BIG News

Before you all freak out, don't worry, I am not pregnant. But I did give birth, kinda. Check out my new website:
http://www.momisa4letterword.com/

See you there!

Love in the Time of Foreclosure

We recently moved to the burbs. Placentia, the land of great schools and blue-hairs. It's quiet and safe. I love it here. But how we got here is altogether another story. I haven't blogged about it at all. I think part of it was that I was really overwhelmed about it, and part of it was lack of time.

I am confident that we made the best decision for our growing family--to get out from under a house that was too small and too expensive. So we did a short sale, which finally closed just before Thanksgiving. It was a long, drawn-out process that almost killed us. I am SO GLAD it's over.

I still drive down our old street in Santa Ana twice a day: to pick up and drop off the girls for daycare. The other day, I finally saw the new owner getting into her car (we haven't met.) And all of the sudden I was filled with resentment and rage. Why was she coming out of MY HOUSE?! It was like she was the other woman. Up until this point, I hadn't had much time to think about it. But it felt like pouring lemon juice on a paper cut.

I know that we chose to leave that house. But the timing of it all was less than perfect. Rob had to go look at houses when I was in the hospital with Ellie because we were in escrow on another house that fell through the day before she was born. He would take the video camera, then come back and show me. We made an offer in this house before I ever actually saw it with my own eyes. I spent my 3-month maternity leave packing, moving and unpacking. Did I mention that I was also recovering from a C-section? That time is supposed to be for bonding with your new baby, not moving.

Unlike so many others out there, we landed on our feet. So now we dust ourselves off and move forward. But I think it will take a while for me to be okay with all of this.

Keeping up with the Christmas Cards

There is something about getting photo Christmas cards in the mail always makes me feel like crap. I can't exactly pinpoint why.

I think part of it is that I see our friends (with their children nicely groomed, smiling at the camera) I instantly think, "Yeah, it's so easy for you to juggle with your well-behaved kids that sleep through the night."I know that it is just a moment in their life, that it always isn't always so easy for them. And I know that it isn't a competition, but why does it feel that way?

Seeing these picture-perfect families just makes my own inadequacies feel exposed. I am aware that things aren't always as they seem, and most moms, at some point or another, have felt the way that I do now...which is overworked and underslept. I can't wait for the day that's it's a snap to get the kids all dressed up and nicely groomed--and they'll stay that way long enough to capture the picture-perfect moment on camera.

I can't even get organized enough to send out Ellie's birth announcement, let alone a Christmas card! She is now six months old! Those birth announcements have been sitting in her closet since we moved in August. My plan, for now, is to send her announcement and the Christmas card in the same envelope. Just so you know when you get it, it was a HUGE PAIN IN THE A** to do.

So please frame it and hang it in your house, it may be the last card you ever get from us!

It's beginning to look a lot like...

...the terrible twos! At 20 months, Abby is diving head-first into her terrible twos. My wonderful brother and his wife took our Christmas photos this year. I know, it was silly of me to think that we could get ONE SHOT with everyone seated pleasantly and looking into the camera.

Abby was in rare form--refusing to be held, to smile, or wear the CUTE headband her mother got her. Even the holy grail of bribes--fruit snacks--didn't work. The pictures were so bad that I actually considered sending a Christmas card, using the image below with the caption "May the joy and happiness of the Christmas Season be with you all year." I thought it was funny, Rob not so much.

As usual, sweet Ellie was totally agreeable. Here's one that almost made it, of course Ellie looks weird.

This is what we'll probably use. It isn't my favorite, but at least Abby isn't yelling/crying/ noodling.

Calling in sick.

I just wanted to lament for a second, so humor me. I've been sick since Thanksgiving. It was originally strep throat, then it morphed into bronchitis which has now settled into my lungs. I just picture that mucus dude with the Jersey accent, relaxing on his barka lounger in my alveoli. I cough all day and all night. I'm am so OVER it!

Abby and Ellie have some version of this too--stuffy noses and rattly coughs.

Here's what nobody tells you about being a mom: When you are sick, the demands don't change.
You don't get a day or two to hole yourself up in your room and just sleep it off. The baby still gets up at the crack of dawn, there are diapers to be changed and mouths to feed.

