Mommies Time Out

I’m pretty sick of this expression too.  I feel like every home in America has this saying on a wooden plaque somewhere in their house.  It’s so overused that somewhere along the way it has totally lost its meaning and is now just a trendy expression.  But yet, I can’t think of a better way to describe what this past weekend was for us. We spent the weekend with good friends and their two amazing kids, Sabrina and Noah at our family’s lake house.  And we lived. And we laughed.  And we loved.

• We dined outside on lobsters and Filet Mignon at sunset overlooking the lake
• We enjoyed a boat ride while the kids marveled at the sites, like Turtle Rock

• We belly laughed at Addison’s literal portrayal of Chirades
• We quietly observed the sweet beginnings of friendship, as Sabrina whispered to Jake, “I think we might be becoming a little bit best friends.”

• We bounced ourselves dizzy on the trampoline

• We witnessed an important milestone in Sabrina’s childhood – fishing for the very first time!

• We enjoyed many cocktails without needing a designated driver
• We staged an impromptu photo shoot. Because we could
• We went tubing with our kids off the JetSki and relished in their squeals of delight
• Not once did we check email, use a cell phone or plug anything in that starts with a lowercase “i”
• I actually beat my husband at something for the first time in 8 years
• Matthew cut his two front teeth without so much as a whimper

• We lasted an entire weekend without ever needing to utter the words “time out”
• We made a bonfire, roasted marshmallows and enjoyed a starry, starry night

By now we’ve probably all seen this.  It was rumored to have originally been published in 1955 in Housekeeping Monthly Magazine as a guide on how to be a good wife.

If you can’t read the fine print – here are the rules:

1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.
2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.
3. Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.
4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.
5. During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
6. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
7. Be happy to see him.
8. Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.
9. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first – remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
10. Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
11. Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.
12. Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
13. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
14. Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
15. A good wife always knows her place.

 And here is my updated MommiesTimeOut (MTO) Top 10 Version:

1. Have dinner ready: Make sure you shoot him an email with explicit instructions on where to pick up the food you ordered.
2. Prepare yourself:   Squeeze in a mani/pedi on the way home from work, then tell him traffic was really bad.  There was a horrible accident.
3. Be a little gay:  Have a few glasses of wine first.
4. Clear the clutter: Throw everything in the closet, spray some fabreze and call it a day.
5. Prepare the children:  Make sure they are plugged in to the electronic babysitter, which goes by the nickname ‘Wii’ in our household.
6. Minimize the noise:  Be sure to have your earbuds in when he gets home.  Just nod and smile when you think he’s talking to you.
7. Don’t complain: Then, as always, you can remind him that “you’re the martyr that does everything around here and never complains.”
8. Make him comfortable:  Slip him a Xanex before you unload the trunk from your mall excursion.  This will really show you care.
9. Listen to him: Repeat step #6.
10. A smart wife always gets her way.

Got any to add?

I’ve always snickered at those moms who wait in their cars with their kids at the bus stop just because it’s sprinkling out.  My husband and I are firm believers that umbrellas were made for a reason.  Then there’s those moms that coat their children in Purell before letting them play at the playground.  It’s usually my kid that is the one sitting in the sandbox dumping sand in her hair while other moms whisper about her and her horrible mother. 

Yes, I have three children – and we all know that by the third, you tend to fret and fuss less over things and things that you  might have done with the first, like actually boil binkies in water before their first use, you laugh at by the third.  For example, in my house all food now has an automatic 15-second rule .  With each kid, I’ve added 5 seconds. My kids. My rules. 

But truthfully even with my first I was pretty laid back. I remember registering when I was pregnant with my first and thinking WHO actually buys a wipee warmer??? You mean to tell me a child’s ass is too precious to be wiped with – dare I suggest –  a room temperature wippee?  I’m not going on another rant about the ridiculous items that have come on the market recently for babies.  I already did that once.  I’m talking about those ‘precious’ kids that if it were up to their parents, would be bubble wrapped before leaving the house each morning.  The ones who at age 3 are still sitting in a shopping carriage with a giant fabric shield to prevent them from having any contact with germs. The ones that are allergic to everything so they bring their own special snacks to playdates because they’re “deathly” allergic to peanuts.  

