It’s Money, Honey

June 15, 2010 in Small moments | Tags: , , , | 2 comments

Small and I were at the mall today enveloped in consumerism, surrounded by homogeneity and comforted by grease masquerading as “meals.” Don’t get me wrong. I love to shop. But in a nod to our reduced income over the last year, I have made an effort to avoid places that might tempt me to hand over the plastic.

I discovered today that my not-so-silent struggles to embrace a level of frugality I once eschewed have made an impression, however slight.

As Henry munched happily on his bribe (“If you behave yourself while Mommy tries on these swimsuits, we’ll go to the food court for lunch.”), the frosted blonde sitting at the next table over began rummaging in her large Coach handbag. Coins clanged on the linoleum. Henry froze. “She dropped money!” he mouthed at me. “I’ll get it!” He was out of his chair in an instant and onto the floor.

I made a split-second decision not to point out his unsanitary choice. In that same moment, I overheard the woman murmur to her ringletted, preschool-aged daughter, “It’s just loose change. Leave it.”

But there was no calling him back. For 1) he has adopted his older brother’s selective hearing tendencies and 2) I had already resolved to roll with the situation.

And that is how I ended up watching my four-year-old do the army crawl through flecks of ketchup, bits of lettuce and the mushed remains of an errant french fry or two underneath a strangers’ table at the food court.

Within seconds, he had cheerfully deposited one penny, two dimes and a quarter on the table next to the daughter. The mother barely looked at him when she thanked him. Completely unperturbed by her overly bright tone, he registered only her two-word expression of gratitude. My gratitude was for my compassionate son and his social inexperience.

His brown eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction as he returned to his seat. I leaned forward. “That was a very kind thing you did. You’re very helpful. Thank you.”

Smiling, he returned his attention to his uneaten McNuggets.

Germs be damned. I didn’t remind him to wash his hands.

Hot Cross Buns of Steel

June 10, 2010 in Mary and Fitness | Tags: , , , | 4 comments

It’s my least favorite time of year again. Swimsuit season.

Unless you are a woman in competition for your own reality TV show, you know what I mean. I will venture to say, without scientific research, that most women are critical of how their bodies look in spandex. It doesn’t matter who you are or how much you weigh—even bikini clad women (how I envy you!) think they have trouble spots.

I am an average height and have a medium build. I like to eat. I don’t like to exercise. I have a horror of aerobic classes due to a marked lack of coordination and an aversion to perky people. I look decent enough in regular clothes but am reluctant to let myself be seen in skin-tight scraps of fabric that are supposed to simultaneously conceal my problem areas and flatter my assets. Call me a skeptic but that does not seem possible. Catalogues and internet sites are full of “miracle suits” for sale; women’s magazines have swimsuit style guides for all body types. Who do they think they are kidding? Am I really asking too much for a suit that makes me look good, is comfortable, is appropriate for chasing children and yet stylish enough to wear on a cruise? Let’s not forget that I’d prefer it to be affordably priced. My three children may aspire to higher education.

I have been wearing the same swimsuit for seven years. It does not meet any of the above criteria except one. I have tried others: the swim mini (can you say grandma?), the boy short (there’s a reason they call them “hipsters”), and, in desperation, the floral halter top (sing it with me – ‘Do your boobs hang low, Do they wobble to and fro’) but I keep coming back to my plain old one-piece. Now that I am really thinking about this, there were two summers that it stayed bunched in the bottom of my sock drawer. Those summers I was nursing babies and my bosom was a size that could not be constrained. What a shame it was that my stomach was uncontainable too.

About every six months, I swear to myself that I am going to get into shape. It usually lasts a couple of weeks and then I am too (insert any of the following adjectives: tired/busy/lazy/bored) to continue with the program. My biggest success thus far was in January. For my birthday (at my request!) my husband bought me three sessions with a personal trainer. My trainer was awesome and for a month, he really motivated me to work hard. I saw results – my jeans fit better, muscles I had forgotten I had made an appearance, my mid-section started looking less muffinish and more pancake like – and then we got the dog, deconstructed the kitchen, and I just…stopped working out.

