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Monthly Archives: April 2013

Sorry, There are no Buns Left in this Oven. Check Down the Street.

For years, since my last son was born, my head and heart still pounded loudly in my ears.  “I want another baby!” They screamed. As I neared the age where another baby would be almost impossible, the pounding grew louder, drowning out all reason.

When my husband, the logical one, whose biological clock was not ticking in panicked booms, found me sniffing my children’s old newborn clothes, he threw some cold water on my baby fever. Repeatedly, he pulled me, okay, dragged me, by my flattened, no longer lactating boobs, back from the ledge of the baby cliff as I tried to dive off ‘unprotected’. (Wink wink)

“No more.” He’d reprimand, as I clutched baby booties and took to sucking on an old binky for comfort.

Slowly, I emerged from the procreation cocoon and began to appreciate my family as it was. That we were, and are, in a really good place. That there were good reasons to quit while we were ahead.

  1. We are old and tired.
  2. We sleep at night.
  3. We can tell the kids to go away – and OMG – they do!

Although knowing and accepting I’m done, do not always co-exist in my sappy, emotional psyche. Maybe because admitting that my fertility days are over, would mean I’m older (see bullet point 1) and that I’ll never again be pregnant (I loved being pregnant. Sigh.), or have all of those cute, little baby things (Wait…I hate the crap I have.). It means I’m moving on to the next stage. (Uh, menopause? Grandma? Hmm, let’s just take the decade and not label it.)

But then my sister-in-law had a baby (yeah yeah, my brother-in-law too). After nine months of expanding (actually 9 ½ in her case), and then a few hours contracting, my sister-in-law (yes, him too) has a beautiful, new baby boy.

I took one look at this fresh, bundle of delicious, and felt my old eggs start to sizzle inside. “Ohhh” I thought, holding his warm weight in my arms. “Ahhh” I sighed, sucking in his sweet baby smell.

Ohhh Ahhh has the perfect little face. He will wear the cutest clothes and is so little and sweet. Can I have him? Please? Mmmmm. The smell of new baby is a fountain of youth. Ohhh, I miss baby cuddling. I gaze into the sweet face of possibilities and see the future… Giggles and eating of feet, lulling to sleep, green peas on the face and a soft mouth saying Mama…. Clinging to my legs when I want to go out to dinner, or walk from the kitchen to the living room, or go to the bathroom alone for just one freaking moment. Screaming “I want a COOKIE!” and “Poopie in the pants!”  Crying for ices, crying for attention, crying for a blue crayon instead of a red one. Waaaa. Waaaaa. “Mommy gimme! Gimme!”

Nooooooo!

I gently hand him back.

It turns out, I’m thrilled to be the aunt, but it’s official, I’m done.

ooh, my ovaries are hurting.

ooh, my ovaries are hurting.

Let’s All Drink to the Real Housewives of BRAVO

I wish I would drink more.

I blame BRAVO.

It may just be the rose-colored, knock-off Gucci sunglasses I’m looking through, but it seems all The Real Housewives (not to be confused with real housewives) seem to be skinny and glamorous and drinking at every occasion.

It’s lunch by the pool. Gauzy, translucent cover-ups. And wine.

Spa party? Egyptian cotton towels. And wine.

Dinner party? Cocktail dresses. And wine.

Tea party?  Long, sundresses. And wine.

Oh no. We suspect so and so has a drinking problem. Designer jeans with strong intervention blazer. And wine, for everyone but so and so, at least until the next dinner party.

Drinking seems to be their reward at the end of a good day or the beginning of a good day. Or bad day. Or any day. I get it. We all need our happy place, but when I look to treat myself, I head straight to the freezer and pull out a tub of ice cream.

Ah, my friend, through good times and bad, you are there. Unfortunately, so are the five extra pounds that accompany you. I certainly don’t see any  Housewives deep spooning a tub of Rocky Road. Most are waifs, saving their tiny bodies and huge mouths for trash talk and bottles of chardonnay.

So, I decided to take a lesson from the lovely ladies of BRAVO. Whether I like it or not, I would drink more so I can look and be more fabulous. Sometimes you just have to suck it up, or actually down, in this case.

I figured I’d start right out of the morning gate. No coffee for me. I’ll take a tall Bloody Mary, thank you. Mmm. Not bad. It made me want to actually sit down, something I never do. I even started flipping through a magazine to check out the over-the-top fashions I will soon be sporting instead of my old gym clothes. I was so into my new morning revelry that I neglected to check the clock. Crap! We just missed the bus, and I forgot to even wake the kids. Plus, now I can’t drive them to school. Damn you, BRAVO, where is my limo??!

