Fore!

I will say again that my friend, Tracy is possibly the most creative mom I know. Her recent creative endeavors put me and just about all the moms I know to shame. In fact, Tracy, I don't think we can be friends anymore because I am going to have a complex. After attending a party for Tracy's older son's birthday today, I am not sure how anything I can come up with will compare. I'd have to fly the girls and 20 of their closest friends to Disney World, where the Disney people would resurrect Walt himself for a grand party in the Cinderella castle, complete with fireworks, princesses, and a leprechaun who pops out of a cake dipped in gold to give each girl 3 wishes. That might come close, emphasis on might.

I didn't tell Natalie that we were headed to an "Under the Sea- Mini Golf" party, because she had no idea what golf is anyways, and I didn't her to ruminate any longer than necessary about the possible alternative uses for a small club. We arrived at the party hot-spot, Tracy's neighborhood clubhouse, a few minutes late, but ready for some fun. Natalie was particularly excited to see that Mikie's "house" had a pool around back, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that I am not planning on wearing a bathing suit any time soon. Plus, it's January in Virginia. Plus, we don't have a membership. (Can you tell I am good at coming up with reasons not to wear a bathing suit?)

Tracy really outdid herself! Here are some pictures from the party:

Hours of work went into this party!

La-La peeking out from underneath the "waterfall".

The Pink Floyd room...Natalie freaked out when the door closed. "Get me outta here!" she shrieked. I thought it was kinda trippy.

Poor Zachary. Zachary is Mikie's younger brother, and Natalie is convinced that he needs a foster mother. She mothered (terrorized) him at our Bible study last summer, and is probably still doing it at our current study. She insists on patting his head, holding his hand, and telling him what to do. Have I modeled this behavior? Tracy, if someone calls CPS on you, it was probably Natalie--gunning for the hostile takeover. (Told you she'd be a shark in the corporate world)

This is me, Tracy, and Boagie, Tracy's mom and fellow blogger. I'm a fan of Boagie's blog, and I think Natalie is a fan of Boagie now too. I love to read about farm life in Iowa. I've never been to Iowa, but I think I would like it. Natalie has also decided that she would very much like to visit Boagie's farm and take Michaela Byrd for a ride on the tractor. Poor Michaela Byrd missed the party because she had to have a nap at Mimi's. It's for the best...she'd probably cheat. Inherited it from me.

Well done, Tracy! I would like to thank you most effusively because as we were on our way home, I heard a little voice pipe up from the back seat: "Mommy, I want a party like what Mikie had for my birfday."

Thanks. a. lot. ;)

The Play Date

Yesterday, I was blessed with the presence of two lovely young ladies in my home. My friend, L dropped off her youngest, "La-La", for a play date. L had a meeting over at church, and a play date sounded like a great idea. Natalie, who normally looks forward to sharing her toys about as much as she looks forward to going to get shots, was surprisingly upbeat. T picked her up from preschool, and when she got here L was already parked in the driveway.

"La-Laaaaaaa!" she called from the open front door. "Come on in!" I think the warm air she let out of the house at that moment probably added another $200 to our electric bill.

The girls spent the afternoon immersed in the arts:

Fine Dining-The play date began with lunch, although both girls assured me that they were not hungry. Trying to get one three-year old to eat is a feat unto itself. Attempting to get two three-year olds to eat is a qualification for sainthood. Natalie and La-La spent the better part of lunch talking and hopping up and down out of their seats...made me wish for seat belts. I managed to get some grapes and peanut butter sandwiches into them before they were off to their next venture.

I kept waiting for a screaming fight to break out, but other than a small skirmish over the tea party, they were very civil. La-La preferred a more formal tea service, and Natalie had a more casual party planned, but they were easily distracted. They even entertained Michaela Byrd so I could wash the dishes!

Film: During lunch, La-La asked me if we have "High Cool Moosikul." (She has two big sisters) Sadly, I informed her that we do not own that fine piece of artistry. Natalie quickly interjected that we do, however, have Cinderella, an amazing cinematic achievement. They both concurred that the script and animation are sublime, but they prefer Peter Pan's score.

Politics: The girls munched on goldfish between courses and Natalie, ever the political activist, announced that we have "a Present named Obama." La-La made a distasteful face, as she is also a budding conservative. Natalie informed us that "I doesn't like Obama because I am very smart."

Fashion: What play date could end without a fashion show? The girls tore through the dress-up trunk like a pack of wild Grizzly bears and emerged from the new room (we don't really have a name for this room-hence, it is called "the new room) as worldly, sophisticated ladies. Here they are in their finery.





