steel appliances and thoughtful decor. I don’t have stainless steel appliances. I don’t have professional photographs of me gazing lovingly at Julia, of our intertwined hands and her baby feet hung in symmetric patterns around the house. My house has probably never been as clean as this one. At least not for more than twenty minutes. I let Julia eat food in the living room. I even found a piece of peanut butter toast under my hutch last night. It sat there all day, if not for two days. My furniture is not new. My flower beds are in need of weeding. My yard needs landscaped. My piano needs tuned. My counters are not marble.
And while this kind of thinking isn’t the norm for me, today it’s consuming me. It’s eating at my brain and making me sick. While I can tell myself - “So, you weigh more than you should. You have a husband who adores you, who can’t keep his hands off you, who tells you you’re beautiful every day and, more importantly, does all he can to make you feel that way. So, you sounded a little harsh with Julia. She was ignoring you anyway. She just hugged you and said you were the bestest mom in the world. She’s a happy, well-adjusted child. You know that yelling at her isn’t a habit. It was a slip up. Parents slip up. And so, you didn’t complete your master’s degree. So you’re not a doctor or a lawyer. Aren’t you doing exactly what you want in life right now? And your house? Look at it. Look at your home. Isn’t it fabulous? Leslie, look at all you have.” - I still feel crummy.
Pity Party at my house!
Gosh, even I am irritating myself with this.
Ugh.
How can you all stand me?
Oh, and while I’m being all pestiferous - have you entered the Haiku Buckaroo Contest?
*from the 1972 The Cat In The Hat TV Special
Jul
26
Timeline Of A Neurotic Freak Out
by Leslie
Sometime in March - I make friends with a mom at the YMCA. Our daughters become friends, too. I am very excited. Making friends has been hard for me.
Saturday June 9th - Julia and I hand deliver an invitation to her birthday party to our YMCA friends. The YMCA friends say they will be there. We are excited.
Wednesday June 27th - YMCA friends cancel on the party. They have a good reason. Everything’s groovy.
Thursday July 5th - YMCA mom invites us to join a playgroup. We say yes. We’re really pumped about the playgroup.
Wednesday July 18th - The first play date goes down. Julia has a blast. She likes the kids in the playgroup and I do, too. There are four moms (myself included) and they all seem nice. I talk way too much (especially about my website), but no one stuffs anything down my throat to stop me, so I’m feeling pretty good. We stay about half an hour longer than we should have, but leave on a high note.
Later on Wednesday July 18th - I compose an e-mail to the YMCA mom with a lot of exclamation points thanking her for such a great time. She had said she’d like to review some books for my site and that she was interested in a magician that is going to be at the library the following week. I ask her about a book and give her the scoop on the magician.
Even later on Wednesday July 18th - YMCA mom e-mails me back. She says she has something to do on Monday, but will try to be there for the magician. I notice her message has significantly less exclamation points than mine does (exactly 50% less).
Monday July 23 - Julia and I go to see the magician. He is really good. YMCA mom does not show. Julia pretends to do magic the rest of the day.
Later on Monday July 23 - I receive an e-mail from YMCA mom. She said she tried to come to the magic show, but thought it started at 2 p.m. instead of 1 p.m. She fowards me directions and details for the playgroup this week. (The mom that is hosting playgroup this week lives on a lake. She suggests we bring suits to let the kids swim.) I check the e-mail I sent the YMCA mom about the magic show to make sure I told her the right time. I did. I remember the birthday party cancellation thing. I begin to think that maybe she doesn’t like me as much as I think she does.
Even later on Monday July 23 - I RSVP for the playgroup on our website. I say that we’re coming. I send the mom who is hosting the group an e-mail through the site to say that we’re looking forward to it and ask if there is anything we can bring. Again, I use many exclamation points because we’re really excited.
Very, very late on Monday July 23 - I am in bed thinking about how much I talked at the playgroup. I worry about it. I get up and look at the last playgroup e-mail with the directions in it. I notice the correspondence between the other mothers. Lots of exclamation points. The correspondence with me? Not so many.
Tuesday July 24 - The playgroup host mom sends me an e-mail. She isn’t sure who I am. I am offended. I stomp around the house. Didn’t she remember us? How could she not remember?