Except, with a cruel twist of irony, mine is now one of them.

Yep.  Allergy testing confirmed it this week, following an episode where his eyes blew up to the size of lemons, he was covered in itchy hives and his mouth “felt funny” after eating cheese crackers that “may contain trace amounts of peanut.”  Thinking back, Jake never liked the smell of peanut butter so he never ate it.  And on the one or two occasions he had chocolate with peanut butter in the past year or so he did get itchy.  So I’d give him a little Benadryl and off he went. But with this last reaction we realized it’s time to get serious and have him tested.  Sure enough – he’s highly allergic. 

And not just to peanuts, but also to walnuts pistachios, almonds, cashews, dogs, cats, dust mites, oak, mold, mildew and pollen. 

Awesome.

Pure. Summer. Joy.

A stunning photo taken by my friend, Jill of her sweet daughter Sabrina.  Check out more of Jill’s work here.

A lady actually. With my car.

On my way to work yesterday, I oh so gently tapped the rear bumper of a beautiful navy Mercedes convertible.  The woman was lovely and could not have been nicer about the whole thing. The damage was minimal and nothing that can’t easily just be buffed out (no dents or cracks) but it’s still a really crummy way to start the morning.

As I stared into the imprint of my license plate in her automotive ass, I was already rehearsing the call to my husband about how I would spin this so I could offset the blow with something positive.  Maybe it could go something like this,

“Guess what honey! I saved us $27 a month and got free HBO for 90 days by switching us to Verizon… (oh and BTW I sort of hit a car on my way to work) So, what free movie do you want to watch tonight?”

Free Movie channels always seem to make him happy.  Or how about,

“I just found that $100 gift card you lost to Home Depot. (Oh and BTW I sort of hit a car on my way to work)  So, wanna go tool shopping tonight?

New tools always seem to make him happy. But that version would require a trip to Home Depot and $100 bucks on a new gift card.

There is yet another direction the conversation could go, and that too would make him happy, but I’ll refrain from detailing it here since my mom is probably reading this.  Seriously mom. Don’t even ask me about it later. We’ll both just get uncomfortable.

So when the woman offered to keep it “off the books” to spare my insurance, I of course eagerly nodded and promised to send payment privately.   I even emailed her right away and gave her my cell and work numbers so that she would be sure to contact me directly and not go through my insurance.  And that was when the thought occurred to me.

I could just not tell him.

Clearly this is one way to find out if he actually reads my blog or just tells me he does to shut me up at night. Because as I write this I still haven’t told him. Who knew a little fender bender could feel so liberating?

The thing is, he’s not even really the yell-y type and he would never do anything unreasonable.  It would more likely be used as a piece of ammunition he’ll leverage strategically like a covert operation that I never saw coming.  Like when I start to nag him this winter about how much he spends at Patriots games.  Out will come, “Well what I spend on football games is still less that what you cost us in insurance premiums.” Game. Set. Match.

So,  if he reads this he’ll obviously find out.  But if he doesn’t… is it terribly wrong that I keep this intsy weensy teeny tiny little secret?

We all have them. Those little one liners our kids say that are just too funny, sweet, smart, that this cult we call Motherhood can’t help but share with anyone including complete strangers.  Here are a few  highlights from conversations in my household this past week. I’d love to hear yours!

Jake asking me to rewind the scene from Scoobie Doo that he missed, because he was busy getting a popcorn refill:

“Mommy, can you please fast forward that backwards?”

Addison, overheard talking to her Barbies:

“If you don’t start listening I am going to have to flush you down the toilet.”

Me, after finding a Barbie head lodged in my toilet drain:

“Addison, here is a time out chair for Barbie.  You CAN’T flush her head down the toilet.  We’re on septic for Christ’s sake!” (Yes. Jews use that expression too. A lot.)

Jake, after losing his second tooth:

“Does the tooth fairy ever leave Legos? Can you email her mommy?”

