The Snow . . .

Yes it is beautiful, all of it piled against our front porch. As it fell, it was like the whole city was in a silent bubble. Most specifically, my street. I felt as though I was wearing ear plugs, a deafening thunderstorm of sorts. And going outside at times just to see if I could hear the snow fall was unreal. I felt like if I called to my neighbor next door, I would disturb the flow of the snow, kind of like making those first footprints in the undisturbed snow. Maybe my voice would make it to her, maybe it wouldn't. I would find out!

Ward thought it would be great to let the kids "run" outside and play in the snow while he shoveled the sidewalk. Why he needed to shovel us out in a State of Emergency was beyond me. They had been whining all morning, even going so far as putting on their coats and boots, pretending our couch cushions were the snow forts they would make.

I protested, warning they just were too little for the two feet of snow that waited for us outside our door. Ward, thinking I wanted to stay in my pajamas all day (why is that so bad?), insisted. So I bundled up the little ones with tights under jeans, socks over tights, plastic bread bags over socks, boots over plastic bread bags, shirts under sweaters, etc., and they excitedly entered our porch and stared at the opened door that led to . . . no stairs. Where had the stairs gone? Indeed, where HAD our stairs gone? And my rhododendrons? And landscape lights and flag stand and flower beds . . . there was no separation from one area to another. Just one flat area from my yard to the street to my neighbor's yard to their driveway and so on.

The children eagerly jumped into the snow, with pails and shovels in hand, Ward and I close behind.

Where did my children go?

Little boots and mittens began to flail in the air and screams of "Help!" and "I'm being killed by the snow" were muffled from their mouths full of snow.

At first, we seemed to calmed them, giving them a giant sled to sit on. But it became apparent in less than five minutes that they were restless and the silence of our street was rocked by their howls (sound does carry in the snow!).

Ward commented that at least they learned their lesson and wouldn't whine the rest of the day. That was definitely true. This may be the snow storm that ruins our six year old forever, damning her from ever enjoying a snow fall, or sled ridding again.

Unintended consequences.

She came into the house, cursing the snow's existence and ever having gotten up out of bed that morning. As for the other two, I don't think they were quite as traumatized, but I am sure they will remember yesterday, hopefully not as a suppressed memory in some therapy session.

Things I like about emergencies is bringing together neighbors. One neighbor of ours used his bobcat to clear a path for cars to get out. Another used his snowblower to clear a path up our street for neighbors to at least walk up the road. Several others helped each other dig out their sidewalks. It is nice to know you can count on each other when times are tough.

June

Back From The Grave

Hello all who have missed us!

We are in a sense re-launching our site after some unanticipated challenges that kept us from posting.

One would think after a year, many things should have changed with the children all growing one year older--expectations have gotten higher, the days have grown longer, getting up in the morning has gotten harder, several haircuts have turned out looking like Steve Perry, and I am still trying to fit into a pair of jeans I promised myself I would when I bought them last summer. . . but they haven't.

I'm still reaching for perfection and that "Mother of the Year" award, while procrastinating and taking naps in the afternoons. Still wondering if once-a-week baths are enough. Still letting the children eat cheerios off the floor, even though Oprah had a horrible bacteria show--"What can kill you in your own home!!!!!!!!!!!"

So, this is my venting place (and Harriet's too), and a place where you can come and feel safe. No constant talking about poop like MOPS. Just a place to talk about fucking up. Feeling vulnerable. Being silly. Being sexy. Admitting we're terrified by the little two-foot tallers. Maybe together, we can try to get out heads out of the oven.

June

How To Work From Home And Manage Your Kids

It's hard for us women to do it all. Working moms must get their children ready for daycare, and remember the bologna sandwiches, change of clothes, blankets for the week, etc. They must do the house cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and homework all the while running a company or passing out parking tickets. You're constantly being criticized for not spending enough time with your children, or for not being at work enough.

As a stay-at-home mom, you do the same things, and if you work at home, you have little children whacking you in the face with mega blocks and shoes, smelly diapers to change, and phone conversations being interrupted by screaming banshees. You're constantly being criticized for not doing enough housework, or for not going back to work (you got a college degree to do what?).

So, for those of you who stay at home and work, I offer some helpful hints to take care of business and still get your housework done.

1. The number one thing a working mom at home must do is invest in a laptop computer with WiFi access. Being cooped up in a hole on the second floor is a positive disaster for any mom working at home with young children. With a laptop, you have the freedom to work at the kitchen table or in the living room, while watching over the little ones, unless it's your nap time and they're watching a DVD of a Disney movie.

