Archives for February 2013

I Heart You Valentine’s Day

The first Valentine’s Day I spent with Katya she was 4.  I thought it would be so much fun! to make crafty Valentines together for her daycare class.  It goes without saying that I also wanted to impress the other moms at the daycare so they knew that this little girl who lived with her daddy really did have a mommy-type female in her life that did things like make obnoxious  Valentine’s Day cards to show up the other kids….moms.

I found an awesome Valentine in Martha Stewart magazine, and broke out the construction paper, hot glue gun, craft scissors, lollipops and glitter.

I had forgotten how much I love ideas but hate execution.  I also had assumed incorrectly that Katya had the crafting skills and maturity of a teenager.

She, of course, was unable to weild scissors in any productive capacity.  Scalding hot glue was obviously off limits.  The one thing she did have fun with was the glitter.

Comedian Demetri Martin says this about glitter: “The thing about glitter is if you get it on you, be prepared to have it on you forever. Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies.”

You all know what happens when a pre-K gets ahold of glitter.  I won’t go into the gory details.

Anyhoo, this left me with the project basically all to myself in the evenings after Katya went to bed so she didn’t have a fit over not being able to “TOUCH GLITTER EVER AGAIN!” or eat any of the lollipops.

Fortunately I started this project a week in advance.  Because it took me, no exaggeration, the entire week of evenings to finish the MFing things.  About 12 hours total.  I hate you Martha Stewart.

 

Like these but with more glitter. And blood sweat and tears.

This year I bought Katya a cute little box of DIY Valentines from Target.  I trusted her skills a bit more.  These came with letter stickers and shapes stickers.  I did one or two with her and then left her to her own devices to make a batch of cookie dough (and eat it.  I suppose I sort of do sound all Martha Stewart-y with all the crafting and baking and what have you.  But truly I made  this batch entirely for myself to eat raw. No sharing.  And Martha Stewart is all about sharing her bounty.  side note- or other people sharing their bounty with her?? Digress.)

I came back and realized my mistake.  She was super excited about the stickers, but was having trouble with placement.  So she then stuck just the first letter of the person’s name to the thing and then a letter K.  For Katya.  I asked her how she would remember which one was for who.  “Duh, S for Samantha, mom.” um, ok.

Also, she lettered out Valentine’s Day like so:

Va

lent

ine

sDa

y

which is so totally not how I’d do it but fine.  I wanted to sort of spruce things up a bit though (why the ef do I care??) so I broke out the infamous hot glue gun and started gluing Hershey’s Kisses to each one.  Why, god?

So I hope that all goes over well and the Kisses don’t fall off randomly and then some kids gets Kisses and some don’t and the ones that don’t start talking shit about Katya.

This is the ecard I made for my future self.

 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

 

MI4: Granola Protocol

I really wanted that granola bar.  I mean, desperately.  I could see it sticking out of the pocket of my bag, stuffed under the seat.  It was a friggin’ 5 hour flight, after all.  And Southwest only gives you peanuts.  For the whole entire flight.  Who does that?

Anyway, I knew this was risky.  I felt like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible 4 where he has to climb like Spiderman on the outside of the tallest building in the world in Dubai, with an impending sand storm (side note – these are called Haboobs, which is totally rad) and an imminent nuclear war is at hand if he doesn’t complete this mission.

My granola bar was the launch codes.

I leaned over slowly, slowly, and reached for it.  But it was just beyond my grasp.  I tried to coax it out a little with my foot – learned that from Tom.  One more quick push to get it.  It would be lightening fast.  I made the final grab and…score!  I had it in my sweaty palms.

“AAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!” was the sound I heard next.  I had squished Noah’s sleeping head between my lap and my boobs, and when I reached over I failed the mission…I had squeezed too hard and woke him up.  Shit.

And then I thought he’d calm down.  But he was sick, sleeping through as we descended a bit and not being able to pop his stuffed up ears.  Noah proceeded to throw a fully fleshed out tantrum for the next 45 minutes, complete with flailing limbs, bloodcurdling screams, kicks to the seat in front of me. Kicks to me.  Sort of like the villain blond girl in MI4…I wouldn’t have been surprised if he brandished a wine opener and tried to cut me…

Unfortunately I couldn’t kick him out a window.  Because that would be just plain mean.

You know what’s worse than having your child scream in a plane full of people who have all been stuck there for the last 4.5 hours?  Trying to calm him down while you also try to keep yourself conscious and fighting off the uncontrollable chills and impending fever that a nasty virus has decided to sock you with that day.