What is more precious than a pair of three year olds playing dress-up?? Without fighting over accessories! After the photo shoot, they donned bracelets, necklaces, and gloves. I think Anna Wintour would be proud of the ensembles. (La-La is wearing a vintage Dior gown paired with some fabulous hot pink Jimmy Choo slingbacks. Notice the plunging neckline? A daring choice, but I think she pulls it off well. Natalie donned a yellow skirt from the Carolina Herrera Spring line. She is wearing a diamond studded, feathered Harry Winston tiara. Paired with a pink Hermes bag, and pink Manolos, she is ready to walk 5th Avenue with the rest of the socialites.)




Today showed me that maybe Natalie is growing up. It was wonderful to see her interacting so well with her friend, but broke my heart just a little to see how big she's getting. I think we're both looking forward to the next play date! Perhaps they can plan an anti-Socialism march on the White House for next time....

The Gourmet

For those of you who have children, do you ever look at your child and just know what their career path will look like? Natalie will either be a skilled corporate negotiator, or she will lead a military coup on some small country and become a not-so-benevolent dictator...I just hope she has a room with a closet big enough for all my shoes in her palace. My dream is to rival Imelda Marcos. Michaela Byrd may be heading on the path to becoming a famed food critic whose reviews grace the pages of The New York Times.

Now that she's a year old, we've been gradually shifting from formula to whole milk. That's not really a problem, as formula smells like old, stinky socks and whole milk tastes vastly better than that. (I know this only from T's commentary, because I have no sense of smell!) In fact, it has gone much better than when we did the old switcheroo from breast milk to formula.

I ended up pumping with both of my girls. I wasn't sure how long I'd make it with Michaela Byrd. I pumped for six months when Natalie was a baby, but I didn't think I'd have that kind of time with a two year old and a newborn. So my goal was to take it a week at a time. I hoped to make it to three weeks. Weeks came and went, and I got into a schedule and figured why not try to make it to six months? It became sort of a challenge to myself. Type A's love this kind of stuff--maybe I am a Type A?

Natalie was such a great eater that I assumed that Michaela Byrd would also take to the formula easily. Not so, my friends, not so. We settled down in the chair together and I offered her the bottle. She acted like I was asking her to eat mashed up pickled pig's feet! She spit and yelled and flapped her little arms around. I'm sure that if she could talk, she would have said, "Excuse me, Miss, but this is not what I ordered!"

I ended up having to pump for a whole extra month in order to gradually add the formula in. So whatever they say about the second child getting the shaft is just plain silly. Miss Picky clearly thinks that her palate is too refined for the food we've been serving her. I half expect her to sniff her bottle before swirling it around and taking a sip.

"Excuse me, Miss, but this is not what I ordered. I'd like some chocolate in my milk, please."

If only I could just be the "Milk Nazi" and say, "No milk for you. Come back, one year!"

All in a day's work.....

Planning her next tepid review..."The apple puffs were slightly soggy. I fed them to the dog, and even she didn't care for them. Where can one find a decent caviar around here?"

Speaking of Measuring Up...

Disclaimer: If for some reason Sam or some other guy might be reading this post, I will encourage you to click elsewhere today. This post is about wedding gowns and bras, quite frankly. The latter being a subject that is probably a mystery to men everywhere. So if you are of the male species, I urge you to find a blog about football, grilling, or weaponry today. This one's for the girls!

I left the girls with T yesterday and went out of town with my sister to look at wedding gowns. T looked slightly panicked when I walked out the door--Natalie was begging for Cinderella and Michaela Byrd has a gunky nose, and was apparently none too pleased to be without "The Precious" (me) for a day.

The first place we went was a cute little salon in an upscale shopping center, about an hour from my house. My mom met us there after several phone calls to ascertain our whereabouts (we got lost and drove through Richmond, with my sister frantically pulling into a ghetto parking lot and dialing Sam for directions). We have decided that we hate Mapquest.

While my sister tried on some gorgeous designer gowns, I found myself in the unfortunate position of sitting on a large couch in front of the three-way mirror. No escaping it. A fat chick's nightmare. I decided that if I left my new scarf on, it could possibly draw my eyes away from my bad hair (ponytail) and unfortunate hugeness.

Alison and I have very different tastes. She chose simple strapless gowns with short trains. I found myself inexplicably drawn towards anything with the slightest bit of bling. Funny, the gowns I would have chosen for myself were much different than the gown I chose seven and a half years ago. Of course, in my little imaginary game, I was still a size 6.