Addison, after getting caught behind our sectional, elbow deep in bag of Doritos right before dinner:

“I’m not eating them. I’m just mushing them up for Baby Matthew.”

Jake, sitting nervously in his carseat knowing all too well his mother’s keen sense of direction:

“Mommy, you took the wrong turn. Again!  My camp is the next street. *sigh* Daddy never gets lost.”

Chris, later that night over dinner:

“Hon, seriously? It’s ONE turn off our street.”

Addison, in a heated argument passionate negotiation with her cousin Liav (who is 2) over a doll:

“Okay Liav, you can have the doll.  But I’ll be the Mommy.”

These are just a handful from this past week, but the list continues daily.  Knowing many of my readers’ kids I’m sure there are many more to be shared.  Let’s hear em’!

When I was a little girl I used to change my outfits at least 5 times a day. I loved clothes. I loved getting dressed up.  It got to the point where by age 6 my poor mom actually had to reverse my bureau each morning so the drawers were facing the wall, just to stop me from be being able to change outfits all day long.

As I got older I used to love tagging along with my dad to his office downtown.  He would  pay me to come to his insurance company and help him ‘file’ but really this was just another excuse for me to get dressed up and pretend – at 12 – to blend in with the hustle and bustle of a business day.  I loved seeing all the fancy ladies in their high heeled pumps and power suits with enough shoulder padding to stop a speeding bullet. This was the mid 80′s, after all.  And I daydreamed about how much fun it would be one day to work in a big fancy office, wear a stylish suit and high heeled pumps, carry a briefcase and do something important. Me with my frizzy Sun-in highlighted hair, over sized teal blazer and matching teal hoop earrings with my favorite black velor corded stirrup leggings and my monogrammed L.L. Bean backpack.  Trying so desperately hard to look the part.

Today I’m writing from the Acela high speed train on my way into NYC for an important meeting with two colleagues – that are both way skinnier and more fashionable than me – and none of us are in fancy suits or even skirts.  We’re all wearing various versions of black pants, summer tops and strappy heels. I’ve got on a new cute clear chunky beaded necklace with a white tank layered under an Old Navy cardigan with my laptop in an old tattered Dell computer bag.  And now that I’m all grown up and I’m headed into the City that defines hustle and bustle, to do something important, I’m kind of disappointed.

It’s not all it was cracked up to be.

Our fridge is our primary source of news and important information in our home. It displays everything from school lunch menus to Preschool registration papers and bills, doubles as a photo and art gallery, and even serves as a learning center, where the kids are constantly arranging letter magnets into new words and patterns.

Many people spend time gazing in the fridge – I spend hours a week gazing at the fridge. At the random assortment of organized chaos that is our lifeline in our house.  Today, something there caught my eye that made me feel a twinge of nostalgia.

As I do every night, I double checked the color coded maze of an excel spreadsheet also known as this summer’s schedule. With three kids, each with different activities each day, its a miracle we (and by we, I mean he  – as in the husband) gets the right kid to the right place on the right day.

But today, this schedule suddenly made me nostalgic for the things I miss most about summer from my own childhood. Because like every other Jewish kid on the East Coast, I went to a sleep away summer camp.  Mine was called Med-O-lark – up in Maine down a dirt road with no trace.   For me, summer camp was where I really became me.  Where I kissed a boy for the first time. Where I sang on a stage for the first (and last) time.  Where I learned how to sail a boat, play foosball, wash my own clothes, appreciate Jamaican lemonade, write letters (yes – on actual stationary) and make lifelong friends. I spent 7 amazing summers at this home away from home and have heard over the years about many former campers and friends that have gone on to become uber successful entrepreneurs, screen writers, musicians and actors.  And I’m not surprised.  This place bred magical things.

So when I got a note just yesterday from an old camp friend, who wrote to tell me she was thinking of me as she packed up her own boys up for summer camp, I got a little sad. I miss what camp used to be for me.  And I hope that my children will one day be able to have the same incredible experiences I once had at summer camp.