Nervous Girl

Mother's Day: The Rules

1. I do not require the purchase of a gift to celebrate this holiday.
2. Mother's Day cards by Crayola are preferable to those by Hallmark. If you're just itching to spend five bucks, bring me a giant latte instead.
3. If you feel compelled to purchase me a gift, please do not make the mistake of thinking gift cards are impersonal. Gift cards don't say, "I'm not creative or caring enough to choose a gift for you." They fairly sing, "Take a few hours and choose something for yourself with your impeccable taste. I'll watch the kids."
4. If that still seems wrong, and you need to buy an actual gift, in the name of all that is holy, please don't buy anything else with "silk" flowers that are larger than my  head. Remember last year? 'Kay.
5. Also: Every year you ask me what I want for Mother's Day, and every year I say a rope hammock and stand. It's okay if you're not going to get it, but then stop asking.
6. Speaking of gifts, and I know this doesn't relate to Mother's Day directly, but what the hell is this "push present" trend that's apparently gaining traction? Know what we got back at the dawn of the millennium for giving birth? A baby. If you need a bracelet from Tiffany as incentive, you are going to be very, very disappointed with parenthood.
7. What I really want for Mother's Day is to not have to be the effing cruise director. I don't care if all we do is go to Burger King for a Croissanwich, I don't want to be the one to have to arrange it, approve it, or make sure we've packed crayons and hand sanitizer and Kleenex and EpiPens.
8. I'm warning you in advance, if anyone says it's no fair that there is a Mother's Day and not a Kid's Day, my head is going to explode, and I am not cleaning it up. Know what they call a day when kids get their food purchased, prepared to order and served, their clothes washed, pressed and put away, and their home cleaned while they put up their feet and watch a little Spongebob? Every day. Spot the old lady 24 hours, willya?
9. When you tell me not to worry about the cooking, cleaning, laundry, or dishes, I want the implication to be "because your loving husband and kids will take care of all that today," not, "because it will still be there tomorrow."
10. Why is it that on Father's Day, when Dad's been at work away from his family all week, the watchword is, "Leave Daddy alone, he's relaxing," but the assumption on Mother's Day, when Mom's been taking care of the kids all week, that Mommy couldn't bear to spend a minute away from her little darlings? It's not like I want to roadtrip to Vegas by myself or anything, but I wouldn't mind a peaceful half-hour in my rope hammock to savor those hand-drawn cards. Just saying.

Spelling does too count on geography tests

So there's a book fair going on at my kids' school. The theme is "Reading Roadtrip," which is kind of cool, I think. The woman who set it up has done a fabulous job, including arranging for a volunteer to make decorations for the hallway walls.

The volunteer painstakingly cut out large colored pieces of paper in the shapes of various states and labeled them appropriately. Well, mostly appropriately. The piece of paper in the shape of the northern portion of Michigan is right above the library door, and it's labeled, "UPPER PENNISULA."

I don't know whether to be dismayed at the spelling error or relieved that she didn't leave out the second N altogether.

Twelve things to remember for your photo shoot

1. If you can't manage to get your kitchen cleaned for the professional photographer for the Big Fancy National Magazine, you may as well concede that your kitchen will never, ever, be clean. Stop pretending like you were just about to mop.
2. The spinach and feta omelet is not the best choice for breakfast prior to the photo shoot.
3. Step away from the horizontal striped sweater. Trust me. Go back and put on the solid color one in that nice flattering shade of coral. Good.
4. That's not your sweater blousing out around your waist. That is what is colloquially known as a "muffin top."
5. No, the dieting you did yesterday between noon and four wasn't particularly effective.
6. If you were ever in a sorority, even if it was 20 years ago, your head will automatically tilt to the right if anybody points a camera at you.
7. Only you, and not the photographer or his assistant, can hear your dead mother's voice telling you to stand up straight; this is why the photographer keeps telling you in vain to "relax."
8. It is very difficult to suck in one's cheeks, suck in one's gut, and smile simultaneously.
9. But not impossible.
10. However, you will look like you're in rigor mortis. Relax.
11. Magazine photographers make you sign a waiver saying you won't sue the magazine or photographer for anything having to do with the picture, including the national publication of your jowls and muffin top in a magazine some of your ex-boyfriends might read.
12. Remember to start diet at least 36 hours before any future photo shoots.