It wasn't difficult to discern which dresses my sister liked, and which ones she hated."Um. No." I'd hear from the dressing room, and I knew she wasn't even coming out. My mom did a fabulous job of not annoying her, a feat not easily attained, as Alison is more easily annoyed than a wolverine on a power trip.

I won't give a description or post a picture of the "winner," just in case Sam decides to read this. I'm sure for the other gowns, it was an honor just to be nominated, but you could tell which dress was "the one" when she walked out of the dressing room. A pity that most of those dresses have price tags that would compare with building a deck onto our home and adding a patio set and gas grill, but you try arguing that point with a bride-to-be.

After lunch, I decided to duck into a pretty little lingerie shop. I will admit that the underwire on my favorite bra broke last week, and whether it was due to wear and tear or weight gain (I am guessing the latter), I really can't say. I wasn't even sure what size I needed, so I headed in and asked for a fitting.

Nothing spells h-u-m-i-l-i-a-t-i-o-n like being fitted for a bra when you are the most overweight you have ever been and the salesgirl is so thin you can almost see through her tiny little Gap-clad body. The real irony is that my very first job as a tiny, Gap-clad college student was as a salesgirl in the lingerie department at Macy's.

The girl ended up being very friendly and helpful. I tried on seven or eight different bras, not because I was so excited about the variety of styles and colors (they were beautiful), but because the first one had a price tag of $109.00. For a girl who lately purchases yoga pants at Target, $109.00 was a bit steep. I ended up finding the perfect bra at the perfect price. My mom ended up treating me to a very pretty, cream colored creation for $47.00.

And I won't even tell you what cup size it was! I was pleasantly surprised that the band width that I was wearing was several sizes too big, but the cup might as well have been an LMNOP....

Cost of bra: $47.00.
Cost of torture to try on bra in front of young, fit salesgirl in order to find a new favorite: Priceless

Measuring Up

T is a member of CBMC (Christian Businessmen Committee). He attends meetings with a small group every month, where they do everything from discuss business, their faith, sports, punch each other, and shoot wild animals. (Hey, if all women do when we get together is have tickle fights in our underwear, then this is what I imagine men do when they get together) I think he really enjoys it, and I'm sure it's nice for him to have an outlet to discuss business, since my knowledge of that world comes from watching the first three seasons of Trump's The Apprentice on NBC.

Tonight, one of the local CBMC leaders (who happens to be my brother's father-in-law--does that make sense?? He's Su-Su's dad) planned a dinner party for T's small group at the country club. Business casual, no big deal. We drove up the dark, tree-lined road to the country club and then walked (very) briskly from the parking lot up to the club.


Turns out we were the youngest couple there by several years and a lot of gray hair. That really wasn't a problem...I'm pretty good at small talk with just about anyone, but sometimes it is easier to connect with a person who has also spent her day washing sippy cups and keeping their one year old from drowning herself in the toilet. There was definitely not that connection there last night. Over salads, the CBMC leader asked us to go around the table and tell a little about ourselves, since none of the wives have ever met. I braced myself for an onslaught of insecurity. Sure enough, it flared right up.


The first wife is an actual doctor. She has elementary school-aged twins, and she runs a whole pediatrician's office. My current office location is the laptop here on the kitchen table, and there is a Disney Princesses place mat directly across from me. I think the ambiance is enhanced by the dried up milk on Michaela Byrd's high chair tray.


The second wife is a registered nurse. She also has two older children, has worked in the PICU, NICU, and currently works for a heart association. She runs marathons (for fun??!) and is planning a trip to Big Sur soon. I am planning a trip to Wal-Mart today for diapers before I travel to the metropolis of Richmond to pick my sister up from the airport.


The third wife I had more in common with, as she is a teacher (I was a teacher's assistant for a semester after I graduated college). She has high school and college aged kids, and her husband manages just about every radio station in the area. Big bucks. I manage my team of myself for the Steering Team newsletter committee for my MOPS group. They're a traveling family as well. They like to take Thanksgiving vacations to places like London, San Fransisco, and Turkey (get it?? Turkey for Turkey Day...haha). The last two big vacations T and I went on, we came home to find out a few weeks later that I was pregnant. I don't think we'll be going anywhere any time soon. The last wife manages a local Halmark store and has four grown children--overachiever!