This time, too embarrassed to contact my trainer, I joined a gym. Tomorrow is day one (for the 47th time) on my quest for less squishy abs. Stay tuned. I’ll keep you posted.

Cultural Differences

June 3, 2010 in All in the Family | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Over the kids’ spring break, we took a day trip to Montreal, Canada. We took in the Biodome, the Insectarium (shudder) and part of the Botanical Gardens. We topped the day with a delicious sit-down dinner at a favorite restaurant – big props to the kids who were willing to expand their (rather narrow) palates, if only for the evening.

But really, I wouldn’t be sharing enough if I didn’t share this little gem. On one of many trips to the bathroom with a child in tow, I noticed something unusual about the standard wall-mounted dispenser in the ladies’ room. Translation unnecessary. I think the U.S. should upgrade our dispensers. Much more fun. Now that’d be a party in your pants.

Mr. Clean Meets Mother Nature

May 19, 2010 in Small moments | Tags: | 1 comment

Small is quickly becoming a germaphobe. I can’t pinpoint the origin of his latest obsession but I know for sure that it isn’t me – I believe in the three five thirty second rule, will eat off someone else’s plate with his/her utensil, and have been known to “clean up” the kids’ creemees (Who can stand the drips?).

Just for the record: I won’t eat off just anyone’s plate so no need to fret that I am becoming a freegan.

Anyway, for weeks now, Henry has refused to drink from any water bottle he suspects has been contaminated with someone’s spit. The family is not allowed to take “bites” of anything Henry has on his plate and he will not eat anything that has been served to someone else. Until today, I was the sole person exempt from this rule.

As of 1:32 p.m., eastern standard time, I was deemed unclean like everyone else.

It happened like this:

“Mommy, I wan’ a drink.”

I handed him my water glass. “Here you go, buddy,” I said.

He peered into it skeptically. “Doeth it have your germth in it?”

“Umm,” I hedged. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“But it hath your germth.”

“It’s fine, Henry. You’re thirsty, aren’t you?”

“Why are your germth fine?

“Because you’re my son. You came out of me.”

The explanation just slipped out. I don’t know what I was thinking.

“What??”

“Well, you know that when you were a baby you were in Mommy’s tummy. And then…you were born.”

We looked at one another.

“I want another glath.”

I got him one.

I know when to say when.

The Moon or Lady Gaga?

May 6, 2010 in Origins | Tags: , , , | 1 comment

Today was one of those gorgeous Spring days in Vermont – the sun shone brightly, puffy cotton balls floated in the blue sky, fields were awash in shades of green and dotted with yellow.

And there I was, in my minivan, totally oblivious to the beauty around me wrapped as I was in angst. I was considering the meaning of my life and was wrestling with the question: If someone offers you the moon, shouldn’t you take it?

For someone recently did just that…and I turned it down.

It’s a flaw of mine to skew glass half-empty. Instead of marveling over the magnificence of the moon, I worried about how it would fit into my life, what toxic substances it might introduce into my atmosphere, whether I was ready to shoulder the burden of its care and maintenance.

Yes, I am purposefully being cagey and no, I won’t go into the specifics. While it’s true, in creating this blog, I voluntarily put details of my life in a public domain; it’s untrue that I eschew privacy entirely. Maybe the best part of having a blog is that as its creator, one gets to pick and choose which anecdotes to include and which to stuff in the deeper recesses of the family’s toy box. But I digress. Back to the minivan.

At the stop light, I continued the fruitless pursuit of deciding whether to regret a decision I had already made. I was in a sightless, soundless, self-absorbed zone. Although the passenger side window was open to let a certain red dog stick his nose out, I was barely aware of it until another car pulled alongside me. Their music, without any sound barriers, was at blasting volume. Paco and I looked over.

This is what we saw: Two big guys (imagine Jake and Elwood without the hats and jackets), in an electric blue Dodge Charger, staring straight ahead, singing and punching their fists in time to the beat.

This is what we heard: Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance.

This is what we did: Laugh until I snorted.

At some point during the ten seconds before the light turned green, my mood shifted. I remembered. Life is meant to be enjoyed.

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