Its New Years eve and here I am getting ready to PARTY!!! I've got the champange, the jello shots. I'm dressed in my funky nightime gear. getting ready to dance and to p-a-r-t-y! Wee its all systems go!!!!....
or...
I am at my parents house watching Shrek dressed in my pj's having eaten chinese food and getting ready to go to bed at 9:35
you decide
either way Happy New Year!!!
This is my last day of work for the next 11 days. While I love time off I am a little scared of spending the next 11 days ALONE WITH MY KIDS!!!!!!!! It is very frightening and I'm not sure that we will all survive but I have created a list of few games to help get me through the next week and a half. Here is the list of Suzie's Games for the Holiday Break:
Get Mommy the Jug of Wine
Who can sleep the longest?
Find the TV remote
Scruby scrub scrub the tub
Being really really quiet is fun
Lets pretend to be mommy and watch all her tv shows (without whining about wanting to watch cartoons)
Shake, Shake, Shake, mommies martinis
Hide and seek for Mommy (who has really left the apartment and is sleeping in the hallway)
The first one to shriek or whine is a rotten egg
and my favorite
Lets all go to Grandmas house!
Ive had many people ask me to describe a little bit about the Jewish Holidays and since its Hanukkah I thought I'd give it a go. I have lots of links if you want more information or recipes. So here it is Hanukkah in the Up The Hill Backward House:
Hanukkah is a holiday that takes place at night but in our house hold it goes on all day long. It starts out like this:
B if you don't unzip that suitcase and let Baby S out of there we are not having Hanukkah tonight!
B if you keep shrieking until Mommies ears bleed there will be no presents! Not one! No way! No Hanukkah for you!!
B that's! It I'm calling Daddy its all off!!! Now take that candle out of your sisters nose or that is really it! No Hanukkah and I mean it!!!!
When the evening finally rolls around everyone gets very excited. We put the candles in the menorah (The Hanukkah candle holder) and we let B choose the colors. B passes out the kepas (prayer caps) his has superman on it. I take out the family Siddur (prayer book) I received at my Bat Mitzvah from my Uncle Sauly. It looks very old and mysterious it had a metal cover and is covered in plastic jewels. We use the top candle to light the others B helps. I start the prayers. And as I begin we all take a breath... as B starts singing Christmas carols at the top of his lunges.
Threats begin again.
We settle down.
The candles are lit. We begin singing and dancing.
And then the cry heard religiously every night PRESENTS!!!! Present Time!!!!
Each child gets one present. Usually it is something small. Hanukkah presents are not big things just small little toys and traditionally the kids get money called gelt. We give them the chocolate kind and we only do that one night as my kids are scary on sugar.
We eat lots of fried food to celebrate the oil lasting in the temple for 8 nights. Ahh the Jews and our love of high cholesterol foods. We eat latkes (potato pancakes) and schnitzel (fried chicken cutlets) and end with sufganiot (jelly donuts). We also only do that one night as I am scary on fried foods.
Then its off to bed to begin saving up threats for another day.
This morning I decided I could no longer go outside with my coat unbuttoned. Due to my expanding waistline I was unable to warmly affix the coat to my body and since the temperature had fallen to a balmy -10 I thought buttoning the coat might be a necessity today.
The only way to accomplish buttoning my coat was to move the buttons. This would involve (gasp) sewing! Bravely facing the unknown I took out my needle and thread and began by threading the needle.
I noticed as I did this that the hole had gotten mysteriously smaller than it had been the last time I used it. In fact it was no longer a hole but a pore. An tiny itsty bitsy pore that dared me to try to put some thread though it. I squared my shoulders and decided to face the task head on. No microscopic needle hole was going to do me in! I cut the thread like a pro sucked on the end and began threading.
I held the needle as far away from me as I could hoping to use my telephoto sight to thread the needle. I pushed it through and success! I was not old! I was not loosing my sight! I was young and spry! I had done it in just one try!
Then I moved the needle and realized I was not the owner of a brand new threaded needle. I had threaded the air and that would not help move my buttons.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the bright lights. This was the kind of light that showed every blemish every ounce of cellulite. It was mean light and today it was my friend.
I held the needle and cut the thread again. This time I would not fail. I pushed and shoved and squinted and twisted but even in the bathrooms harsh light I could see that needle was no closer to being threaded than Elmo was to being the voice over for Darth Vader in Star War 105.
Finally I realized there was no choice. It was time to get out the big guns. My Granny glasses. The kind that costs $10 from the drugstore and fit in their own cardboard flowered carrying case. A real fashion statement. I stood in the bright light mean light looking like Old Mother Hubbard. Holding that needle out to the end of my arm dressed in my granny glasses bathed in the unforgiving bathroom glow. I battled and I grunted and a danced around but finally. It was done. The needle was threaded and I was victorious.
I looked up and both my kids were looking at me silently. I thought I could see pity in their eyes as they quietly shook their heads.
Get the walker out kiddies Granny's home.
I know it is not right to create a list about why my coffee maker is better than my husband. Its not politically, morally or socially correct. In fact only a real sicko would create a list stating why their coffee maker was far superior to the father of her two children. Bad Suzie bad! So with that in mind:
10 Reasons Why My Coffee Maker is Better Than My Husband:
Dear Little S:
I'm writing this letter to let you know about a few things that have been on my mind of late. I am your Mommy and love you so I feel its my duty to be up front about an issue that needs discussion.
First off let me start with a few positive points. Thank you so much for not calling me Daddy anymore. I really appreciate it. Mama is much better. And I gotta tell you I love the wet, snotty, open mouth kisses you give more than chocolate.
While I am very impressed with your developmental leaps I do have an issue that needs to be addressed.
Your interest in the toilet is admirable. I'm hopeful it may lead to early potty training and that is great but I must point out a reoccurring social fopah you have been discovered doing on multiple occasions. Believe me I say this because I love you and want what's best for you.
Please stop sticking your hand in the toilet after your brother has gone pee pee.
Please stop splashing around in the pee pee toilet water.
And for goodness sake please please do not do a full hand lick after the pee pee potty play.
Thank you for your attention in this matter.
Love
Your Mommy
Let me begin this story by telling you I am not normally an angry person. I can take a lot before I blow. But sometimes someone so annoying and so perky hits me like silk wrapped nails on a black board. Sometimes someone comes around who is so horrible and so caustic I would rather be locked in a small car with two kids who suffer form extreme motion sickness and recurring gas.
