New Jersey Moms Blog

Resolving to Keep my New Year's Resolution

Last year I made a New Year’s resolution not to make any New Year’s resolutions because I always immediately break them. Of course I didn’t remember making this resolution until I was in the car one day sitting in holiday traffic and getting really steamed about all the rude people on the road. After someone cut me off and my daughter yelled out, “Watch where your goin’, you moron,” I realized that I might not be setting the best example for my children. I decided then that I was going to break my last New Year’s resolution and resolve to work on my road rage.

 When I lived in New York City, I didn’t really have a problem with road rage. This was most likely due to the fact that I didn’t have a car. Once we moved to the suburbs, though, we got a car and I actually had to do quite a bit of driving. I soon learned that the suburbs are filled with bad drivers. And most of them, it seemed, were always right in front of me. Or behind me. Or cutting me off. Or stealing my parking space. My usual calm response to this was a few choice words, some fist-shaking, and an occasional, full-blown hissy fit.
   

Confessions of an Online Shopping Addict

I confess: I'm addicted to online shopping.

I try to control my addiction throughout the year. I set a holiday budget, and begin purchasing items to gift for the following year, while deep discounts still exist immediately following Christmas. I have an entire closet of "future gifts" and have perfected my gift-giving so much that I finish my shopping for everyone on our list around Halloween - definitely by Thanksgiving each year. But it's at that time that the enticing emails start pouring in. . . .

Black Friday Doorbuster Deep Discounts!

Cyber Monday Steals: Buy The Hottest Gifts Before They Run Out!

ONE DAY ONLY: Up to 75% off in store or online!

I work on my laptop all day long, so there's really no escaping the emails. I could opt-out of the store emails, but then I'd miss all of these fantastic deals! I'd lose money if I opted-out of them, right? It makes me smile and I get practically giddy to see these sales in my inbox, just as the trees go barren and the landscape goes gray and dreary out my office window.

The Real Princess Diaries

      After seeing the movie, “The Princess Diaries,” my daughter decided that, like the girl in the movie, she, too, descended from royalty and it was just a matter of time before she would be called upon to claim her throne.
   

She was five at the time.

In preparation for the expected coronation, she dug out her best rhinestone tiara, fashioned herself a scepter out of a toilet plunger, and waited for the call to come rule her country.
   

“What country is it?” I asked her one day as she practiced knighting her subjects with her scepter. I don’t think the dog appreciated being bonked on the head repeatedly by the plunger, but he put up with it.
    “It is Emilonia,” said my daughter, Emily.
    “And where is Emilonia,” I wondered.
“Oh, you know, over there,” she said flicking her wrist casually in the direction of Europe, Asia, and our next-door neighbors.

Home again, home again... jiggety jig.

This Friday past, I returned to New Jersey from a brief trip to Westminster, Colorado, where I was tying up loose ends of a personal business matter.  While the trip was a success for me in terms of completing my "mission," I left my hometown with a feeling of emotional unrest as the airplane I had boarded just a few moments earlier launched into flight.

You see, it's only been eight weeks tomorrow that I've been living on the East Coast; prior to my relocation here, the Rocky Mountains, Denver Broncos and Wells Fargo "cash register building" were all that I knew as I grew into an adult and began raising my own family.  In the northern suburbs of what some East Coast folks would call "the two-bit cowpoke town" of Denver, I was accustomed to using the mountains as my organic GPS and Interstate 25 as the main thoroughfare from North to South.

My whole way of life has changed since arriving in New Jersey with my two young children on October 15, 2009.

Necessary Edges

Last Saturday me and my kid were potatoing on the couch, chatting about life after high school, grooving on Sponge Bob and out of nowhere he said, "Thanks for making me stay at school."  It really shook me. I felt like I was in the middle of a special effects movie moment where ten thousand rewinds of things I'd done wrong flashed before me and it felt like a chop to the throat.

I saw the time I was furious only winners got little trophies. And when that big kid picked on him.  How bad I felt when I couldn't afford the game system he wanted.  That teacher who was unfair.  And the time his guinea pig, Jacques Cousteau, died. It was as if I'd just watched a lifetime of me blunting the hard edges of his life because he couldn't possibly handle them.  And I felt really bad. 

My son went to a Luthier Apprenticeship in September and since it's not a traditional school (he's learning guitar repair) there's no dorm, no meal plan... And everyone's older than him.  He moved into a small room at a stranger's home with no television or internet and those first few days were torture for all of us; we tripled our cell phone minutes.  He hated where he was living and once he started school and found himself face to face with power tools, hated that. There wasn't a wood shop program in high school but really, if he had wanted to use a band saw I'm sure I would have said,

GETAWAYFROMTHATIT'SDANGEROUSAREYOUCRAZYYOU'LLPUTANEYEOUT!

