Navigating the Wild World of Motherhood
It seems Beyonce spared no expense when it came to her baby girl’s birth. Any why would she? She’s Beyonce. TMZ has released photos of her beautiful hospital suite which costs around $700-$800 per night. A tad expensive, yes, but that’s not an insane amount. Her posse used about four rooms during her stay – evidently her entourage travels with her for her birth – ew. Why? In case she decides to record an album during delivery or needs a sequins bodysuit? Anyway, so four rooms would’ve run her about $3,200. Again, not a big deal when you’re sitting on kabillions of dollars. Click image below to see more of her hospital suite!
So why so much drama about Beyonce’s baby? It really didn’t cost a ton if the above info is correct. Wait, there’s more! On Wed. of this week the NY State Health Department got “complaints from new parents who claim they were mistreated by the staff at Lenox Hill Hospital while Beyonce was giving birth in the VIP room.” The parents who were having babies in the hospital while Bey & Z were there said, “they were neglected by staff and prevented from visiting their newborns … due to the drama surrounding the superstar.” Gee, ya think?
Let me tell you this, had I given birth at my hospital while a HUGE superstar like Beyonce was there, I would’ve delivered my baby myself with a bedpan and a sheet. I’m 1,000 times certain I would’ve been totally ignored. They ignored me most of the time anyway! Talk about ruining a special moment for you and your family. Who cares about your normal, boring baby when BEYONCE and JAYZ are birthing royalty down the hall. Seriously? You know I’m right.
The baby rumors continue to swill about and who knows what’s actually true. All I know is that kid is gonna hear the most unbelievably cool nursery rhymes ever.
I made a joke on Facebook last week about not friending people’s kids. I said something to the effect of my subtle innuendos, jaded perspective and bad jokes would be lost on a child. I also joked about the upside, which would be I probably have the same taste in music as a 10-year-old. Well, until you get into my love of rap music. That should bump the median age up a notch.
Picture it. A dorky mother of two be-bopping around suburbia in a black Mercedes mini SUV (for the mom who can’t park a Suburban) with this music blaring through the speakers. Yes, it’s as pathetic in real life as it reads on-screen. However, my elementary-aged kids think I’m super awesome, so I’ve got that going for me.
I’d also like to add that not only do I listen to these artists constantly, I know every word to every song (including rap) and have been known to poorly choreograph dance routines to said songs. I happen to be watching the 2011 American Music Awards right now and these folks are so not as cool as Phil Collins. And way too tall.
Here’s what’s on my iPod:
Maroon 5 with and without Gym Class Heroes
Flo Rida (also twice)
Black Eyed Peas
Pitball (and lots of it)
Jason Derulo (Omg, I’m making myself laugh now…)
My personal “explicit” faves inlcude:
My sad attempt at “cutting edge” includes:
Far East Movement
What makes me cheesy as heck:
Phil Collins (Sussudio, of course)
As one of my besties would say,”SHAZAM!” What’s on your iPod? Is it even remotely as cheesy as my playlist? Go ahead, thrill me.
“Look at me. I’m wearing daddy’s shoes and I’m naked.” Hysterical laughter errupts.
“Mom, when you wear your glasses, you look like a grandma.” Hysterical laughter.
“Mommy, listen to my new song. ‘I hate you. I hate daddy. I hate bugs. I hate turtles. I hate candy. I hate pillows.’ More hysterical laughter.
“Guess what, mommy? Butt. Pee.” Total giggle meltdown.
I have to admit, being four must be fun because everything is totally hilarious. The mind of my 4-year-old is so interesting and entertaining, it almost makes me jealous.
Sometimes he is actually very funny and seems to have inherited comedic timing, but sometimes what he says doesn’t seem funny at all. And it’s only his genuine reaction that makes it funny. He enjoys laughing at his own bad jokes almost as much as I like laughing at mine. That’s my boy. Tear.