This is the story of one of those people. Let call her
CINDY
My story begins in the gym. As you know I gained about 15 pounds on vacation. So I was working out as hard as humanly possible without breaking a real sweat after all this was my lunch hour I needed to go back to work and no one likes a sweaty office pal.
I was reading OK magazine and I had a people tucked away for later so I could find out why Tom Cruise really jumped on that couch when suddenly there she was
Hi!
I looked down from my stair master and she was CINDY. A 20 year old skinny perky beast with happy little boobies and a scary over sized smile. She was pure evil and I knew it. CINDY was trouble.
Hi I'm Cindy It said again have you had your personal training session yet this year?
I looked down at her perfectly bouncy hair and her sassy little smile and tried not to scream in terror. I tired to ignore her pretending to care about Posh Spice's new not ever eating diet but I could feel her eyes burning into my skull.
Hi Cindy. I said trying not to show it my fear. I've heard they can smell fear from a mile away. I'm not really into that kind of thing. I have two small kids and this is the only time I have to myself to read and think but thanks.
I opened my OK magazine and tried to concentrate on Britney addiction to vanilla lattes while hoping some brave knight would appear and save me from the CINDY. But I had no such luck she was on the loose and I was face to face with the beast.
Hi! She squeaked again. You know working out with a personal trainer could really help you control some of those problem areas.
The terror was overwhelming. Please I thought go away CINDY go away!
Instead I took a deep breath and summoned my courage
Cindy. I'm not trying to be rude but I really look to forward to having a little peace and quiet at the gym. Thanks but I'm OK.
I could feel Cindy's eyes traveling over my body. I knew she was sizing me up maybe thinking how I would taste with a little holindaise sauce.
But have you met your personal work out and weight goals this year?
And that was it. CINDY may have been one scary 20 year old perky perfectly conditioned personal training demon. But I was an almost forty year old Mommy of two. I think I could take her if I had to. The anger broke free and the Mommy monster was on the loose.
Listen CINDY I am about 30 pounds over weight I have the neck the size of a tree trunk. I said spitting my venom in her direction I am still fighting baby weight and I fit into nothing. But the question is do I want to work out with you. You 20 year old teeny tiny person who is named CINDY and wont leave me alone in the gym? No CINDY I don't so please back away CINDY before I blow a big fat gasket and roll you in sugar and eat you as a snack.
She took a deep breath smiled. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
OK but if you change your mind look for me. The names CINDY.
I'm still shaking
I'm back! Did you miss me?
I had a great trip. I'm relaxed. I'm tan. Ive gained about 15 pounds.
So here are my trips highlights:
Upon reaching the airport we noticed the bag contained the children's clothes were no longer with us. Yes we had left the kids suitcase at home. After a little tiff in the security line between hubby and I we relaxed and resigned ourselves to a week of naked dirty kids.
Spending $130 dollars at Wallmart in FA so we would not have a week of said dirty, naked kids. (By the way I love Wallmart. We don't have them here in NYC. Next Ill be discovering chick a fil a.)
B freezing during his bunks performance of a hip hop show where had to be removed from the stage. (This is a step up from the last trip where he fell off the stage)
S getting the entire top row of her teeth suddenly at 3am one evening.
Getting food poising Saturday night and heaving my guts up.
But the question remains did I enjoy myself?
Am I relaxed?
Was it fun?
Was it worth getting a second job and going into debt to pay for this trip?
Yes yes yes yes yes!!!
I am not here. I am on vacation until Monday. I have a lot of hopes for this vacation.
I want to reconnect with my kids
reconnect with my hubby
eat some good food
maybe have a few cockatils
let loose a little
But mostly I want to relax
I'm going away tomorrow for a whole week. I am so excited. I will miss you all but this has been a pretty intense year and a break sounds so good.
I am excited but still the little nagging travel worry bug is flying around my head whispering tales of plane trouble, crying babies and just plain travel worry.
I used to be a world traveler. I went to Egypt Israel, Zambia and Spain (among others) and all with a small backpack. I would pack an hour before I got a taxi to the airport. I would have no hotel booked for my arrival. I would land with a guide book and a vague idea of what I would be doing.
I remember riding a bus in Turkey with no idea which direction I was going in with no one who spoke English and a guide book that included the phrase I didn't do it please call the American Embassy (an important phrase indeed).
I remember landing in Egypt and realizing I had forgotten to pack underwear. Trying to buy panties in a Muslim country was an experience. I tracked all around Cairo's bazaars with a little piece of paper that read I have no panties in Egyptian written by the hotel desk clerk who got a good laugh of my predicament.
Now every facet of my trip is planned. I know which room Ill be in. Which deck chair I will use. How many feet it is from the bar to my room.
I pack lots of extra underwear and plenty of clean socks. I could open my own pantie bazaar for the packing impaired.
My guide books need only include the phrases Can I have another mud slide please and which way to the pool?
And yet that worry bug is still a flying. Crazy aint it?
This morning I was taking my daily 5:30am shower. I get early so I have a little time alone. As I stepped out of the shower I saw five little fingers pressed under the door. They wiggled a greeting and slipped away. I opened the door to find B laying with his arms stretched above his head face down on the floor waiting patently for me to emerge. I invited him in the bathroom and he began to talk.
Mommy why do you take showers and not baths? I dreamt I saw Captain America and he was flying and he said Hi B and I said Hi Captain America.......
He chatted away as I got dressed
Mommy why do dinosaurs not be alive anymore? Why do they have big big poops not little poops like I make?
He chatted on as I put on my make up
Poops is a potty word right? I am in the potty so I can say poop poop poop. Why you not say poop mommy?
Little S got up. She saw me and smiled and reached out her little arms and yelled
Daddy!!!!!
As I nursed her B continued
Now I am out of the potty so I cant say it anymore but i wanna say it mommy can I huh? Can I say poop?
I brushed my teeth and S laughed and laughed.
I brushed her teeth and she spit on the floor like her big brother (although he spit in the sink)
Then she smiled a big toothy grin (with her four teeth)
You know I don't think there is anymore of a perfect way to begin my day.
(OK so sue me I gotta do a sentimental post every now and then. I think its in every mommy contract to ohh and ahh over their kids every now and then. Don't worry tomorrow Ill be crabby old me I'm sure.)