   

I might hate Santa

My kid just came down the stairs and said, "mom under your bed I think I just saw a box that had an Imaginext Bat Cave on it".

Crap.

Santa and I have had a bit of a love-hate relationship this year. Mostly, my kids love the big guy and I hate him. Let me be clear, I am not a Grinch. I love Christmas. I even spent a night this weekend driving my husband around town while he played Santa for the neighbor kids. I should love Santa. But I don't and I think it's because I am not very good at his job.

Playing Santa for my kids has never been my forte, but this year I am failing miserably at trying to uphold the illusion of his magic. This year, we have the challenge of Santa on a pretty tight budget which includes explaining to our oldest why she still doesn't get things on her list even though she deliberately picked "non-big ticket" items because she is wise to "our" Santa's rules about one expensive toy being the limit. We also have entered the territory of the "illusive" gift. My kids didn't want Zhu Zhu pets, but they did (all three!) ask Santa for Pillow Pets which we found out very quickly were just as hard to come by. How to explain that Santa (who MAKES the stupid things) didn't make them the toy they wanted most? I know, I could search all over the state and the internet for them, but I refuse to pay $200 for a $25 pillow because I can only find it on the toy black market.

Bar Mitzvah Chic

    Getting my dress for a big, black tie bar mitzvah I was attending was the easy part. It was black. It was a dress. It fit. Enough said. No, the hardest part for me was doing all those annoying prep things a woman has to do to get ready for a big event. What does a man have to do… Get a haircut? Shave? That’s about it. However, I needed to put my black tie transformation into effect a good month before the event.

    First on my to-do-list was to tone up my triceps. Having unwisely purchased a sleeveless dress, I was now in the unfortunate position of having to firm up my bat wings so the other guests didn’t think I would take flight when I started dancing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do that much about my genetically pre-disposed upper-arm waddle, but I thought maybe if I did a month’s worth of push ups, I might succeed in reducing the arm flab to more of a wiggle than a waddle.

    Fortunately, the dress hid a good amount of mid-body acreage, and what it didn’t cover, two pair of Spanx would take care of. So I limited my workouts to upper body toning and decided to let the rest of it go to hell in a handbasket until the spring.

    About a week before the party, I went to get my hair cut and colored, so it would be grown in just enough by the big event. Then I went in for a marathon tweezing/waxing session. Why marathon? Well, this is the dead of winter. I don’t know about you, but I need that extra hair growth on my legs to keep me warm when it’s cold outside. Typically I don’t shave or wax from about November until March (for more on this topic, see my earlier article on painless hair removal… and by the way: there is no such thing). Do I start to resemble a Neanderthal by February. Yes. But at least my legs are warm. Is it attractive? No. But when my husband starts to complain, I just tell him I’m starting a new trend.

It's a Wonderful Female Life

There is a sign in my kitchen that I look at every morning. It says "Enjoy life. This is not a dress rehearsal." My mom put it in my husband's Christmas stocking one year and I appropriated it. (The one she got me said "No Whining." Gee, thanks mom.)

Actually, my husband didn't need either of these messages. He's a very "live in the moment" kind of guy and rarely whines. But the holiday season has me thinking about the messages we get in December. You know, how It's a Wonderful Life, and all that. Why is it that all of these tales involve men realizing that the life they have (or could have) is really pretty great? That money and power is not, actually, what it's all about. I can't think of any movies like this that involve women.

The Christmas Card List

There aren’t a whole lot of things I can brag about in the organization department, and the holidays only exacerbate the situation. With three kids under six, a full time job, and the stress that comes along with the month of December, a good day for me is one when everyone is sent to school wearing matching socks. The one exception to this chaos is my Christmas card list. For as long as I can remember I’ve kept a meticulous list of the addresses of friends, family and colleagues organized alphabetically in an Excel file. My list is so accurate that I’ve become the go-to gal for the most up-to-date information. So in the midst all the shopping, wrapping, baking and decorating it brings me great comfort to know that I have one thing under control, no matter how small.

As a source of pride, I approach my Christmas card list with a sense of reverence. It’s a pretty powerful spreadsheet and editing it is one of the most significant activities of the holiday season, one which I do alone after the kids are asleep. Most edits are joyful, like adding new friends and associates who have come into our lives in the past year, or changing a “Mr. and Mrs.” to a “Family” when a new baby is born. Other edits are painful, such as the new addresses that reflect the separate living spaces of a newly divorced couple, or removing a former friend who has fallen out of favor. Then there are the gut-wrenching edits where the simple act of pushing the delete button holds such great significance that you put it off for as long as possible because once you hit that key it can’t be undone. I’ve had to make one such edit in my lifetime—the year my Godmother lost her fight against cancer at age 43—eight long Christmas card lists ago. I remember how I felt staring at the empty line that once held her name and address and how I right clicked and hit “shift cells up” so the space would quickly be filled with the next person on the list, as if that would make the loss more bearable.It didn’t.

