Archive for the ‘Home Sweet Home’ Category

I wrote this a few years ago, but I’m reposting as a hint to my mother, who hijacked my Wii Fit six weeks ago…

The moment the entire aerobics class turned their heads toward me and gave me a thumbs-up, I got hooked. These wonderful people care about me! They’re genuinely thrilled for my achievements in class! They want me to succeed! I’d love to invite them out for coffee after class to thank them for their sincere endorsements –  except they’re not real. They’re characters – or Miis – from my Wii Fit. And yet, I long for their approval.

Thanks to the Wii, Mom’s gone mad. (more…)

Here’s one from my GoodHousekeeping.com days that, sadly, still applies:

“Did you try on the coat?” my mother asked.

The coat…um, which coat?

She had given me several coats and some sweaters that she decided she didn’t want anymore, so I wasn’t sure which coat she meant. I figured it must be the “expensive one” she mentioned when she handed me the pile of stuff in the school parking lot on Halloween, while I, dressed like an Oktoberfest waitress, was busy rushing off to run the party in my son’s fifth grade class. (more…)

This is it: The week I’d find out what kind of mother I really am. It’s the week both of my children are away together at sleep-away camp for the first time ever. And it’s the week I find out whether, seven years from now, I’ll be the kind of empty nester who:

 A. turns the kids’ rooms into shrines where I cry myself to sleep at night. 

OR

B. sells the house and leaves no forwarding address.

I miss them. I do. But not in the weepy, lost-without-my-kids kind of way. I mean, it’s not the first time we’ve been apart. They sleep over at my in-laws’ house fairly regularly. But unlike at camp, they call every night with the run-down of their day. As a bonus, they sometimes arguewhile I’m on the other end of the line, all smug in the knowledge that my mother-in-law will have to break up that fight.

Of course, I spent much of June/July 2007 battling cancer in the hospital where I ached for them every single day. I’d put my cell phone on speaker so the nurses and my roommate could listen to them play the piano for me while I stifled sobs in my pillow.

But this is different. This is the first big step toward wondering where they are and when they will come back with my car. It’s the portal to the white-knuckle-nights of their teen years, and the do-you-really-need-a-waffle-iron shopping trips for their dorm rooms.

When I drop them off at college, will I cry on the way home? Or will I crank up the radio, singing along, “Na, na, na, na, hey, hey, hey, goodbye”?

The answer, it seems, came at a museum. I had a few minutes on Tuesday (hell, I had all day…the kids weren’t home) to drop by the Museum of Modern Art near where I’d eaten lunch, only to discover that it’s closed on Tuesdays. So, I wandered next door to the American Folk Art Museum, where I saw lots of things that reminded me of antiquing with my mother:

Makes me want to traipse around a muddy Massachusetts field, lugging crap historic treasures my mother has purchased for her antiques business. But then I saw this: 

Yes, that’s right: It’s a ball made from a Wonder Bread bag. This thing had to have rolled over from MOMA, where they are currently displaying such “art” as a bale of hay and a piece of wax paper that appears to have been scraped against a cheese grater and then framed and hung on the wall.

“This isn’t folk art,” I mumbled to myself. “This isn’t art.” And suddenly, I wished my kids were there, especially Nicholas, my 13-year-old artist who, just last week, snapped a well composed photo of the Cape May Lighthouse with the intention of painting that image upon his return from camp. No doubt they would have cracked wise about the Wonder Bread ball, turning it into a running joke whenever we buy bread at the supermarket or make grilled cheese sandwiches. Suddenly, I really missed my kids, because I would have shared that with them, along with this:

 He is surrounded by Christmas Seals from 1960, as though some kindergartener had gotten into Mommy’s desk while she was watching “Guiding Light,” and defaced the painting willed to her by her grandmother, who had brought it to America on a ship from Italy a century ago.

Jesus Christ.

What kind of empty nester will I be? A or B? Or perhaps C. None of the above. The good news is that I have seven years until I find out for sure. Until then, I will stay out of the museums unless the kids can tag along.

No wonder.

Share, share: What kind of empty nester will you be?