I’m not the kind of mom that gets weepy as my kids get older, but I will miss this tender, silly and highly amusing age. I can only hope he’ll always have that fun-loving spirit and maybe when he gets older, he’ll laugh at my bad jokes too.
P.S. When I kissed him goodnight, I asked him who is the funniest person he knows. He thought for a minute. “Me, mommy!” Of course.
My tall, skinny son looked rather comical in his worn, gray, jersey-knit bodysuit with his silly elephant nose made out of a dryer tube wrapped in silver electrical tape and a big pillow stuffed down the front of his outfit. He looked goofy and frumpy, which was exactly how he was supposed to look. The room was fully of excited children and glittery outfits – clown suits, ringmaster vests, acrobat leotards and funny props. And my son was a fat, gray elephant. I was very proud.
It was the annual kindergarten performance and I was a nervous wreck. I wasn’t worried about my son goofing up his lines, because he didn’t have any lines. I wasn’t worried about him making a mistake, because at that age, mistakes are pretty darn cute. I was worried about how he would handle the things I couldn’t anticipate. When you have an autistic child, you recognize the situations that may be uncomfortable or overwhelming, and you plan ahead to avoid them. If it’s going to be loud, you pack the soundproof headphones. If it’s going to be crowded, you go early to avoid crowds. The truth is, when you’re dealing with autism you just never know. And in this instance, I knew nothing.
My son and I practiced his little routine at home and I gave him verbal reassurance about the on-stage experience. No matter how much I prepped him, I realized he didn’t fully grasp what I was trying to convey. This is what autism is all about and this why it’s so tricky. The one thing I didn’t want him to experience on-stage was fear. It was impossible for me to imagine how he would process and handle the stage, the lights, the audience and the huge auditorium.
While I was pinning his bulky elephant costume closed, I kept telling him to have fun and not worry if he made a mistake. He smiled and said, “okay, mama!” I gave him a big hug and went to my seat in the second row. To many onlookers, I probably appeared to a normal, nervous, stage mom who secretly yearned for her child to steal the show. The reality of the situation couldn’t have been further from the truth.
The show was adorable and eventually, it was time for his act to perform. I could see the expression on his face as he stepped on-stage to the sea of faces looking back at him. He was scanning the unfamiliar faces for a familiar one – his mommy. As soon as he saw me waving at him, he waved back. I knew he would be fine. And he was. He sailed through his routine without a hitch. I was overcome with happiness, hope and of course, pride. My head was cheering, “He did it! He did it!” and then it happened…
All of the children, about 138 kiddos, gathered on-stage together for one final song. After the first few notes rang out, my son covered his ears and crouched down, putting his elbows on his knees. I panicked. My husband, who was sitting next to me, noticed too. We watched as he stood up and then resumed his position, blocking out his surroundings. It was too much and he was panicking. The lights, the noise, the camera flashes, the people, the stage. “Go help him!” I instinctively said to my husband, practically jumping out of my seat “No,” he said calmly, yet fearfully. “He’s handling it.”
The song seemed to last forever and while all of the other little faces sang happily and parents took tons of pictures, my son’s little face was hidden. It didn’t help that he was standing on the first row, front and center. On the bright side, as soon as the song ended he popped back up and smiled, enjoying the accolades from all of the parents. He didn’t cry, he didn’t run and he didn’t mentally checkout. He survived it in his own way. Yep, he handled it after all. What a star!
Image: Mina Laben
“Come get me if they give you any crap.”
As a parent, I often learn valuable lessons by simply observing the actions of others. For example, this is why my hubby will never exercise shirtless at a park. On a serious note, I witnessed the epitome of “what not to do” parenting last week at the pool. Before I explain my story, I’m assuming none of us want to raise a bully. Right? We all know the actions of a bully may not leave physical scars, but the mental abuse can leave lifelong wounds or worse. Well, this jackass of a mom didn’t get the memo…
At the table next to me, I overheard a teenage boy tell him mom that a group of girls were playing with his inner-tube. First, as moms we all know toys at the pool are community property. That’s the law. Second, the boy was 13-15 and the girls playing with inner-tube were 6-years-old. I know this because they’re my son’s friends. Sweet, innocent and young girls. The floatie was abandoned in the pool and they started playing with it. These things happen.