You know what’s even worse than that?  Having your 7 year old spend those same 45 tantrum minutes going “GAAAWD!!  UGH!  OH MY GAWD!!  SHHHHHHHHH!!!  NOAH SHUT UP!!!!!   UGH!!!!    GAWD!!!!!”  over and over and over.

And  you know what’s the absolute worst?  Having the teenagers behind you grumbling loudly “Make that kid SHUT UP!” “UGH!”  “OH MY GOD that kid won’t shut up!”

Now that’s fun!

I wanted to shout back “No, YOU shut up!” but snappy comebacks were not readily available to me in my fogged out state.

All I could think about was A) really, how do I get my kid to shut up?  B) how is Mat going to raise three kids by himself after I grab a beer, open the door, inflate the slide and flee this hell on earth as soon as we land like that one batshit-crazy flight attendant did a couple of years ago? C) Would I get arrested for doing that? and D) Jail would nice and quiet and kid-free and how soon can I go?

Bringing myself back from my jail daydream (I tend to have these more and more often), I also was thinking about how I was going to get off the plane without everyone noticing my hugely pitted out shirt and visibly sweat-marked pants seat.  I was sweating my ass off, literally, trying to physically restrain my child while my body simultaneously attempted to break this fever.  Not one of my more glamorous moments.

I look over at Mat who does the silent shoulder shrug and mouths “sorry” and I want to throw my granola bar at his face.  I think I see him smirk as he turns his head but I can’t be sure.  Of course, Lola is sleeping peacefully at this point in his arms so he is quite self-satisfied and unwilling to lend a hand.  And he’s sitting in a different aisle than Noah, Katya and I are so he is quite removed from the whole scene, pretending he doesn’t know us.   He might have even given me one of those death stares so prevalent in the passengers surrounding us, as a means of bonding with his aisle-mates and ensuring his assimilation into the crowd, but again I can’t be sure….

In case you’re wondering, Noah did finally calm down, spontaneously in the last 10 minutes before we landed.  He’s there sitting on Katya’s lap looking out the window at the lights, pointing and laughing and I’m going What the EF, dude??  I was really starting to feel sorry for him.  Then I realized he might have played me for a fool.  So not cool.

I try to air out my butt by inconspicuously lifting off my seat and waving the Skymall like a fan in my general crotch vicinity but its to no avail.  People are still staring.  I’m a sweaty monster and I just want off this goddam plane NOW.

We eventually make it home.  But not after I yell at Katya for taking off with the stroller full of babies in the crowded baggage claim area and I (not her!) become the recipient of even more death stares.  One mom actually looks like she’s about to come up and give Katya a bear hug after I put her in timeout and I want to scream “You have no idea AT ALL what my day has been like lady and if you keep giving me your nasty looks I’m gonna wipe your kid’s nose with my snotty Kleenex and see how you like it!”

I spend the next 10 minutes waiting for the van and thinking of all I’m gonna say to this woman because I missed my chance with the crappy teenagers behind me and now I’m just waiting for someone to BRING IT.  But she never does and I have to keep my well-thought out and thoroughly eviscerating comeback to myself.

It’s pointless to tell you, but I will anyway, that when we arrive home I spend the next 3 days fighting the nastiest cold I’ve had in a decade.  And that instead of being able to curl up in bed immediately, I have to strip it because the dog and cats have peed on it in protest while we were gone.  Or that the furnace gives out the day after we get home, on the coldest day of the winter so far.  Just par for the course at this point.

I do think I’ll leave you with some select quotes from the previous week.  I started writing them down because things were just getting too ridiculous.  This hellish flight was only the culmination of a total breakdown in the protocol of vacations.  You know, the things that are supposed to be fun and relaxing?  Not so much this go around.  Every person in my family getting sick = Vacation that blows.

“I can’t breathe!”

“Her temperature is 104.7!”

“We have to take her to the hospital!”

“You have to stay here for three more hours so we can keep an eye on her.”

“She has strep and croup.”

“Is there snot on my butt?”

“His temperature is 102.3!”

“We have to take him to the hospital.”

“Lola just spit up into my cleavage.”

“Poop fell out of his diaper!”

“Let me see what color that loogie is.”

“You made the whole house smell like a dirty men’s bathroom!”

“Jan’s never gonna invite us back.”

“This blanket has poop on it!”

“CLEAN THE TOILET!!”

“Katya just puked snot all over Lola!”

“Noah peed on the floor.”

“I think Katya’s snot vomit was the final straw for Lola.”

“Is everyone gonna get effing sick?!”

“I just started my period.”

“Thank God.”