The next time I tried my experiment was at the school social. I put on a long, pretty dress and big Kyle of RHBH earrings, and even though I was stuck doing my own hair and make-up, I decided to kick off the evening with a glass of wine to get myself in the mood. And it worked! I was sipping and singing while getting ready. So fun! Although before we left my husband did ask if I let our 5 year-old apply my makeup. Hmm. What could he mean by that? Eh, whatever, where’s my glass?

By the time we reached the party, I was two- three solid glasses in. The minute the valet opened my door to help me out, a wave of nauseous struck and left me clinging to him, quite inappropriately. “Bravo!” I slurred and gave his stunned face a pat. My husband gently put me back in the car and drove us back home. The drive of  shame.

Maybe I was going about this wrong. All the BRAVO fun and fabulous happens when the gals get together. That’s it! So I invited my neighborhood Peeps over for some “Whine and Wine”.  Come on, every good gathering needs a great theme! Shout out to the Bunco party!

We settled the kiddies in the playroom. Oh yeah, there are kids. We’re freaking real housewives! We can’t just leave them at home alone while we drink. Now that would be totally irresponsible. So I pop open a bottle. Okay, I twist off the top to get the party started.

We chat and drink and eat too many chips, but then, Jill’s kid threw a truck at Ann’s kid’s head. Stirred with a little Malbec, it had the makings of some exciting drama. I sat up Housewife straight, with my back arched, my eyes wide and my bra-enhanced chest out. I was wearing a low cut dress a la Housewives, so I wasn’t kidding about my chest being out. I was wishing I had served white so that when Jill threw a glass at Ann it wouldn’t stain my carpet, but my wishing was all in vain. Ann was fine, and the whole thing was brushed aside. Boooring.

Well, my experiment was a surgically enhanced bust. I was no BRAVO Housewife. The wine didn’t make my life more glamorous, it actually made me less glamorous. Case in point, when I looked in the mirror after we got home from the school social that I never attended, I saw I was wearing blue sparkle eye shadow and red lipstick. Uh, ew. I don’t even wear makeup! And drinking certainly didn’t make me thinner. In fact I gained three pounds, probably because I was eating more since I was drinking and didn’t care. Plus, no one wears to the floor dresses with full on cleavage and giant earrings to random events. I kind of looked like an idiot.

I think I need ice cream.

I blame BRAVO.

 

One…Two… Three! Get Out Of The Pool!

I was taking my time, shuffling through my suitcase, trying to figure out my strategy. Two of my three boys and my husband were already at the hotel pool for some night swimming. My middle son, Michael, and I were milking it. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to have a stomach ache, and I hadn’t figured out how to get out of going to the pool.

I usually never even bring a suit, since I have a general dislike of all things water – pools, beaches, my body in a bathing suit. But, for some reason, on the same mini-vacation where I had forgotten to get a pedicure or bring a razor, I had shoved a suit in my bag last minute. Once Michael declared himself fit to swim, I had to make a choice – to wear or not to wear. After some mental tennis, I decided against the suit, instead throwing on a cover-up dress to give the illusion of pool ready, without showing any reality.

Once there, I immediately remembered why I hate indoor pools; the chemical smell, the contrived heat, my children playing in a tank of wet doom. I could never find any true comfort, just an agitated impatience. I sat next to my husband and checked my phone. It was already after 8pm. That was the gift of night swimming. It didn’t last too long.

We rotated our eyes from boy to boy to boy; one a good swimmer, one decent and one new. It was monkey in the middle. One. Two. Three. One – My oldest, playing with a blue ball in the middle of the pool; pushing it under water, then watching it shoot up out of the water and retrieving it. Two – Just a bobbing blonde head and orange goggles, doggie paddling toward the far edge. Three – Right in front of us by the stairs, practicing his swimming.

“Mommy, watch this!” he squealed, his dark curls matted against his head, his dark eyes alight with excitement. Dramatically, he climbed up two of the steps, readying himself, and with one mischievous look back at me, jumped.

That’s when the lights went out.  Complete and utter darkness engulfed the pool area.

I stood, both immediately and in slow motion, surrounded by blackness and the unreal echo of water and people freaking out. Mute and drowning in fear, I reached for my husband. My worst nightmare was this second. My children were in that pool. We needed to jump in. Now.

But before we could, the lights flicked back on.

My heart pounded wildly, and my head whipped around. One – Still in the center of the pool. Two – Hanging on to the edge. Three – On the steps.

The whole thing lasted maybe five seconds. Probably less. I took a deep breath, relief filling my lungs. Then, finding my voice, screamed for my kids to get out of the water.

I knew going to the pool was a mistake.

When I'm on duty, there's only daytime swimming

Yup, you’re cute. Nope, not coming in.