My head was on a swivel as soon as I heard the mother tell her son in a very unkind tone, “Well, that’s your toy, so go get it! What are you standing there for?! Go get your toy.”
The boy wasn’t feeling comfortable with her response and you could tell he wished he hadn’t said anything about it. He said, “No, mom. You know. It’s okay. They’re having fun and I’m going to sit with you for a while and take a break.”
The mom retorted, “No, you’re not. Go get your butt in the pool and tell those girls that’s your toy. Do it! Come get me if they give you any crap.”
A mom (who happens to be a bully) was bullying her son (who was trying to be nice) into being a bully. Omg. There are so many things wrong with this on so many levels, I can’t even address it all. My head was spinning. I couldn’t even believe it. Yeah, watch out for 6-year-old girls giving a teen boy “crap” about an inner-tube. I’m sure they would’ve pounced on him and screamed “NO WAY!” at the top of their lungs. Classic pathetic motherhood moment. I wanted to reach out and slap that woman. I wanted to shake her and yell, “Do you even realize what you’re doing? Why do people like you procreate?” Yes, she made me want to be a bully. I get the irony.
Why wouldn’t she offer to assist her son and help him initiate the conversation with the girls? He was obviously feeling bad about ruining the fun. Instead of mediating and helping him grow, she just bullied him and bullied him. She wasn’t nice or sensitive or caring in any way, shape or form. She was a jerk and she was trying to force her son to be one too. Oh, and here’s her memo from me, MommyQ:
I really wish she had looked at my reaction to her during the ordeal, because I was saving up a super-duper eye roll/disapproving scowl for her. My brows were poised in the ultimate furrow position. She would’ve probably said something rude to me and I would’ve happily told her to bite me. It would’ve been a spectacular, “Jersey-Shore-Real-Housewives-table-tossing-hair-pulling” moment. Sadly, it didn’t happen. And sadly, that poor boy knows the example she is setting is wrong, yet his smart choices go unnoticed. Sad for everyone.
Let’s kick bullying to the curb, people. Learn more at StopBullying.gov.
“He looks like a little old man,” she laughed to her friend. It was a group of four grandmothers, looking at the newest addition to the grandma club – a plump new grandson. “We need to buy him a tiny cowboy hat,” one exclaimed excitedly. They all laughed and nodded in agreement. That baby needs a cowboy hat for sure, because it’s a unspoken law that every child in Texas owns one.
These grandmas were decked out in their coordinating gym attire, looking pretty darn awesome for being around 65-years-old. They were obviously good friends, laughing and gossiping and making plans for a lazy afternoon lunch. One of these ladies had white hair styled in a cute shoulder-length cut and one was wearing her hair shorter and totally gray. The other two had big, puffy, blond hair. (Again, Texas.)
I was instantly reminded of my own friends, 90% of them happen to be moms like me. We all have young kiddos, mostly under 7-years-old. Our group functions much the same. We laugh and gossip, but we make plans for a rushed lunch that has to happen before the end of the school day and after preschool drop-off. Instead of sharing pictures in person, we keep up with each through status updates, online photo albums and texts.
Watching those grandmothers, I realized something that seems impossible right now. One day, I will be one of those grandmas. I’ll be old with wrinkled hands, telltale sunspots, deep Crow’s feet and serious smile lines. My friends, who are vibrant, fit, flawless and healthy will be those grandmas too. Well, at least I won’t be alone, right? Although even when I’m old and gray, I think I’ll see my friends as I see them today. They don’t look old to me now, so maybe they never will.