I'm into trying new computery things. I twitter, I blog, I've my spaced, I've even downloaded a few itunes and I don't even have an ipod. So knowing how savey I am my "friend" (I now say that in quotes) convinced me Facebook was the place to be. It was like the studio 54 of the 21st Century. The hip in place to be. So as not to loose any more street cred (I wear more mom jeans, go to bed by 9pm, and make meatloaf on a regular basis. My hip points are sorely lacking) I decided to go and see what all the fuss was about.
This is what I found in the first 10 minutes:
1 high school prom (ummm lets call him a date)
4 old boyfriends
3 mean chicks who hated me in high school
1 guy who still remembered that unpleasant comment I made in 1986 and was still holding a grudge
and some guy named Ed who for the life of me I cant remember
I grew up in Philly and although it was a big city it felt like a small town. Everyone knew everybody. Every silly thing you did was broadcast to all citizens of my town (at least it felt that way). As a teenager I did a lot of silly things. I think in fact I was the queen of silly things. When I left Philly I breathed a big sigh of relief and I thought now I can start fresh.
And I did
Until Facebook.
Did you ever have that nightmare where everyone you knew in high school were still there dishing the dirt on you. Pointing and poking you all over again. Where you never really grew up and felt just as vunerable as you did all those years ago? Did you?
Well welcome to Facebook!
Here are the 10 things B learned about Thanksgiving this year:
Pies I'm all about 
. Yes this Thanksgiving on top of the turkey and string bean casserole I will be making pies. For some reason it has become my obsession.
I went to sleep thinking about pies.
Woke up thinking about pies.
Bought more pie ingredients on the way to work
Talked about pies at work.
I'm making
sweet potato pie
pumpkin pie
pecan pie
and a Marlboro pie (its some 1812 house recipe I saw on tv)
And I'm making these pies all with my rashy gangrenous hands. I'm not even sacred about loosing a 
in the pie that's how much I care about the damn pie.
Try to engage me in conversation I dare you because it will somehow involve 
. I don't know what happened. I used to talk about a lot of things. I talked politics culture I even went galleries but none of it was as all consuming as my recent thoughts about pie.
I have this weird rash between my fingers that is driving me crazy.
(Yes I've reached the age where I complain endlessly about my aging body. Just wait until I blog about my cholesterol. You guys are in for some fascinating stuff)
I looked up rash on google image and it was pretty darn gross people with the flesh falling off and blisters and for some reason about 70 crotch shots of really really scary looking problems. I thought yuck how can I do that to my bloggy friends first thing in the morning so instead I will post this
Did I have a good weekend....hmmmm? Well my sister in laws bridal shower was this weekend. It was lovely and she looked great and the food was wonderful. My only complaint however was when I left the table for one minute I walked in on a conversation about how much weight I had gained since I had given birth to S.
You would think they would stop and have the decency to start talking about celebrity rehab or the latest Paris Hilton scandal when they noticed me.
Nope.
They continued the conversation.
Well it is hard to loose weight while nursing. She still has such a pretty face. Shame though.
Well that just made my day. I already felt very bad about a terrible dye job I had received (Whats so hard about light brown people?) And sitting in on a weight conversation about me was just as much fun as having toddlers redecorate my new couch.
I got mad and proceeded to eat several rolls and desserts in retaliation.
That'll show em
(I am feeling pretty blue right now. I would be very pleased to receive any empty compliments you may have especially concerning my looks. I know you've never really seen me so improvising and lies are totally welcome. Thank you)
Where is Suzie? Where has she gone? She has not responded to my sassy stories. She has not commented. She has not twittered. She has not regaled us with her wit at all. Her blog page sits silently showing a Wordless Wednesday of days gone by. What's up?
Has she been abducted by a traveling green martians who have no children or husbands and like to drive in fast cars and think tummy flab is sexy?
Has she run away and joined a troop of high flying acrobats who have made her their queen and worship her by giving her foot rubs and frozen drinks and let her sleep late every morning?
Or did she in the throws of a cleaning frenzy try to remove the huge ugly scary looking dust particles and bits of old food and grime she saw in her clear mac key board with q tips and end up smashing the thing against the trash can rendering it useless and broken ?
One can only wonder.
I love my hubby I do. But why? Why?
I've asked him so many time. Pleaded, demanded but still every morning there they are. The used coffee cups with dirty napkins inside.
Its just the grossest thing. Putting my hands into that mug and pulling out that used dirty napkin. It makes me gag.
I know marriage is a give and take. The blending of two lives to create one family but if I had known it would involve taking dirty old napkins out of used coffee cups...well... I would have taken a much much longer honeymoon.
This weekend I was walking with my hubby pushing my big red double stroller past a bar near our house called Porkies. In the window they were adverting a beer pong world championship. In case you (like me) have never heard of beer pong (you should totally be as ashamed as I that you do not know about this intellectually stimulating and dignified sport) here's a handy dandy definition:
Beer pong (also called beirut, lob pong, BP, etc.) is a drinking game in which players throw a ping-pong ball across a table with the intent of landing the ball in one of several cups of beer on the other end. When a ball lands in a cup, the defending team must consume all of the beer inside that cup. The game is won by eliminating all the other team's cups before all of one's own cups are eliminated. The losing team must then consume all the beer remaining in the winning team's cups.
Outside Porkies stood a young girl maybe twenty one or so. She was wearing a I'll pong for you hand made tee shirt. She had mascara smeared on her face and a big smile.
My husband taking a chance she was a beer pong finalist (he's smart like that) began to engage her in a run down of how her team was doing. As they chatted away about the awfulness of her teams ability to play beer pong and how astonished they were they were even in the illustrious beer pong finals I began to day dream.
(Que fuzzy screen and dreamy music)
I saw myself sitting in my dorm room with so much time on my hands I could hand draw my beer pong tee shirt. I saw myself gathering together my friends to practice our beer pong craft. Setting up cups and bouncing that pong pong ball. I saw my brow winkled in concentration. I saw my hand shake with determination as I ponged my ball to the waiting cups. I saw myself waking up on a lazy Sunday knowing the only thing I needed to do for the day was compete in the world beer pong finals!
For one shining moment my bills sat unopened. My children were not yet born. My hubby was just some dude I had yet to meet. I was a beer pong finalist and I rocked!
