Saturday, October 22, 2005

happy BIRF-day fer MOM-my

For your birthday dinner, you might think that waiting for 30 minutes in line for Mexican take-out would be a little sad. But then again, you are not me. Consider the beauty in the fact that the two rowdy kids you birthed in the span of 20 months are not tugging on your leg, asking to be picked up, or eating someone's paper menu because they are being entertained in the car by your husband. Then consider the fact that there is an OC Weekly stand at Chipotle and reading it (the Weekly, not the stand)for 30 minutes while in a peaceful line you realize that Orange County is NOT filled to the brim with conservative, conventional, materialistic suburbanites. There are a few outspoken liberal and/or alternative people that come out of the woodwrok to write letters to the editor of OC Weekly, and, apparently, eat at Chipotle with their similarly pierced friends. And then you actually get to eat real carbs because everyone deserves a break from losing baby weight on the South Beach Diet on her birthday. And a Dos Equis, too. And when the evening ends with the aforementioned husband, you know, giving you a special birthday treat (AND I MEAN CARROT CAKE, YOU PEOPLE!) things just can't get any better. I'll take Grace singing "happy BIRF-day fer MOM-my" over just about any other celebration this year.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

He knows me so well.

Me (while holding Natalie's head so that she pukes on her own onesie and not the floor): "Well, today we're off to my monthly affirmation of my own personal parenting choices."

Scott (while wrestling Grace off the potty to wipe her butt even though he's in dress slacks): "La Leche League Toddler Meeting?"

Me (putting on a robe while holding a baby since we are about to open the garage door): "Ten-a.m., baby, you better believe it."

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

The Blooper Reel


I confess. I am one of those moms who think pictures of her kid taking a crap or picking their nose is a memento worth keeping. I take pictures of them spitting up, falling down, the first time they go down a slide by themselves, the first time they wear big girl panties, etc.

I compile all of these photos online and send them out periodically to people near and far. No matter your distant relationship to my family--you get the Kodak Gallery photo album.

There you are, drinking your coffee in your tailored, spit-up-free suit at a real job (unlike me, in sweats stained with baby barf, teeth unbrushed and mascara halfway down my face). You probably have on deodorant. I am wearing Eu d'oatmeal. You open an email from Sarah, thinking, "how sweet that nice young woman I met at the bank thought to email me." Lo and behold you are bombarded with 56 pictures of my kids. Kids you maybe never have met, that you are sick of hearing about, that you thought were cute the first couple times you received a photo album but now you wonder--"Is she really going to send me pictures like this every other month when they are sixteen? What will these potential teen pictures be of, Grace's first period? Natalie's first double fault on the tennis team?!"

One of my dear friend's mothers, who is like an auntie to me, recently responded to my monthly email of pictures that "It looks as if it is a breeze for you and that things are going well." God, I love the timing. This is the same week I received an email from my mom suggesting that I need to be more stern with Grace, an unsolicited photocopy from my father-in-law about better toddler feeding habits, and another shopper at the natural grocery store helping me unload my cart because, "Oh, honey, I can see you really got your hands full."

The truth is that I knew my mom wasn't criticizing my parenting (she has complimented me time and time again and I love her for it) and neither was my father-in-law trying to make me feel like a bad parent. In fact, I do need to know when to be more stern, and the article Chuck copied for me was actually a cute excerpt from a novel he was reading and I loved getting it from him. The woman at the supermarket was honestly trying to help a young mom because she had been there and would have liked the hand. And the reality was that I needed the help. But dang-it-all, we moms are so darn sensitive!! The trifecta of advice I received this week somehow just seared its way onto my insecure mommy brain and I just felt like an exposed failure.

So Auntie Laurie's comment about how I made it look easy was welcome. But then I wondered, "Am I sugar-coating my parenting and my kids' behaviors in these pictures? What about my blog? Does that portray the reality of my parenting successes and failures, or is it, too, a misrepresentation, making me look better than I really am? Is anyone actually seeing the real Roby family, in all its glory?"

So here it is: somewhat of a blooper reel. See us like you’ve never seen us before: Grace, Natalie, and Mommy Exposed. This is more than the answer to a job interviewer who asks smugly, “What is the area you are weakest in?” and you respond, “Oh, you know, I want to be so helpful that I sometimes over-commit and get too busy. I have really had to work on not trying to be so helpful to everyone.” You both know that you are technically answering the question (you over-commit), but you are doing so in a way that actually reveals a strength (your helpful attitude). No, no hidden agenda here. My weak spots (and those of my daughters) for all to see:

• I yelled (yes, yelled) at Grace in the bathroom at the supermarket for not going pee when she said she needed to. No acknowledgement of how she is 2, after all, and is allowed to make mistakes and that I would have been even more pissed had she not told me and actually peed in the cart.
• Grace cries “Up, Mommy, up! In her whiniest voice right when I am at the most critical part of dinner every single night. It’s like she has radar or something. God, kids are so competitive. It’s not enough for her to compete with Natalie; she has to compete with dinner? Sheesh.
• Natalie is a light sleeper. (I know; that’s not a big weakness. But the reality in her case is that she is an angel baby.)
• I waste unimaginable time on the internet each day with the excuse that I need intellectual stimulation. Although I don’t know what reading the Scoop on Celebrity sightings has to do with intellectual stimulation. Sometimes I want to tell Scott about something I read online but have to bite my tongue lest I reveal I actually clicked on a link about Britney's baby.
• I pick my nose in front of my kids and then act surprised when Grace picks hers in public. “Oh, Grace, you know we don’t do that with our fingers! Here’s a tissue.”
• I don’t know when the last time Grace ate a whole vegetable was.
• I buy lots of veggies with great intentions about end up throwing a third of it away when Scott’s not looking because it goes bad too quickly.
• One of the reasons I love the horses playground walk so much is that there is a coffee shop there too and I am addicted to coffee.
• I sometimes play up the hard parts of motherhood so that I will be more respected by people who have real jobs.
• Sometimes I want to get away from the kids. And not for something good, like a date with Scott or a spa day with a girlfriend. I mean, I want to get away from this whole family thing once in a while.
• When Natalie cried earlier today and I ran into the room and asked what happened, Grace said, “I bonked Natalie on the head.” Like she didn’t know it was wrong. Like she didn’t care.
• I am a horrible home-maker. Our home would be in shambles if Scott didn't do way more than his fair share after a long day at work.
• Sometimes I want to hit my kids.


Do I have to now include a caveat about how these things are only fleeting thoughts; I love my kids and husband, yada yada yada? There it is.