So I sat at the table, feeling like a great big loser--literally...these ladies run marathons. The only place I run is down the clearance aisle at Target. Several of them clearly have some heavy-duty college and graduate degrees. I didn't even really use my B.A. when I was working at my pitiful little job before the kids came along. So when it was my turn to speak, I decided to just be honest.


"I have a six-figure book deal." I said. "And on my way to the spa every morning, I oversee the maid and the nanny while they care for my house and children. My girls never whine or cry, and they always eat their broccoli."


"I volunteer my summers reading to blind orphans in Guatemala. In Spanish." I continued. "And I am currently having our home redecorated by Nate Berkus."


Okay, not really. I just sort of filled in the gaps that T left when he introduced us. Everyone smiled politely, and even nodded in recognition when I mentioned my MOPS group, but I couldn't help but wonder if they were all thinking, "My goodness, what a loser."


I know I'm supposed to be cherishing these years I have at home with my girls, and that is something I am working on. Enjoying the little moments I have with them, instead of sitting in the middle of a pile of toys wishing I was sitting on a beach on Paradise Island. But when I think about my accomplishments, putting together a newsletter that maybe three people read or folding a load of laundry just doesn't match up to nursing sick people in the remote areas of Uruguay.

I sometimes wonder what life has in store for me when my children are all in school. Will I find another dead-end job that I suffer through? Or will I finally find my passion and excel at something? We'll see....

99 Random Questions on My Blog, 99 Random Questions...

Here's my list of 99 Things, borrowed from my friends Meri and Tracy.

Bold--Things I have done
Italics--Things I want to do
Things I don't really care about are left plain

01. Started your own blog --well, yah...so glad I did! This is a great way for me to practice writing--haven't realized how much I missed it, even if I'm not analyzing Pope or Virgil's masterpieces

02. Slept under the stars--I don't sleep outside. ick

03. Played in a band

04. Visited Hawaii

05. Watched a meteor shower

06. Given more than you can afford to charity

07. Been to Disneyland/world-- done DW twice and LOVED it...I am a sap for that kind of stuff, their prime target-I mean client. I can't wait until we take our kids when they are old enough to enjoy it. I love Peter Pan's flight!

08. Climbed a mountain--I have been hiking, but I think I have blocked most of it from my memory...

09. Held a praying mantis-- see # 8

10. Sang a solo--only in the shower...I win Grammy's in there

11. Bungee jumped

12. Visited Paris--je 'taime Paris! beautiful city...I got to see it when I was 17. I think Parisians are, for the most part, fairly polite and welcoming. They are kinder if you attempt (however pitifully) to speak the language

13. Watched a lightening storm at sea--I don't remember...I was too busy drinking French martinis....

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch

15. Adopted a child--

16. Had food poisoning

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty

18. Grown your own vegetables

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France--yes, from behind 54 Japanese tourists, then I went shopping in the mall underneath the Louvre

20. Slept on an overnight train--

21. Had a pillow fight

22. Hitch hiked--No way!

23. Taken a sick day when you're not ill

24. Built a snow fort--built a snow castle once, our fattest cat got stuck in the door

25. Held a lamb

26. Gone skinny dipping

27. Run a marathon--

28. Ridden a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse--

30. Watched a sunrise or sunset

31. Hit a home run--baseball is boring

32. Been on a cruise= baby #2

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors-does Nashville count if my grandmother was born there...hey, she's almost 98!

35. Seen an Amish community

36. Taught yourself a new language

37.Had enough money to be truly satisfied--sadly, no

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person--on my list

39. Gone rock climbing--ew, why?

40. Seen Michelangelo's David in person

41. Sung Karaoke--

42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt

43. Bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant

44. Visited Africa

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight--I am scared of the crabs that come out at night

46. Been transported in an ambulance

47. Had your portrait painted--

48. Gone deep sea fishing

49. Seen the Sistine chapel in person

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris--Yep! rode the elevator though!