1. The Super Plus setting on the washer machine.
2. Putting vacuum bags on the shopping list.
3. The shopping list.
4. Remembering if you yelled “Knock it off!” or “Cut it out!” last.
5. “River Monsters.”
6. Shoving another bowl into the dishwasher before you cram it shut.
7. Wondering if that sound is your well being emptied by a hose that filled up the bucket oh, about 15 minutes ago.
8. Wondering if that sound is your wallet being emptied after calling the well maintenance company people, who said something about “refracturing” and “redigging,” both which sound very painful.
9. Following the trail of sugary green liquid from the freezer to the bathroom to the… Oh. God. No. Couch.
10. Can I say “River Monsters” twice? No, okay, “Mythbusters” re-runs from 2005.

While we were on vacation “down the shore” in Wildwood, New Jersey, last week, I found signs everywhere that, frankly, I’d like to post in and around my house. As the hostess of the frat house for middle schoolers, I do believe that these rules should apply here as well:

Tell us: What signs would you like at your house?

Yeah. That's me. Nowadays though, they carry their own stuff. Soon, they'll just text me to pick them up.

You’re not sure where the smell is coming from, but you’re pretty certain it’s dried lemonade. You’d leave it — it is even more lemony fresh than the floor cleaner you should have used 10 days ago — but it attracts ants. Hey, maybe they’ll help you figure out where to mop.

There’s sand on your kitchen floor, surrounding your washer machine, and in the sheets you just put on your bed, courtesy of little people with big plans for the summer ahead. After all, school is out and you’re not. You, you’re in your house, trying to figure out where to go today so that you don’t spend yet another day cleaning up the never-ending mess and breaking up fights.

You think about what Phyllis Diller said: “Cleaning the house while the kids are little is like shoveling the walk while it’s still snowing.” (more…)

Shifting from working woman to stay-at-home mom can cause culture shock. Anything you learned in the workplace no longer applies. Or does it?

Transfer: Moving the baby from your right arm to your left. 

Downsize: When you finally fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans again.

Floating Holiday: Spending Labor Day in the kiddie pool, trying to keep your kids from drowning each other.

Receptionist: Your four-year-old, who has just discovered the Talk button on your cordless phone.

Excused Absence:  Surgery. Or a full body cast. Otherwise, you’re pretty much on duty all the time.

Company Picnic: Ice pops and tee-ball in the driveway on a warm Tuesday afternoon.

Performance Review: Annually, in bed, on Mother’s Day. You’ve done a good job when you receive homemade greeting cards, flowers and what appear to be Froot Loops mixed with grapes and chocolate chips.

Equal Opportunity Policy: Everyone is given an equal opportunity to fold the laundry, but you’re the only one who ever takes it.

Reception Area: The spot near the door where the kids shower Daddy with hugs and accolades, even though you’re the one who just spent eleven hours making new outfits for Barbie, reading You Can Name 100 Cars twenty-three times and vacuuming dried Play-Doh from between the couch cushions.

Sick Day: Doing the same thing you do every day, only you feel worse than you normally do.

Company Stationary: Whatever scrap of paper you can find to scribble a note to the teacher on before the bus arrives – usually, the back of a Toys R Us receipt.

Layoff: “Would you lay off the Cheese Doodles? I’m making dinner!”

Environmental Protection Compliance: A Diaper Genie and a can of Lysol.

Company Parking: Between the tricycles and the recycling containers.

Multi-Tasking: Emptying the dishwasher, filling sippy cups with apple juice and calling your child in sick (again) to the school nurse – all at the same time.

Overtime: Over time, most stay-at-home moms realize there is no overtime in a job that never ends.

Maternity Leave: The hour or so you get to yourself while the hospital nurses clean, weigh and put that cute little pink or blue hat on your newborn.

9 to 5: A half-day.

The little one is about to permanently corrupt his big presentation, due today.

The first time I worked from home, way back in the early 90’s when the only people who worked from home were piano teachers and marijuana growers, my neighbor confessed, “I couldn’t do that. I’d be out playing golf every day.”

Now nearly 20 years later, lots of people work from home, and not all of them dash out to play golf in the middle of the day. (more…)