When Snacks Attack!

The title of this post is the title I jokingly gave to the Word file in which I saved an essay I had written about dealing with my daughter's peanut allergy. I wrote the essay with the intention of submitting it via e-mail to Newsweek's "My Turn" column. I wrote it, edited it, re-edited it, and submitted it all without leaving my chair, because I knew if I saved it and looked at it later, I'd never have the nerve to submit it.

And they took it.

I hadn't told anyone about the submission, because the odds of getting published are pretty slim. That, and the fact that my phone has Caller ID, were the only things that convinced me I wasn't being punk'd when the editor from Newsweek called. I don't remember too much about the phone call, because my attention was focused on not sounding like a hick from the Midwest, which I am not. I am a hick from Western New York who happens to live in the Midwest.

I do remember her asking me if I was still interested in having the essay published, like maybe I would have decided, in the two months since its submission, that Newsweek is a little beneath me. I remember her telling me what Newsweek pays for these essays and restraining myself from telling her I'd have done it for free (which, now that I know there's money involved, I absolutely will NOT, because I'm greedy that way). I remember her saying something about four to six weeks (publication date? when she'll call me next? who can say for sure?). And I remember her saying that a photo editor or photographer would call me very soon, because they publish peoples' pictures next to these columns. Full-length pictures.

And a very nice man did call, making preliminary arrangements for the picture taking, which he suggested take place with my daughter in either a supermarket, reading labels, or in my kitchen trying to locate a clear spot on the counter amidst the debris preparing some food. I did have the presence of mind to ask him if he could Photoshop out the dirt. I forgot, however, to suggest that he save himself the trouble and just use a stock photo of Heidi Klum, since people are always mixing us up anyway.

I'm still flabbergasted about the whole thing (not about looking like Heidi Klum, I'm totally used to that). I'll post about what issue it's going to be in when I find out.

Embarrassing on so many levels

Embarrassing Moment #388,642,021:  Your eight year old son busts you singing "Girlfriend" at the top of your lungs while you fold clothes in the laundry room. A capella.

Googleganger

Just for fun, I Googled myself. You know that's never a good idea, right? And I found my Googleganger. Apparently she's a teenager who is deeply interested in visitors to her website, specifically their interest in her. She asks, seriatim, if visitors would want to kiss her, fornicate with her (she uses a slightly different expression), or marry her. Call me nitpicky, but someone who is gauging the Internet's interest in her hoohah probably shouldn't be looking to settle down just yet.

Even worse than all of that, her spelling and grammar are atrocious. I'm thinking of changing my name now.

I Love Being a Dad

It is a lovely spring day here in the lovely Midwest. I am beside myself with excitement, because tomorrow morning I am flying to Pittsburgh to meet, face to face, the incredible Cooper and Emily, creators of The Motherhood, and the clever and creative Brandie. And I get to spend the whole day with them! I realize that putting all those adjectives in front of their name makes them sound like circus acts, but they really are incredible and clever and creative.

What do you mean, what's The Motherhood? Go, check it out, join, it's where all the smart moms hang out. Go on, I'll wait.

Okay then! So it's lovely, and it's spring, and I'm going to meet these amazing women who, until tomorrow at least, think I'm cool enough to hang out with them. And I am thinking about this as I am waiting for my kids at the bus stop, and they come bounding off the bus into the sunshine. And my son says, "Mom, can I wear shorts tomorrow?"

I start to say "Hell, no, this is the beginning of April in Michigan, what kind of crack are you smoking on that bus?" "No," and then I stop. Because I will be on a plane when that child wakes and begins to dress tomorrow. I will be on a plane going to do Important Things, and the child's father is going to be making breakfast and telling him he can't wear nylon shorts when there's frost on the lawn. And I will be spending the day Somewhere Else, and the child's father is going to have to make sure he studies for his spelling test, and takes his bath, and washes behind his ears. For one day, I will not be known as The Issuer of Unpopular Edicts. For one day, I will be the one buying kid-size souvenir t-shirts and being missed.