When suddenly a shout of "I gotta go potty!" shattered my pretty beer pong dream.
I was not a finalist I was a mommy and wife I had bills to pay butts to wipe and I didn't even own a ping pong ball.
Maybe next year.
This weekend was not what I would call fun. In fact I would call it a hell fest. I trip through awful land. A peek into the land of terrible horrible. All courtesy of my son B. B was in rare form. He tackled his sister with some impressive WWF moves. He created some riveting works of art on the dresser in his room. But his most impressive feat took place Saturday afternoon when B had metamorphosed into a slobbering high pitched Helli monster.
We decided to take him to the park as we were all becoming a bit scared of the beast that used to be B. It was cold and gray but we bundled them all up and off we went. The way the weekend was going I would have taken that child out if giants were dropping boulders from the sky.
When no one could feel their fingers anymore we decided it was time to go home. We let B run ahead as Hubby and I walked behind trying to find strategies to handle our little beast when suddenly I couldn't see B anymore. Hubby set out on a quick jog to find him. As I watched I thought of which toy I could take a away as a punishment.
I saw hubby running in another direction then another. I realized B was gone. My heart rate started increasing the sweat began pouring down my face as just about every Sally Field's movie ran through my head. I began to run and scream for B. Poor S just held on to the stroller for dear life as ran like a mad woman looking for my darling little B.
Suddenly a man grabbed me. "Are you looking for a little boy in a yellow and blue hoody?" I nodded choking back the tears. He ran with me to a park bench outside of the park on a street facing a huge intersection. There was B curled up in a ball. The minute I saw him I burst into tears. Yelling "What did you do?"
"Why are you crying mommy?" He asked. His Daddy ran up a second later resisting the very huge impulse to throttle him. And echoed my "What did you do?" question.
B got very quiet realizing just how much trouble he was in. "You have no idea how lucky you are!" I yelled and sobbed. "You could have gotten hit by a car! Someone could have taken you! You could have died and never seen your mommy and daddy again! You have done a very very bad thing! Very very bad!"
Ive never been so happy to hold that little beast. And stroke his little monster hair.
And I don't think Ive ever been so happy to see a Monday morning in my life. Hooray for Mondays!
Everyone in my house seems to have diaper rash (kids that is I don't know about my hubby but I think he's OK).
S has a diaper rash that looks like she is just raw. It is an ugly one we had to buy a cream to cure it that was more expensive than most of my wardrobe.
B has the privacy rash. The rash that makes him close the bathroom door and pretend he has it all covered even though the boy cant wipe his bottom to save his life.
The result of these rashes are two very cranky kids and the constant need to apply lotion. I thought I knew a lot about my family but I have learned something new during this rashy time The Up The Hill Backwards family has buttocks of iron. When I go to apply these creams those kids clamp down like no body's business. The jaws of life couldn't pry those suckers apart. I wish there was a strong butt cheeks Olympic sport cause my family would get the gold.
As I write this I realize I will now be forever connected with google searches involving iron butt cheeks but hey when I get a chance to brag I go with it.
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By the way thanks so much for all your great Christmasy advice, You guys rock!
I have a question for you. Let me start at the beginning.
Christmas is a very hard time around my house. We are Jewish and we do not celebrate Christmas at all. Not a little not a smidgen not an iota not a nano particle. On this point I will never budge.
Its not cause I'm a meany (although I may be one its completely unrelated) and I don't judge other Jews who choose to follow the red and green road. I just believe Christmas is not a secular holiday. Its like Brooklyn Day being celebrated in Manhattan its just not our thing.
Christmas is a huge holiday in the states. Christmas music plays in every store. Pictures of Santa's and chimneys are everywhere. Green trees hung with ornaments take over the streets. Even his beloved Elmo hangs antlers on his red fuzzy head and sings carols.
Its hard to be a little Jewish boy watching all of this. Poor little B wants Christmas so badly. He dreams of Christmas. He has little sugar plums dancing in his little yiddle head. He dreams of Santa sliding down our chimney (we dont really have one but a kid can dream) and stuffing his little smelly socks with candy. But alas it is not to be.
After watching a tear slide down his Jewish nose as he thought of the Christmas not to be. I decided to talk up Chanukah's reminding him of eight days of presents. I talked up Passover and getting presents when he finds the Afikoman (the hidden matzoh). I bubbled enthusiastically about the lighting the candles every Sabbath. It was exhausting but after quiet a talk up I finally finally I saw a little smile.
"Yeah I'm gonna get eight days of presents!" He bragged. I had done it I thought. I have broken Christmas magical hold on my son all will be well.
Yesterday we passed another store all decked out in the Christmas spirit. There were Christmas trees and reindeer it was a whole Christmas fest. B went by sighed longingly and said and said."Mommy can we celebrate Christmas this year?" Oh no I thought not again! I took a deep breath and reminded how Jews do not celebrate Christmas I launched into went into my great speech about Chanukah's Passover blah blah blah. It was exhausting.
But Mommy he said "Some Jews do celebrate Christmas." "No they don't." I snapped hoping not do another song and dance about the whole thing. "Yes they do. My teacher Ms. Deborah said some Jews celebrate Christmas. She said her friend is Jewish and she has a tree and Santa comes to her house. Can we have a tree? Can we have presents? Can we huh?"
So the question is it bad form to tell my sons teacher what she can "do" with her Jewish Christmas tree? Cause I've got a good place she can put it.
You my bloggy comrades you have helped arm me in my quest. Through the reading of royal bloggy comments and your wisdom I now believe my quest is possible.
If what you say is true I need only travel past the forest of horrible endless temper tantrums that seem to involve kicking ones sister with shoes on while knocking everything in ones room onto the floor. Run through the field of midnight screaming fests that wake everyone in the house up including the baby and cause the neighbors to bang on the wall with alarm. Skip over the valley of poopy accidents that caused us to go through every pair of acceptable pjs and began another temper tantrum when my young one had to wear T2's that totally didn't fit. I may eventually find the lake of 2nd and 3rd graders. A place where a screaming mommy may lay down her high pitched angry voice for a while and replace it with slightly naggy but not quiet as loud screamingness.
I hear it may take me and my royal steed another 4-5 years to achieve such a quest but I must believe it will come true.