Later Tuesday July 24 - My mom and I are watching Julia play T-ball. I tell my mom about the e-mail. I obsess about it. I recall how exhausting it was for Julia to have playgroup and piano class on the same day last week. I pose the following question:
I decide that we will not go to playgroup.
Even later on Tuesday July 24 - I e-mail the moms from the playgroup and say we won’t be able to make it. It is because of our schedule. I do not say it is also because I feel a little unwelcome.
Wednesday July 25th - Playgroup goes on without Julia and me. I miss our old playgroup from Wheeling. I remember that they meet on Wednesday, too. I cry a little bit.
Thursday July 26th - Julia and I hang around after Kindermusik to talk to the teacher and one of the other mothers. They ask about playgroup as I had gushed about how grand it was last week. I admit that I did not go. I say it is because of the schedule and then confess that I felt poopy about the e-mail thing. I tell them that we were going to swim at the lake. I discover our Kindermusik teacher lives right next door to the house we were supposed to visit for playgroup. The Kindermusik teacher tells me how nice that mom is and that there must be a misunderstanding about the e-mail. I think I have a big fat mouth.
Later Thursday July 26 - I arrive home from Kindermusik and check my e-mail. There is a message from the YMCA mom. She says they missed us at playgroup and give us the details for the following week. There is also a message from the mom who hosted the playgroup. The message is very nice. She says they missed us. There are lots of exclamation points. She explains that the first e-mail I received from her was in response to an empty e-mail she received from my address - the message I sent through the playgroup site delivered an empty message, so she wasn’t sure who it was from. I feel like an idiot.
What have I learned from this? I AM A CRAZY PERSON.
Sep
13
I made a major Mommy faux pas today while at an indoor play center with Julia’s playgroup.
About ten minutes after we arrived, just as I was talking about Julia’s recent, successful, spontaneous self-motivated potty training attempts, she pooped. At first whiff, I didn’t think it was Julia because the odor was so strong and she was playing all the way across the room, but it quickly became obvious that she was the source of the overwhelming stink that was the result of an exclusive two-day canteloupe diet and could only be described as a Doo-Doo Heartbreaker. Thankfully, I had thrown an extra Pull-Up in the car, even though I’d neglected to bring the diaper bag. So I scooped her up, made a quick dash to the car and came back inside to take advantage of their wonderfully baby-friendly bathroom facilities.
I got Julia cleaned up and changed, but was left with a diaper dilemma: How do I get rid of this smell? I had already tried dropping the loose pieces of poop into the toilet to flush them, but this poopy was really welded to the Pull-Up. I didn’t have any diaper baggies and didn’t think it was wise to walk the bomb out through the play area and to my car. So, I wrapped it up as best I could and shoved it deep into the trash can believing the odor would be contained there. We washed our hands and went out to resume playtime with our friends, closing the bathroom door behind us.
The children played and the moms talked. At one point, the subject of this blog and corresponding website came up. I was really excited to talk about it and started to tell them how My Mommy’s Place began and what I hoped to achieve through it. As I went on, the poopy stench encroached upon our area. It was like a Peppy Le Pew cartoon where the swirling, green aroma creeps up and tickles the nose of helpless victims whose eyes bug out just before they lose consciousness. Trying to ignore it, I kept right on talking about this post where I did the unthinkable and wore sweatpants in public.
Later, the woman in charge of the play center came out of her within-earshot office and went into the bathroom to try and resolve the undeniable odor problem. And she was in sweatpants. I could have melted into the floor.
I wondered what I should do. Should I confess and apologize? “I’m sorry I stunk up your bathroom. I really underestimated the power of that diaper odor. Oh, and by the way, I think sweatpants are absolutely appropriate when working in an indoor play area.” I also could have blamed it on exhaustion, citing the brief four hours of sleep I got last night, but it really comes down to the fact that I’m an idiot sometimes, which is pretty obvious. So, I thought it best to leave it alone and thank God that we’re moving soon.
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I Write A Haiku Each Day
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Categories
- Daily Haiku
- Mommy’s Stuff
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You Should Do This
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Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