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling--scuba diving in a pool once, wasn't a huge fan

52. Kissed in the rain--

53. Played in the mud--played soccer in the mud- HATED it!

54. Gone to a drive-in theater--

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China

57. Started a business

58. Taken a martial arts class

59. Visited Russia

60. Served at a soup kitchen

61. Sold Girl Scout cookies--the bane of my existence in childhood, I was so painfully shy, but my mom made me do it

62. Gone whale watching--do they have French martinis there?

63. Gotten flowers for no reason-- T likes to do this

64. Donated blood--

65. Gone sky diving

66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp--saw Dachau outside of Munich when I was 15...a real eye-opening experience

67. Bounced a check

68. Flown in a helicopter

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy--yes, my Barbies and all their accessories are waiting for the girls...I am saving them until they are older...I think I will probably play with them too

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial

71. Eaten Caviar--

72. Pieced a quilt

73. Stood in Times Square-- so busy!

74. Toured the Everglades--

75. Been fired from a job--got demoted b/c there was no money to pay me in what was my current position

76. Seen the Changing of the Guard in London--

77. Broken a bone

78. Been on a speeding motorcycle--T used to own a speeding motorcyle

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person--

80. Published a book--does a photo book from Shutterfly count?

81. Visited the Vatican

82. Bought a brand new car

83. Walked in Jerusalem

84. Had your picture in the newspaper

85. Read the entire Bible

86. Visited the White House--been inside several times, been past it on foot many times

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating--dear God, no

88. Had chickenpox--it was my dream in 3rd grade to get them and stay home, my dream came true and turned into a nightmare

89. Saved someone's life.--

90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous

92. Joined a book club--the short-lived MOPS book club--I think I am the only person to read both books

93. Lost a loved one

94. Had a baby--2 girls!

95. Seen the Alamo in person-- I "remember the Alamo!"


96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake--

97. Been involved in a law suit--

98. Owned a cell phone

99. Been stung by a bee

Your Turn!

Adventures in "Babysitting"

Why do fathers always refer to watching their own children as "babysitting"? Is it only T? For a dad who loves his girls as much as T does, you'd think he'd really look forward to spending some quality time with them. I think it's not necessarily the bonding, but the work that comes along with children (dishes, laundry, bath time, diapers, fixing meals), that incites fear into the hearts of husbands everywhere. And it doesn't matter how many times T has "babysat" the girls, he has no clue as to what constitutes their daily rituals.

"Okay, are you looking at me?" I'll say before I leave. "Focus, please." I stand in between T and the television.

"Yes." he replies, even though he has sort of a glazed over look in his eyes. He is thinking about sports or you-know-what. They all do.

I run down the schedule for the girls' evening. How much milk to give the baby, what time to feed them, who goes to bed first, that sort of thing. I even make it easy for him and find the "special occasion" Gerber raviolis for Natalie--a food so disgusting, but so beloved by preschoolers.

"Did you get that?" I ask, pausing for a breath, and looking at the clock. If he would just remember this information, I wouldn't be forced to subject him to this lecture.

"Uh huh." he says. "When are you coming home?"

"I haven't left yet, T." I reply. I launch into my rehearsed speech on how I have readied the girls' rooms for bed assembly-style. Bath items prepared, pajamas, pull-ups, diapers, combs, bedtime stories, blankets, and stuffed animals are all lined up and ready. The dog could put them to bed, really.

"I have to give them a bath?!" Now I know he is actually listening, although I think all he heard was "blah blah blah dinner yadda yadda eight o'clock yippy skippy bath."

"Yes," I reply. "They've been running around all day, and they're dirty."

He sighs resignedly. "Okay, but do I have to wash Natalie's hair?" Anything to decrease the workload.

After some more negotiations I am on my way. Thirty minutes later, my phone rings.

"Wonder who that could be?" I comment sarcastically to my friend, J. She smirks.

It's T, frantic. "Is the turkey in the fridge okay to eat?" he asks. I think T has a secret fear of eating rancid lunch meat, being poisoned, and dying. I alleviate his fears, and hang up.

The phone rings again some time later. "How many tablespoons of cereal does Michaela get?"

"Where's her fruit?"

"Where do you keep Natalie's vegetables?"

T sounds worried the last time. "I asked Natalie if she wanted to go to bed, and she said 'no.' What do I do?"

I explain to him that our preschooler is taking advantage of his weakness, and that bedtime is not negotiable. (Natalie will make a swell corporate negotiator some day. She has killer instincts.)

When I arrive home, the dishes are piled in the sink, there are toys all over the floor, and the dog looks hungry.

"How did the girls do?" I ask.

"They did good." he replies, looking up from the latest issue of The Book of the AR-15. He looks completely exhausted, and I feel pity for him. Poor guy.

A mom would have fed the girls, changed some diapers, bathed them and washed their hair, read a story, sang some songs, tucked them in, done some laundry, washed the dishes, put up the toys, folded the laundry--all while completing a dissertation. All in a day's work, right, ladies? But we can't give the guys too much grief--those girls love their daddy!