This weekend I did not think it possible. I was tempted to jump on my royal steed and take off for Vegas or some high tower where the shrieks and refusal to do anything ever for any reason and the constant screaming for ice pops and Mikey mouse Club House from my royal son B would not make me long for a fire breathing dragon to do his worst. But I will go on. Knowing that his constant temper tantrums that last a minimum of 45 minutes each will one day end and I will find that lake and it will be good.
Unless you are all a bunch of fakers and then I will be very very upset indeed.
I don't know what happened. I used to be such a good mom. The type of that mom you see on that commercial where the boy accidentally sprays his mom with orange soda and instead of her yelling at him gleefully gets into a soda fight with her son. The type of mom who surveys her orange coated kitchen and hums a little tune while cleaning it up all the while singing boys will be boys doo dee doo.
I don't know what went wrong. Where that happy, gleefully, mommy went? And why has she been replaced with a very cranky, unpleasant, tired, woman who seems to yell at the drop of a hat?
I have changed.
No longer do I find delight in stories that start and I end with "Can I have 9 bananas today?" and continue on for 45 minutes.
No longer am I content to watch my son lick the bathroom mirror slowly when we are already 20 min late for school.
No longer do I clap my hands with joy as my daughter sits in the dogs water bowl and emerges soaking wet when all her other clothes are in the washer.
I don't know what happened. I still love my kids. I still love being their mom. But the woman who marveled at what an artists little B would become as I surveyed the picture B drew in poo on his bedroom wall. She is gone. Long gone.
Warning The following post contains discussion about "womanly" "yucky" things.
Yesterday I had a GYN appointment (see I told you). I let my boss know and left before lunch. The office was filled with pregnant ladies and I spent my 45 minute wait contemplating having another baby. I think its something in the air there that causes temporary insanity because this morning I contemplated selling the two kids I already have on Ebay. Anyway I finally get into the examination room and they give me one of those horrible paper gowns. You know the ones that don't close in the back so you end up flashing anyone who enters the room.
The doctor comes in and tells me to scoot down to the end of the table when suddenly the phone rings.
I usually turn off my phone at the doctors I do. But recently there seems to be a rash of kid trouble. Things like B having meningitis or S having seizures. Its always something scary and new so I keep it on. I jumped up to grab my phone sure that B has been stung by a killer bee or S had been eaten by a wandering mountain lion. The caller ID said my work and since my kids go to school there I prepared myself for the worst feeling slightly relieved that I was across the street from the children's hospital just in case I had to make a mad dash run to their snake bite center.
I mean why else would they call? Who would call someone at the GYN office unless it was an emergency?
I answered the phone breathless with fear. And sure enough it was my boss , "Uh Suzie..." here it comes I thought, "The Department of Health is here. They need that paper work they sent you last week."
In disbelief I stutter ,"Umm I'm at the doctors right now. Cant this wait?"
"Hold on let me put them on with you."
And sure enough he handed the phone to the Department of Health Inspector while I Suzie was umm... otherwise indisposed.
That's right I spoke to the Department of Health while having an internal exam.
I think I need a raise.
Just when you thought it was safe and Halloween was over it rears its ugly head again. Although Halloween is long gone I find I am being haunted by a four year old boy. This four year old child floats around my house moaning and chanting in a way that is so scary it chills you to the bones. The chant always seems to be the same:
I want my trick or treat candy! Do you have my trick or treat candy? Can I have it now? I want candy? Its mine why cant I have it huh?
I can be cooking in the kitchen or doing the laundry it makes no difference it come when it wants filling me with fear as it moans its terrifying demands:
I want a candy bar? Do I have any candy bars left? I want one. I like candy bars. Do you like candy bars? Is it dessert time yet? Can I go trick or treating again today PLEASE?
This morning was the scariest moment yet. I woke up switched on the light in the living room and there it was. Sitting on the couch. Clutching a bent lollipop with the wrapper still on. It squinted in the bright light and looked up at me with sleepless, haunted eyes.
Can I have this now? Is it dessert time? I want this lollipop. Its green. I love green lollipops can I have it now? Can I huh?
I've read some books on haunting I tried all the tricks tried lighting candles, sprinkling salt in a circle but it seems to have no effect.
I think I am doomed!
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My sister in law is getting married. She's great so I offered to send out the invites to her shower. As I am pretty busy I came up with the ingenious idea to do it first thing in the morning at work before my boss gets in.
I wanted to make the cards look wonderful so I bought these fancy laser labels. I tried them in the ink jet printer and they smeared. Now everyone knows You can't have a smeared label its just not done. So I had a brilliant idea to stick them in the copy machine.
Please note it was 7:30am I had just stood in line to vote for and hour and a half. I was woozy and I hadn't had any coffee yet.
So I loaded them in and waited expectantly for my beautiful labels to emerge. The first page went through no problem. I held the matt clear labels in my hand and patted myself on the back for being able to do it all.
I waited patiently for the second page to emerge.
Suddenly the machine coughed and spluttered and started to smoke. Instead of my beautiful labels one column of chard stickers where thrown violently from the machine. I opened the machine sure I could pull it out but it tore and smoldered. Little labels with fancy apple chancery font stuck on the turning wheel thing. Aunt Jesspos label stuck to the whosie whatsit.
I tried everything. I pulled I pushed. I used tweezers. I cried but the machine would not listen it just whirled and steamed as if to say you are going to be in so much TROUBLE!!!!
My boss is a nice guy but breaking his machine and doing shower invites at the job? To put it mildly he would not be happy and I knew I was doomed!
I began to panic. I tried to run through other pages with educational material on it so it wouldn't look like it was my fancy labels that had broken the $2000 copy machine. It was no use. I was sunk.
I sat against the machine and whimpered getting ready to spill the beans and tell my boss everything. Suddenly from the kitchen my knight in shining armor entered; the cook.
Step back she said. With nimble fingers coated in breadcrumbs from the chicken fingers she prodded and tinkered and finally pulled the blackened remains of my labels from the machine.
Here she said and threw them on my desk.
I gasped in awe and uttered a "Thank you!" She turned grabbed her pot holders and said "No Problem".
Who says there are no heros anymore?
I'm in a mood.
Yes believe it or not I do get moody.
Why am I moody dare you ask?
B has the runs.
S is teething and very clingy.
I had a dream I gained 60 pounds all in my stomach.
Everyone is sick at work.
Hubby and I had a little tiff last night (I was right of course).