Santa Claus is a modern guy this Christmas season with his own online chats and websites

I’m not the kind of parent who likes the “kid crying on Santa’s lap” photo and I certainly don’t relish the thought of waiting on a long line at the mall to see Santa Claus, whether my daughter decides she hates him or he’s her best buddy. Then I discovered some technological alternatives to the dreaded mall trip and I am intrigued enough to try one or all of them.

Hey, if the guy can fly through the air and drop gifts to millions of children in one night, it's about time he had some internet exposure.

A friend sent me a Santa website where you can input specific information about your child (but not too specific), including your child’s name, age, how they’ve been good this year & that special gift they’re craving this season. Then you receive an email with a link to a video greeting from St. Nick himself. It’s free, it can be tailored to each child and it’s quick and easy to set up. My husband and I thought it was great. I got the email after my daughter's bedtime so she hasn't seen it yet, but I think she might prefer it to a face-to-face meeting. 

High School Reunion: Who’s That Girl?

You step across the threshold of the Elks Lodge and freeze for a moment. A small sea of bodies seems to sway at the opposite end of the room like a cluster of anemone. You feel a jolt of panic, wondering how you’ll get through this, who will be here, what you’ll talk about with these familiar-looking strangers. You beeline for the bar. (Hello, watery Cosmopolitan! I don’t think we ever met back in the day, but I’m so glad you’re here.)

Fortified by a splash of Vitamin V, you turn and kick off the parade of Hellos! How are yous! You look terrifics! The knot in your chest starts to loosen. This might actually be fun. It’s only been 25 years, after all, and it’s not like you have any prison time to finesse as you give the overview of what you’ve made of your life. And that’s when you spot her … just there, near the door, looking as nervous as you were feeling moments ago. Look at her: hair too big, eyebrows like caterpillars, those silly parachute pants … and are those – they are! – shoulder pads. Oh, no.

It’s You.

Birds, Bees, Sex, Dollars, and Sense

     When my kid was thirteen I decided it was time to have the talk with him so I walked into his room and yelled above the din of a video game, What do you know about sex?  Without skipping a flick on the controller he said, "Got it covered, Ma."  He was so nonchalant, I mean, I could feel the eye roll but I wasn't deterred, "Dude, you have no idea how much it costs to raise a child from birth to eighteen." And then left the room to let it sink in. 

     I'm sure it occurred to him that someday I would bring up sex and he probably wondered what I would say (Yeah, me too).  Would I talk birds and bees and storks and cabbage leaves? Or go the more clinical Slot A - Tab B anatomical let's pretend mommy didn't just say what she said conversation.   I'm guessing he thought, Got it covered, Ma would neutralize anything, but he was mistaken.  My economic-based version of sex ed left him unprepared and I knew he had no smart quip for that one.   

    

I'm FREEZING!!!

An early blast of arctic air is hovering over the great state of New Jersey. I was dealing with it fairly well until last night, when my husband reminded me that it's not even winter yet.  It's still fall.  WHAT?!?!  You've GOT to be kidding me!  My tolerance for cold has fallen considerably since moving back from the southwest.  I would SOOO like to move to a warm climate right now.  I'd even go to Florida, and I hate Florida.  Ever since the whole "hanging chad" fiasco, I've lost all respect for the state. 

Actually, I think I want to live on the equator. Where is that exactly?  I want to sit my big, pasty white butt DIRECTLY on the equator.  I don't even want sunscreen.  Nope.  I will walk around happily with a burnt booty. 

The Fine Art of Throwing Out Old Toys

With Santa Claus soon to visit our home and drop off toys for a little boy who has been pretty good all year, I find myself struggling with the problem that every mother faces:  which toys do you throw out or donate to make room for the new ones?  Sure, it was easy when my three-year-old was a baby.  The exer-saucer, the soft blocks, the playmat?  Out the door when he grew out of them.  But now this kid has a memory so I must be more careful.

My son seems to have a hand on all his toys.  I'll monitor which ones he has not touched in months, my eye on a few that I think he's forgotten about, only to have him play with them all over again!  Now what? Today I took my chances.  I threw out one of those parking garage toys that I loved when I was little but was pretty much a bust with him.  But it did take up a lot of room, will he notice it's gone and cry for his parking garage?