2. Get your children on a schedule as well as yourself. Yes, some times this will get off schedule, but as long as you bring everyone back on track, you will find the day will give you much freedom to accomplish what you need to do.

3. Use your early morning to get yourself ready as well as the children. I find it best to get them ready first, fix them cereal and bananas, then fire up the TV and have it ready for when they are finished while I take a shower and get dressed. Be sure to put up child-proof gates everywhere so they won't get into too much trouble.

4. Have plenty of snacks and milk or juice on hand. When they get particularly angry, just placate them with the food, juice and of course, TV. This gives you more time to do your work and helps them to learn their ABC's and plenty of annoying songs.

5. When you need a break in between your work; do some laundry; thaw your chicken for the evening's dinner; look up Kama Sutra position #23 to tease your spouse; or dye your hair. Do whatever is on your to-do list at these bored moment breaks.

6. If your children get out of hand, put them in time-out. If time-outs don't work, take them to the toy store or let them pick something on-line. This'll help you feel less guilty for working at home instead of playing with your children and wasting the money you're making. It'll also help you to raise children who will learn to manipulate and get what they want without earning it.

7. Set aside some time during the day to play with your children. This'll help alleviate bad behavior and reduce competition they feel with your job. That's also why I feel having a laptop helps. You're in a room with them, so they feel connected to you. You can sing, play and just answer their insane questions in between your work. It's what you're best at--multi-tasking!

8. If it all just becomes too much and you need to have peace and quiet, there are plenty of illegal aliens who are ready and willing to help you raise your children for practically no money. You can find them early in the morning on street corners waiting to be picked up by anonymous pick-up drivers to haul them off to fields for day labor. You'd be doing her a favor, bringing her into your home instead of letting her go to a hot dirty field! And you children would benefit by learning a second language!

9. Make sure nap time is quiet time. If your children are young enough, they should be sleeping. If they are a little older and not taking naps any more, then a quiet time should be initiated. Quiet time is where they lay quietly (who knows, they may fall asleep), or sit quietly, reading books or looking at pictures. This is yet another time during the day that a working mom can get her work done at home. Put them all down at the same time so that you have one chunk of time in the afternoon. If this doesn't work, pop in a CD of Kenny G and they will be out in a matter of moments. Be sure to wear your earplugs, or you will join them.

With these guidelines, I hope you will have a successful career at home. Consuela does a lot of my typing on this blog, and I didn't even have to give her a raise!

Jane

Imaginary Friends: Insanity or A Sign of Brightness?

"Jean's dead," my preschooler informed me in a matter-of-fact tone over cheerios one day in December. I had asked where she had been. My daughter had been playing with her for weeks, sharing in dinner with Jean, buckling her in the car, sleeping with her, taking baths--everything. Then I noticed one week, no Jean.

Trying not to show horror in my face, I gently asked what happened. It had been a particularly hard month for us with Mr. Cleaver's cousin slowly dying. We talked to her about the cousin and simply said he was sick in a bad way and he would soon die and go to heaven with Mr. Cleaver's mom-mom and his dog Mikaela. She had a couple of questions here and there, but was satisfied in the end with our answers.

"She just died and now she's flying in heaven. But don't worry, mom. She comes back to visit," she reassured me.

"Like an angel," I asked, of course because I really didn't know.

"No mommy," looking at me with those big blue eyes as if I was a stupid idiot. "As Jeeeaaaaaannnnnnnnn!"

"Oh, okay." I decided since she wasn't broken up about it, then I shouldn't be. I talked to Mr. Cleaver about it later that evening . . .

"Jean's dead."

"Dead? What do you mean dead?" He just stared at me and I at him and I shrugged my shoulders and repeated my conversation with our preschooler.

"WTF." We both agreed.

We sat down and talked to her later the next day and sure enough, she gave the same story to Mr. Cleaver. We made sure our preschooler didn't pretend kill Jean and that was why she was in heaven . . .

In the end, we decided what I had the previous day--she was fine about it.

Now I am happy to report, Jean has been resurrected from the imaginary dead and is now happily playing with her. And in addition to Jean, our preschooler now has 100 miniature pandas following her around all day.

We went to church yesterday and our three-year-old simply moved out of the way for me to unlock the car door and our preschooler screamed her head off because he stepped on three of the pandas. Trying to explain to a five-year-old that we cannot see the imaginary pandas is completely futile. To her, they are as real as we are. It took the whole way home for her to calm down. She held the pandas in her lap and petted them, feeding them bamboo from her pocket and scolding her brother for not being careful around them.