None of my pants fit right
I stepped on a glue trap this morning and my sock is sticky
no matter how hard I try I cant keep the house clean
and I want a big fatty sandwich but I cant because and I'm always on a diet and I never loose any weight
I have a new hair cut and I hate it
I looked at my wedding alblum last night and I wish I looked like I did 10 years ago
and I've lost my blogging mojo
All in all it has put me in a funk.
Well you asked.
Would I be the sort of woman who would be so bogged down with work I would be unable to write a witty yet deeply thought out post for two days in a row?
Would I be the sort of gal who would be so hyped from stealing my sons Halloween candy that I was completely unable to sit and type?
Would the fact that my boss keeps talking to me while I write make it impossible to be inspired with my usual brilliance?
Would all of that make me take the easy way out and post some sickeningly sweet pictures of my children dressed up looking cute for Halloween ?
Would it?
Nope!
I tried I really tried. I would love nothing more than posting one of those ridiculously adorable photos and receive a page of "Too cute!" comments
But no. Its not happening.
No matter how hard I try my kids always seem to look like this.
or this
Out of focus with B in the process of wrestling Little S down to the ground to make her cry.
Sigh
Maybe next year.
Maybe it because Halloween is around the bend or maybe its because Little S is teething all night long but some scary thought have been drifting in my mind lately. Scary thoughts that make you shiver and pull the covers up just a little higher.
Turn down the lights grab your teddy bears and pass the candy corn its time for a Halloween numbers tale.
At 30 I was married.
Spooky right but it took me five years to drag him kicking and screaming down the aisle
At 35 little B was born
Creepy and scary but it took a little convincing too
At 38 Little S was born
Eerily enough that took some convincing on my part
I will be 40 when Little B goes to kindergarten and 43 when Little S goes to kindergarten
Hold onto your hats it gets even creepier still
I will be 47 at B's Bar Mitzvah and 50 at S's
Get the flashlight!
I'll be 52 when B finishes high school 55 when S graduates
Hold me!
56 for college
I cant look!
between 60-70 when they get married and have kids
I wanna go home!
Ill be dead before my Grand kids have a Bar or Bat mitzvah
Oh MY GOSH!!!!!!That's it turn on the lights! Give me that teddy bear and a case of candy corn and a large martini!
I'm so old!!!!!
I hate Halloween!
As many of you wisely noted after my ingenious son Little B ate a plastic toy pacifier that I was using as a cake topper at his bobo (pacifier) party on Sunday this too shall pass and it did. I was so excited I wanted to take a picture to show you but I thought better of it. So as not to disappoint I have created an artist rendering of the event so we can all celebrate together.
It was a rainy Tuesday morn when little B felt the first stirrings of his morning ablutions.
Having been told he needed to show me his poops to sift through it as the doctor had ordered Little B instead ran off and pooped in secret.
After noticing Little b had disappeared I went off in search of him (see I'm not such a bad mommy it took me only 15 minutes to realize he was gone). Upon finding him I noticed a lingering smell (he has yet to get that whole wiping thing down ).
And there it was in all its glory!
The toy bobo sticking out of his turd! 
May the revelry begin!
(thanks to Holly for the artistic inspiration)
Its just a typical Monday morning. I am sitting at my desk drinking my coffee shuffling papers and waiting for a return call from Little B's doctor.
Why you may ask are you waiting to hear from little B's the doctor?
Does he have a boo boo?
Nope
A little head cold?
Nope
Did he happen to eat an inedible cake topper in front of at least 13 guests at his bobo party?
Yes! You're right how did you guess?
Yes I like to throw exciting parties where danger lurks at every turn. To hell with pinata anyone can get hit with a stick while beating a poor donkey to death. I'm the sort of gal who goes for the exotic. I throw caution to the wind and put little plastic pacifiers (bobo's) on top of a cake. After singing the traditional bobo party song and telling everyone that the cake toppers were plastic and not to be eaten I went to get a knife to cut the cake. Upon returning I noticed little hand prints on the cake and there was Little B drooling and huddeled in a corner. Yes my daredevil son during my brief absence took the plunge and stuffed the cake toppers in his mouth.
Did anyone stop him you may ask?
Nope
Did anyone even notice?
Nope
But upon party debriefing this morning it was discovered that he indeed ate at least one.
So its just another Monday morning, coffee, papers and a plastic cake topper inside my Little B.
Sigh
Each time I walk past the five year old classroom in my school I am greeted with a large plastic pink thing sitting a top of coats and papers. It sits silently mocking me. Making me rethink who I am and the choices I've made in my life. Its sits and says yes I am all you will never be or have. It is...you guessed it... Barbie's cruise ship.
Barbie's cruise ship a large plastic monstrosity full of boating fun that makes me fight the green eyes demon each day. Barbies cruise ship, the pink boat that says you work over 40 hours a week you budget you scrimp you save but even if you win lotto you will never have your own cruise ship .
Today I walked past that pink boat from hell and I gave it a little shove just a small one. It tipped the boat of lost dreams just enough so I saw her. She was naked with matted hair, covered in stickers and green marker laying atop of an old stuffed monkey. It was Barbie battered and abused and clinging to that ship as though her life depended on it and I knew I may never have a cruise ship but at least I have my dignity...well...(I thought pulling the stickers out of my hair and noting the snot stain on my shirt) ... at least I didn't have to do it with a dirty old monkey to get a stupid boat.
Yesterday may not have been my best post. I know some of you may not find a post about aliens and pee pee scintillating stuff. I know I've written better and I know I've written worse but imagine my horror upon opening my blog and seeing a sad 13 comments. 13!!!! Oh no! How can this be? I know I'm not supposed to be counting. I know its not about quantity but quality of comments but 13!
I'm nothing but a comment ho I admit it. Vered had just written a post on closing comments. On not just playing tag to get a cheep comment. I wanted to be like her I really did but upon seeing 13 I knew I was not as evolved. But I admit it I love tag. I think I now realize that I am such a comment ho I will clap my hands for a simple LOL. Its true I do breath a sigh of popular contented relief when I see I've gotten over 20 comments. I might even giggle with delight when I hit the 30 mark. If that makes me shallow so be it!
But 13? Is there something hanging out of my nose? Was I a little on the ripe side yesterday? Bed bugs got 31 and lice in the eye got 29. I see you are all a gross bunch. Even the headless hamster got 32 comments.
