Rocketman

Posted on by

0

How on earth does something like this happen?!

Back in December I flew from DC to SF with my two kids by myself, so I fully get that things can get crazy when you’re flying with preschoolers. For example, you might give your sweet two-year-old Benadryl on doctor’s orders before a flight, which causes her to act like an angry chimpanzee for 6 solid hours while the woman across the aisle from you asks every 20 minutes, “Do you know when she is going to be DONE.” Not that that happened to me. But the series of events that leads up to a flight attendant shutting a 17-month-old kid in an overhead storage bin?! I have so many questions. First, what flight has that much overhead storage room? The last time I flew I got dirty looks for carrying a big purse and laptop bag. Second, what kind of crazy peek-a-boo game were these guys playing? A skilled peek-a-booer can use only his or her hands and totally get the job done. And I can think of so many other games that would work for kids on a plane — for example, on the flight in December, I played tic-tac-toe with my kids, did puzzles with them, and then, after my son fell asleep and my daughter entered hour four of her medicated hyperactive freak out, I played “how quickly can mommy order drinks from the nice flight attendant.” Third, I know this is touchy, but I am saying it — this really does nothing for all the dads out there who complain that they don’t get the credit they deserve. So many of my women friends are married to really smart, educated, successful guys, and we routinely have conversations that begin with, “You won’t believe what my husband let the kids do.” I can totally imagine this woman getting off the plane, calling her sister and being like, “You won’t believe what he just did. HE LET A FLIGHT ATTENDANT STUFF OUR KID IN THE OVERHEAD STORAGE BIN.” And her sister being all, “Yeah, well, John let the kids go for a ride in the dryer.”

Anyways, what a terrible situation, and it sounds like a total lack of judgment from people who should have known better. But as someone who may have actively encouraged her four year old to watch Hannah Montana while she flagged down the flight attendant for another drink, I really shouldn’t be talking.

Winning

Posted on by

0

I was so happy to read this article today. I love the image of the dudes at the end of the article raising their hands all sheepishly when she asked who wants a sugar mama (OK, that wasn’t her question, but you know what I mean). I also forget that it wasn’t that long ago – like, my mom’s generation – that women couldn’t get a credit card without a man co-signing for it. What the what?!

Anyways. Today was a tough day at work, and I don’t feel great, and my dentist told me I have a cavity. I am feeling both old and crazy. These songs made me feel better, though. Enjoy.

When You Were Young (my god, LOOK AT THAT picture of Brandon Flowers):

Basket Case (Sara Bareilles, equal parts sweet and salty):

I am not an abandoned knitting blog

Posted on by

0

DAMMIT, it is hard to keep up with a blog! Seriously, I was hoping I could just write a few posts, get discovered, and then go on Oprah to tell her about my inspirations in life and my favorite kitchen tool (my stainless steel handled rubber spatula, obvs). But due to the high demand of my readers (i.e., a random woman asking me the other day, “Hey, didn’t you have a blog or something?”), I have returned. There is so much to discuss. In the last few months, I have transitioned the kids to a new preschool, gotten a new job that I’m excited about, traveled cross country with both kids by myself, and have peed in a sippy cup on the side of a major road.

I’ll start with that last one first.

So as background: something seriously disturbing happened in my house about six months ago, and I think enough time has finally passed that I can share it in any sort of lighthearted way. I hope you are sitting down, mainly because it’s just weird to read a blog standing up, right? SO one Sunday back in July, a crazy storm came out of nowhere and ruined our plans to go to the pool. It also knocked out our power. OK, it’s happened a couple times since we’ve moved in, no big deal. 12 hours later as my husband is getting ready to fly across the country for work for a week, though, it’s becoming a bigger deal. Well, long story short: we had no power for six days. SIX DAYS. Six days of waiting in long lines at gas stations to buy overpriced bags of ice so my kids had milk for breakfast. Six days of wearing a freaking headlamp while I did dishes and changed my daughter’s diapers. Six days of wondering if preschool was open, or if my big meetings at work were still on, or if my phone was going to run out of batteries, or if some nutjob was going to break in my house in the woods and no one would even know. Totally awful.