My hope would be this: When it’s my turn to be the grandma with the fluffy hair and the snazzy workout gear, and a gal in her late 30s sees me at the gym, I want her to think, “I hope I look that good when I’m really old.” I’d take that as a compliment every time.
I just love watching men peruse the card section at Walgreen’s, trying to find the best Mother’s Day card for their mamas. The surly Larry The Cable Guy in a cutoff plaid shirt buys the beautifully illustrated sappy card with the heartfelt sentiments, while the Dell-looking guy in pleated khakis and a Titleist polo buys his mom the slightly raunchy card featuring a monkey wearing sunglasses or an old lady in a bikini.
I could be petty and wish for extravagant things or I could be totally content and wish for nothing or I could be myself and wish for more wishes. Okay, now I’m just confusing myself.
1. – I wish I liked glitter. Why? Because it is the most popular decorative element on the crafts my kids bring home from school. And due to my hatred for said glitter, those crafty creations always land in the trash.
2. – I wish I didn’t DVR so many shows, because I have like 39 hours of recorded shows that I NEVER have time to watch. Those shows hang over me like a dark cloud – a dark taunting cloud.
3. – I wish I had never heard the term “muffin top.” It was much easier to have them when I didn’t know what they were called. Naming them makes them real.
4. – I wish I exclaimed cooler phrases when I’m excited about something or mad. I say lame things likes, “Holy Moly” and “Are you kidding me?!’ and “Seriously!?!” I also use the words “dude” and “awesome” regularly. After visiting my sister in Colorado, I’m thinking of swapping out “awesome” for “gnarly.”
5. – I wish I wasn’t addicted to fabric softener. I know it makes my clothes fall apart faster, it’s another heavy thing to buy at the grocery store (which I detest) and it prolongs an already horrible laundry experience. I can’t help it. Gain smells fantastic.
6. – I wish I didn’t have the uncanny ability to hear silent headlocks. I can hear them from a mile away. If my kids get really quiet while playing together, I know someone’s grumpy face is getting squished in the crook of someone’s tiny arm.
7. - I wish I could open the pantry and/or the refrigerator and cleverly whip up an amazing meal with whatever I find. Let’s have instant oatmeal topped with spicy mustard, a slice of cheese and a jar of pimentos!
8. – I wish I didn’t think “that’s what she said” was a perfect addition to any statement. Michael Scott was right on the ball. That’s what she said.
9. – I wish kid’s movies were lame. I watch Despicable Me, Megamind and Wall-E with way too much interest. I am genuinely sad when the kids get bored and want to turn the movie off early. Once in a while, I finish watching the movie by myself after they go to bed.
10. – In thinking about wish #9, I’d like to wish for a bunch of my own minions. Cute, little, yellow critters who can help do the laundry, clean up cat puke, find missing socks, break up the silent headlocks, etc. I think every mom deserves at least 25 of them, as long as they’re very self sufficient, I’m assuming I don’t have to feed them. If so, I hope they like my oatmeal surprise (refer to wish #7).
Happy Mother’s Day to all of the fab mommies out there. May you get a box full of minions this year….
I was fixing dinner when I heard more screaming than normal. I knew nobody was hurt because it was high-pitched, happy yelling accompanied by laughter and shouts. Oddly, when I went to find all of the noise, I noticed it was coming from one location. But the location was moving — quickly!
My boys decided to go for a joyride on my oldest son’s Razor RipRider, which is his most favorite bike ever. He does some seriously cool spinouts on that thing. Anyway, my youngest figured out how to climb on, stand on the back, lean forward and grip the handlebars. I’m not sure which one was dominating as the biggest daredevil, so I’ll give them both the title.
While little guy hung on for dear life, my older son managed to steer with perfect accuracy while totally hunched over. How did he do this? He didn’t hit the wall, the table, the cat, the counter, the fireplace, the couch, etc. Sadly, I’m probably the one screaming the loudest. They seemed totally fine with it all.
What’s the funniest daredevil trick your kiddos have done?