Later, when we were home and preparing for the big game, he trampled on a few more of pandas. It was like Armageddon. It was so bad, we had to sit her down on the couch to calm down. She just kept screaming, "He's trying to kill my little pandas!"

Jimmy Stewart's character Elwood in "Harvey" kept his imaginary friend into adulthood. Might my preschooler do the same? 100 miniature little pandas and a resurrected girl is a lot to care for, especially if we can't see them.

It's times like these as a parent I definitely think I am loosing my own mind.

June

Pittsburgh Stiller Fever? Wrapped In Never-Ending Snow

Pittsburgh Public Schools pre-empted Monday morning laziness and school-skipping and just went ahead and gave a two hour delay. Just what we all needed, right? After having the kids home all week with delays and snow days, another two-hour delay to look forward to . . .

I went down to the Strip District to pick up some new Steeler gear and after about twenty minutes of going from vendor to vendor, I couldn't get the "Here We Go" song by Roger Wood out of my head. It's been two weeks now. Is that the only song they play down there?


My oldest came home from school and in class, made a Terrible Towel, a Steeler hat, and a Steeler poster. I love Pittsburgh! And they sang the "Here We Go" song which she couldn't remember the words to. Thank God for YouTube. The Strip wanted $8 for a copy. Unfortunately, it just adds to my ear worm. So, we are marching around the living room, just chanting, "here we go," over and over again.


Anyone want to come to my Superbowl XLIII party?


It doesn't really matter, ladies, because Mike Tomlin loves us.


As to my Superbowl fare. . . ice cream sundaes, pretzels, nachos, gummies; enough sugar to cause the children to run around the house, smashing their heads into the walls like football players. But after the sugar-shock wears off and the concussions set in, I hope to have a peaceful night with Mr. Cleaver watching the big game. You actually don't think they will stay up with us, do you?


As for us, we will have chili.


Many will suffer from hangovers from beer, but we will suffer from gutrot from the bad food we stuff our faces with.


We're livin' the high life.


June

Who I've Picked To Marry If God Forbid . . .

I have about eleven girlfriends Mr. Cleaver would be more than happy to marry if God forbid, I should pass. I have vetoed three in my head--two are damaged and have gigantic tits and the third he imagines my girlfriend and I spent many nights in college cuddling together naked and having pillow fights in lingerie--for that I veto for her sake and for his stupidity. All of my girlfriends are beautiful, sexy, accomplished, etc., and Mr. Cleaver would not disagree.

For me, if Mr. Cleaver should pass, Mr. Cleaver thinks he has suitable friends for me to marry, but I beg to differ--none pass my test. Maybe I am too picky. Some are too frugal, others are too skinny (if they can fit into my jeans, then they are OUT OUT OUT); some are geeky in a bad way, and others have acne they refuse to take care of. Trust me, I love geeky. But geeky living with your mom in the basement and playing video games all night is way bad.

So, I've moved on to an unrealistic lustful La-La Land, where Mr. Cleaver's pals include a youthful Robert Redford (although I'd hump him now), Simon Baker, Val Kilmer, Dylan McDermott, and Daniel Craig. Yum.

Yes, I will be in my 70's and they in their 90's, but who really cares. Of course, Robert will be 110-ish, but he will still look handsome! Damn, that man!

I often find myself during the day fantasizing about my future husbands. Me being the sexy kick-ass woman James Bond tries to keep up with and makes love to; Val Kilmer reading poetry to me as The Saint; Dylan McDermott making out with me on the beach--HOT!

I have to take a cold shower . . .

Then there's Simon Baker, who I think is more like a youthful Robert Redford than Brad Pitt. I just can't get into Brad--not since he cheated on Jennifer with Angelina.

Why are all these hunks in Los Angeles? I really missed my chance with Simon when he was here in Pittsburgh filming his last network television show, The Guardian. Of course, I wouldn't have left Mr.Cleaver. I just would have had an illicit affair. That's all.

I am sure my list will grow, and some may fall off of my list, but for now, this is what it is. I encourage all of you ladies out there to make your own to protect yourself in case the inevitable happens. Remember, we live longer than he does!

June

Motherly Advice by Lucille Ball

If you want to make your monthly cycle go faster, take an aspirin. Heck, take two or three! Now a days, aspirins stop heart attacks, so it really doesn't matter how many you take . . . just don't go over four aspirins every 6 hours or so just in case.

I also would stock up on sanitary pads because you will be bleeding like the dickens. But if all goes well, you should be finished in a day or so.

And that vacation to the Bahamas you have had planned for months?

It's now all taken care of thanks to our little friend, the aspirin.

Now, now, my little daughters. No need to thank me!

Mother Lucille