So the drive to the kids’ preschool is a long one, and is pretty much a straight shot down a major road. The road has lots of stoplights that were all knocked out during the storm. Our usually 40 minute drive to preschool turned into a TWO HOUR odyssey on the second morning after the power went out. The kids were actually pretty psyched to watch two hours of cartoons in the car. I, on the other hand, was freaking out. Cops were directing traffic at every intersection. People were honking, cursing, driving aggressively, and I had not used a blow dryer in a good 48 hours at this point. Well, about halfway into our journey, I realized I had to pee. Really bad. But I was so close to the kids’ preschool that I wasn’t too concerned. Twenty minutes and about quarter of a mile later, though, I’m wigging out and looking around for a gas station, grocery store, anywhere I can stop. Nothing. I’m literally on a stretch of road by nothing but neighborhoods, jam-packed with traffic, and I realize I am about to pee my pants. At which point, I start crying. So I do the only thing I know to do: I pull over, throw on my hazards, tell my daughter to finish her milk, scramble to the backseat of the car, yell at the kids to KEEP THEIR EYES ON THE TV SCREEN, and I pee in my daughter’s sippy cup.

I’m not sure the point of sharing this with you, except to totally embarrass my mom. And to say that life is completely ridiculous, and for all the hard work I (and every mom I know) put in to planning and preparing and anticipating, you still might end up on the side of a road pissing in your kid’s sippy cup.

But I really hope not. That is my wish for you. Which is totally what I will say, straight-faced, on Oprah when she asks me my one wish for the world: “To never have to pee in your kid’s sippy cup.” And Oprah will give me a knowing nod and lean in for a hug. And she will smell so good. She just has to, right?

I said good day.

Halfsies

Posted on by

0

OK, what? I know that this is a closely held issue for many parents, especially moms. A friend of mine told me years ago that you should never tell a woman that her baby looks just like the dad because no mom wants to hear that. But I feel like I’m missing something here.

My kids are half Chinese, and despite the well-meaning comments from people who say they look just like me, they really, truly don’t. They have dark almond shaped eyes, dark hair, and olive-y colored skin. I am pasty white with light brown hair and eyes. Their appearance seems to change by the minute, so some days I’ll see myself in an expression they make or in the way they walk or gesture, but for the most part, they look exactly like their dad. Which is fine, because, well, I like how their dad looks. A lot. Rowr!

I’ve only had a few questions about my son being adopted or my being his nanny, but have had lots more people ask if my daughter is adopted, presumably because more girls are adopted from China than boys (although I wonder how much people really think through random comments they make to strangers). But I think the moments are just comical. For example: I may have told a couple people who asked where my kids were adopted from that they came from the country of Myuterus. (It is lovely this time of year.) And I will always remember the insane look of pride in my Chinese father-in-law’s eyes as he held my son for the first time and announced to everyone in the room, “He looks VERY Oriental. Not even half half!” It’s like he was openly celebrating his Asian genes’ victory over my wimpy white genes. But my favorite moment — when my daughter was about a year old, I was at the drug store getting a prescription for her. She was totally transfixed by an Asian woman sitting next to us. As we were leaving, I said to the woman, “Wow, she really can’t take her eyes off you!” The woman didn’t miss a beat, and with all seriousness said, “Probably because I look like her mother.”

Should I care about this more than I do? I don’t think so. While Nicole Blade’s emotional statement on Motherlode about why these comments hurt her feelings is understandable, I guess I’d rather have the “teachable moment” in these situations to be that it’s silly to get too worked up over a stranger’s passing comment. Particularly when it’s often preceded by, “Oh, your baby is so cute!”

Maybe I’ll start feeling differently when my kids realize that strangers don’t think I’m their mom at first glance. But I doubt it. I know that anyone who actually knew us would have no doubt that I am their mama. My son’s affinity for fart jokes and my daughter’s completely irrational behavior is a dead giveaway.

World Without Love

Posted on by

0

You must hear this! I haven’t stopped thinking about this song since I heard it on the radio a few weeks ago. It’s so catchy and the lyrics and just…good. Watching this video makes me love it even more – can you imagine the chutzpah it takes (I’ve talked enough about balls lately, so I’m using the word chutzpah) to just sit down and sing for people in some random conference room (seriously, where is this filmed) with a keyboard and a dude playing guitar next to you? Anywho, prepare to have a new song in your head for the next week. You’re welcome.