For one day, I get to be the dad. Sweet.

Hukt on Fonnix Wurkt fur Mee

Dear Local Elementary School:

I am so glad that, in this time of deep budget cuts, you have not eliminated funding for art classes. I am thrilled that you are familiarizing my children with great artists like Claude Monet, who is well known for his paintings of water lilies, not Waterlillies, as you asserted on the tag you stuck to the back of my daughter's art project. Twice, in fact, so I know it wasn't just a typo.

Also, as the parent of a child with a food allergy, I am very pleased that you carefully and prominently announced, on the door of my son's classroom, that nuts are forbidden within. It makes quite clear that one of his classmates has an allergy. But I'm pretty sure that he's "severely" allergic, not "severally." Just thought you'd like to know.

Yours truly,

Nervous Girl

The Importance of Being Disciplined

You've heard the saying, "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail?" Right. So I decided that just meandering through my days, doing laundry only when I'm out of underwear and have to borrow G's only when it suited me, drinking coffee and playing Scrabulous, was the wrong approach. I am a serious woman. I have dreams, goals, aspirations. I have gifts, and I want to use them to accomplish things in this life. So I decided to establish a routine.

It makes sense, right? If you have a prospective client, and you want that client's business, you make time to meet with her. You make time to prepare for the meeting. So why should you treat the things you want to accomplish any differently? You want to be a writer? Schedule time to write. Want to be fit? Schedule time to exercise. In other words, be disciplined enough to make appointments with yourself.

Here is the schedule I follow now. I must say, I'm getting a lot more done.

• 6:00     Wake. Pray.
• 6:15     Yoga.
• 6:45     Shower and dress.
• 7:15     Breakfast for kids. Pack snacks for school.
• 8:00     Begin laundry, do breakfast dishes and other housework.
• 9:30     Play with Libby, give Libby asthma treatment, do homework with Libby.
• 10:30   Fold laundry; other housework.
• 11:30   Prepare lunch for Libby and eat lunch.
• 12:00   Get Libby ready for school.
• 12:15   Take Libby to bus stop.
• 12:30   Begin walking 2 mile circuit around neighborhood starting from bus stop.
• 1:00     Return home; check and respond to e-mail, work on writing.
• 2:30     Volunteer at school (MWF) or run errands.
• 4:00     Walk to bus stop to pick up kids.
• 4:30     Snack and sharing time with kids.
• 5:00     Prepare dinner
• 6:00     Eat dinner, clear dishes and tidy kitchen.
• 7:00     Help Julian with homework
• 7:45     Bathe kids and get them ready for bed
• 8:30     Tuck in kids.
• 9:00     Check and respond to e-mail. Read, spend time with G.
• 10:00   Pray. Go to bed.

Anyone can benefit from a routine like this. Plug in the things that are important to you. Really think about your time wasters. I used to waste so much time playing online. Lately I've cut way back. Finally, I'm accomplishing things. Omitting commitments I don't really care about. Opening my schedule for things I do care about. Living instead of just existing. Sweet, huh?

And if you REALLY want to know the secret to my success, look at the first letter of every sentence in that last paragraph.

What I did on my spring break

You know how sometimes you're having just a few potato chips with the merest smudge of French onion dip, and then just a few more, and then there's only a few chips left in the bag, so you might as well finish them off, but then there's a little bit of dip left around the bottom of the tub, but it would be piggish to eat it with a spoon, but when you try to scoop it up with the remaining itty-bitty chip fragments they're not big enough, so then you dump the crumbs from the chips bag INTO the French onion dip container, and make a sort of chip/dip slurry, and THEN you eat it with a spoon? But then you sort of need some sweet to balance it out, so you eat two six ten seventeen chocolate eggs because the kids will probably never notice them missing from their Easter baskets, only they do, and you have to either own up to it, which would make the kids cry, or actually lie to your kids, and then you're officially an addict, because isn't that what addicts do, lie about their consumption of the addicting substance?

Yeah. That's the kind of week I had last week.