So I would like to give an award for those wonderful people who commented on my alien pee pee story. Here's to you my loyal bloggy friends who will listen to my pee pee story and will make comments that include the word Uranus.
At 4:30am this morning I woke up with the odd feeling something was going on. I walked into the living room and from the couch rose a white shape. It had long dangley arms and long white dangley legs. It looked like the figures that appear at the end of close encounters where the aliens grab the guys hand and leads him into the space ship. I began to panic as the thing ran towards me shrieking in a high pitched voice. I began to run when I heard the word pee pee. I realized it was not an alien come to take me away in his space ship where I would meet other aliens and have babies in test tubes. In fact it was my own baby boy. Naked and pasty white flying towards me damp and slightly smelly. Yes my little alien boy had peed the bed.
I guess its my fault. The nighttime pull ups were costing me $1.25 per pair. I believed in my heart of hearts that if I only gave it a chance we could throw those pull ups away and go for broke. But broke this time obviously contained urine and cold wet sheets.
So pushing back the fear and I admit it disappointment (who wouldn't want to check out a the inside of a space ship. I hear they have plush leather seats and great coffee.) I gathered my pasty alien child and tucked him into my bed where he rolled around like a lunatic and used his subsonic squeals to contact other life forms until around 5:30am when it was time to get up and he fell asleep.
I hear Neptune is nice this time of year...I can pack very quickly...just saying
You might have asked yourself where has Suzie gone? What's up with Suzie? She usually posts 5 days a week and now not a peep? What the...? Where has that girl gone?
Well I gotta tell you my rotten job is once again interrupting my blogging. I know I've complained about this before but Really! I thought I had gotten it under control but for some reason work is expecting to me well, work and I really resent it.
Don't they know I have some great stories to tell? I wanted to tell you all about how I read this article about how most kids hurt themselves while their moms are making dinner and then while I was making dinner and thinking smugly about how that's never happened to me little S began to scream and somehow she had cut her foot while my attention was diverted. But could I tell you about that? NO! I had to file I report.
I wanted to tell you about how my radiator makes me feel like I have inhaled a tub of straw and how if I spend one more winter in my NYC apartment I am sure all the moisture will be sucked out of my body from the horrible old radiator I sleep next to leaving just an empty Suzie husk that will crackle in the wind. Did I get to share that gem? Nope I had to meet with parents about kindergarten.
Did you hear about how the Bella the school hamster ate her long time partner and friend Bella 2's head in a fit of hamster rage? I mean that was a doozie the whole head was gone. Just a little headless hamster body left feet up in the habit trail. Little B is still talking about that one. Did I get to share? Nope!Couldn't! Had to answer boring old phone calls.
I know I've complained about this before but really lets get our priorities straight here OK? Blog first work second. I'm pretty sure that's in my work description...right?
You remember that Seinfeld episode where George Costanza would always leave on a high note. If he could get people to laugh he would say, "All right! That's it for me. Goodnight, everyone!" and leave the room. I think I understand George in fact I think I am George.
I loved my post yesterday. Not to toot my own horn but it was a good one. I mean sometimes you just gotta pat yourself on the back and say "Good post Suzie! You hit the nail on the head with that one." Well I sure did.
I started to write today's post but quickly saw it was a loosing proposition. I started one about friendships but it didn't quiet cut it. I started another on coffee but really, it was a snore fest. I thought about doing a belated Wordless Wednesday or a Thursday 13 even a Friday Sky watch but deep inside I knew it wasn't going to deliver that same wonderful punch. Its sad but true.
You know I think I just need to accept the fact that anything I say today is not gonna be as good as yesterday. I'm not topping that one. Today's post just doesn't have a chance. Poor little post you never could reach your full potential. You were destined to be number 2 at best.
Boy I mean I sure was great yesterday. I'm still laughing. Cant get it out of mind really. Wow I mean that gonna be hard to top. Yup great..... Anyway....
All right! That's it for me. Goodnight, everyone
I think I've let myself go. The thought occurred to me today as I sat on the commode answering natures call and putting on make up by digging into the dusty remnants of a free make up sample I received at least four years ago and smearing it on my face without the benefit of a mirror.
Yeah I think I might have let myself go
This also occurred to me in the shower as I tried to lift an economy bucket sized shampoo bottle labeled "OK Shampoo" to wash the dried green beans out of my hair that have been there since Tuesday.
Its true I might be letting myself go.
This thought also drifted into my consciousness as I squeezed into a pair of maternity pants (I had my last baby in 2007) and watched my flab flop over the wait band and tried to hide it with an over sized shirt with dried noodles on the sleeve.
I am I'm letting myself go.
I read People I know that Angelia Jolie lost all her twin weight in 3 weeks by only eating papaya. I see new mom Jennifer Lopez flit around her house in a white chiffon gown with no dried snot or vomit stains on an inch of her 105 pound post baby body.
Me I'm lucky if I can find a shirt without holes from baby carriers and stroller snafu's and grab a semi frozen Weight Watchers meal for lunch while brushing the food out of my hair. White chiffon? Papaya? Not in this life time.
Maybe for a while letting ones self go is the way its supposed to be especially when you have young kids. I know in this society we are supposed to be #1 all the time. Sure me time has its place it does. But maybe when the kids are really little it isn't so bad to be able to let yourself go peacefully. To accept the mushed peas in the hair. To revel in the flab caused by the little munchkins that are now gnawing a hole in the kitchen chair with their new teeth. Maybe letting yourself go at least for a little while is what lets us concentrate on the important stuff. So let the white chiffon and papaya wait at least for a little while.
Let me say it loud and proud I Have Let Myself Go...at least for now.
Yesterday after school I was walking home with my kids and Little B was jabbering on about something (I hate to admit it but sometimes I do tune him out) when he points a man walking by and asks loudly
"Mommy will that man die?"
"Uh yes." I stammer, "everyone dies."
B shakes his head solemnly, "when you die you don't get up right?"
"Uh nope. " I begin to mumble something about heaven and wings when I realize I've lost him. He sits in the stroller lost in thought. "Mommy is that girl going to die?"
"Yup someday."
"Is that dog gonna die?"
"Yup"
"How about that tree?"
"Sure"
"And that bike?"
"No not the bike"
"And that lady?"
"Uh huh"
"And that kid?"
"mmm..."
"And what about that..."
"Boy" says a passing man as my little grim reaper points his bony finger in his general direction "that is one depressing kid."
Thats me boy!
I have always found the drugstore to be one of the most relaxing places in the world. Whenever I get stressed I go to my local drugstore and just walk the aisles. I walk past the sunny make up section and skip through the shiny racks of pain relievers and anti acids and I just feel calm and centered. I don't know why but I just do. When B was in the hospital I found the mother of all drug stores. It was the size of a foot ball field and had everything from mops to milk and eggs. It was a wonder. It made me happy if only for a brief and shining moment.
Lately my little patch of peace has been disturbed by a new and alarming trend, really young and obnoxious check put people. It started on Saturday. I went to buy toilet paper and I overheard this "I mean he's the youngest CEO ever like 40. And you know 40 is really really old so I'll never get a job like that." Suddenly the make up aisle wasn't so sunny any more and the packs of Advil didn't look so shiny. I nearly chucked my TP at her. I wanted to shout "I'm nearly 40 you twit! 40 is not old! I am not old!!!!!!! You Britney Spears wanna be!"
Sunday I went back hoping to regain a little of my peace the rude check out gal had taken from me but them I was assaulted with this:
18 Year Old Clerk #1: Everyone knows who she is!
18 Year Old Clerk #2: You are so wrong no way!
18 Year Old Clerk #1:Even this lady (points to me) knows who she is!
18 Year Old Clerk #2: There is no way THAT lady knows who she is!
18 Year Old Clerk #1: I'll bet you 10 bucks. (turns to me) Hey lady do you know who Kim Kardashian is?
WHAT THE????? No I'm sorry I only know Barry Manillow and Yani. Now let me pay for my support hose and stool softener and I'll be on my way. Arghhhhhh!!!!
What happened to you my little drug store, my haven, my friend? Why have you become the land of the annoying? Why must I wrestle with age issues as I walk your stocked beautiful aisles?
I guess I'll have to start hanging around vitamin shops now.
Its so hard to blog these days. You would think all these weeks later things would have calmed down on the meningitis front but they haven't. My staff is still being nuts every day there is a new freak out. The Department of Health has been getting calls from random staff members every few days alleging all types of things which means constant random inspections at work. Every day the stress continues and gets worse. Since Little B has been in the hospital I don't think there has been one day where the stress hasn't been out of control. The staff thinks I am lying to them about calling the DOH they think I have inside info I am not sharing. It's out of control and I have no idea what to do anymore. Its crazy!
I have to keep reminding myself that I am not responsible for my child being sick. The meningitis germ is not my pal who I invited to invade my sons body. I am just a gal who had a sick son and now is put in the very uncomfortable place of being the villain. I have no idea why.
I think as bosses go I am a very nice one. I believe that since work is where you spend most of your time if its not fun then it means life is not fun. I have tried to create an open and inviting environment where peoples voices are heard and people laugh. Maybe that was my mistake this type of craziness would never happen at McDonald's.
I tried to follow Mark's Salinas's advice about picking a special hour to worry and setting that hour aside for worries instead of letting it take over all the time but its really hard these days as I feel I am being attacked constantly at every angle. I am trying to remember to breath and I know or I hope this will all be just a bitter memory months from now.
Part of my job is to go see all the local elementary schools so I know what to recommend to parents about their kids continuing education. Today I went on a tour of one of the local public schools. It was a great school. It emphasized the arts and parent involvement blah blah blah. During the whole tour I kept thinking Little B starts kindergarten next year....wait! Your not taking my little boy you vultures! He's my baby he's not going here! NO WAY!!! (He's actually not. Were not zoned for that school but you get the idea)
Little B has aways been by my side. I have always been the one responsible for his education. As the head of his school I could sneak in a hug or a kiss all day long. I've even wiped a butt or two during a normal school day. Walking those halls and imagining him there made me think of my own schools days.
(Scene goes up on little Suzie with a feathered Dorthy Hamel do wearing no name jeans and a paisley shirt made of some very scratchy material)
When I was a kid it was the 70's Fara was the rage and Brooke Shield's liked to wear her jeans naked. All the girl loved their designer jeans and their bonnie bell lip gloss. I was never into stuff like that. I like reading, singing to ABBA (It was the 70's OK?) and sneaking cigarettes on my families roof . I played cello. As I did not have a wide group of friends I named my cello Orville and used to put hats on him and talk to him on the school bus. (Oh yes I was a really popular gal). Instead of the children finding my quirks endearing they instead expressed their love of me through nailing during dodge ball in gym class and making me sit alone during lunch time.
I want my kids to be happy and to love school. I don't want them eating alone or being called stinky stinky Suzie (oh wait maybe that's my hang up). Maybe this is all my hang up kids need to be independent..right...they need to find their wings, soar to the sky, leave the nest, find their own kabob. But I'm not ready. I have more butts to wipe before my big boy opens his own pinata and becomes a little man. Ahhhh!!!!
I don't know how or why it happened but both children were good last night. Really good. It was wonderful but strange and creepy at the same time. As they gathered around my lap listening to stories and holding each others hands I felt a chill. Were they waiting until I was lulled into a false sense of security before they attacked one another with sippy cups and tried to stick things in the dogs ears? Who had replaced my children with these sweet pod children? Maybe it was aliens. It had to be aliens. But Little B put socks on his sisters feet to keep the chill off before bed and Little S kissed her brother as they were tucked into bed. I kept waiting for the other foot to drop. I kept waiting for the blue ice to fall out of a passing airplane but it was a very nice evening.
Until....
2am
Why is 2am the hour when all children throw up, develop horrible rashes, or freak out? I have not been granted the answer to this question but my children certainly signed on for the 2am slot. At 2am Little B started to wail. This woke up Little S who also started to wail. I began to yell for Hubby as it was technically his shift. Hubby did not wake up he gave me a sleep induced thumbs up rolled over and began to snore. I was on my own and my yelling caused the dog to freak out and bark. It was fun, fun, fun! When I could finally make out what was wrong over all the noise it turned out B's mouth hurt. I don't know what all that was about but apparently 10 min of the Superfriends and an ice pop seemed to do the trick.
I went back to bed assured in the knowledge these were indeed my children and they had not been replaced by any pod kids.
Phew..I'm relieved
Or am I?
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