And here's the kicker--Rob is sick too. He stayed home yesterday (we both did) and he acted more like a baby than our actual baby. I know this will pass, but life is hard enough without the craziness of a whole family of sickypoos.

In Defense of Poofs and Spray Tans

I can, with certainty, say that nobody will EVER call me a "guidette." If this makes sense to you, then you know that I am talking about MTV's newest show, "Jersey Shore."

Over the last week or so, I've had almost a dozen friends ask me if I've seen it. People that don't even really watch TV! So yesterday, when I was home sick with bronchitis (and the girls were at daycare) I watched the first two episodes on MTV.

Now, I am not saying that this is groundbreaking television. But it's a guilty pleasure. As my friend over at The Television Mom says, it's the perfect hate watch. I found myself longing for the days that what I cared about most was the size of my "poof" or who was going to hook up with "The Situation." The whole time it was on, I was telling myself that I should be sleeping instead. But, alas, I couldn't look away. It was like a car wreck, no wait, a train wreck. And I am ashamed to admit I loved every minute of it!

If you'll excuse me, I should go and get some ham and a bottle of water...

If it ain't Dutch...

Halloween came and went. It was a fun time, but was a lot of effort for something the kiddos won't even remember. But it's nice to have a photo opp.

My lil' punkin.

We did a little spin around the block--Abby in the wagon, and Ellie in her stroller. We had our entourage in tow: The Grandmas and The Grandpas, and the Aunts and the Uncles. It was a big crowd. But I know we're lucky to be surrounded by family that cares so much.

Someone get me a hankie.

Abby has gone from a smack-the-baby-on-the-head-and-steal-her-binky kind of sister to a very cute and considerate little girl. All of the sudden, SHE wants to give Ellie the bottle. She even stops and dabs Ellie's mouth with a blanket. Yes, she pushes the bottle in too far and makes Ellie gag, but it's still nice of her. It is SO freakin' sweet I can barely stand it. Not that I miss it, but what happened to my little Tasmanian devil???

Here's Abby, who crawled unto Ellie's playmat. Just to be near to her. Seriously.

Abby, Meet Abby.

We stopped by Chris and Masha's on the way home the other night and they took this video while she was still in her car seat. She's waving at the adorable baby she sees on the laptop screen.

It's not you, it's me.

Dear Blogspot,

I think we need to talk.

It's not you, it's me. You see, I need my space. I need room to spread my wings. Room to express myself.It's been fun, and you've taught me a lot. I will always love you, but I am moving on for good. There is someone else.

Love,
Pam

PS You'll know more soon, I promise.

Pammie Sue's No Good Very Bad Day

I've been asked over and over what I did to my finger and how I did it. Now that I've got the hang of 9-fingered typing, I thought I'd share the story.

It was a Friday morning like any other. And I was wrassling up the girls to head out the door. I strapped Ellie into her baby carrier and left it on the couch. I usually put Abby in the car first, then come back in for everything else. So I scoop Abby into my arms and step into the garage.

Side note: At this time, like I do everyday, I am playing "eye of the tiger" in my head and congratulating myself on making it out of the house on time. The morning rat race was just beginning. For God's sake, it was only 7 am and I was dressed for work (with clean hair and make-up on, I might add) and both girls were fed, clothed and clean-diapered. It is a mini morningtime-miracle each and every day.

But I digress. Back to the garage. I walk around the car to put Abby in but for some reason the belts in her car seat were way too tight. How does a kid seemingly grow 45 pounds overnight? Something wasn't adding up, so I put Abby down and adjust the straps. She runs over to Daddy's dirtbikes and wants to sit on them, like when he picks her up and lets her sit on top. She's wailing "Maaa muh!" and reaching up toward the bike. I am frantically adjusting straps. She won't be ignored. "MMMMMMAAAAAAAAAWH MMMUAWH!"

I turn to her, remembering the Happiest Toddler on the Block Method. She's really just a mini caveman, you know?

"Abby, I know you want to sit on the motorcycle and you are VERY mad. But we need to leave so mommy can get to work so you can have a nice place to live, so please come over here so Mommy can put you back in your carseat."

I was so proud of myself, thinking that since I employed said method, she would quietly comply and see my point of view.

Yeah, right. Abby instantly flails herself on the floor and wails. I go over to pick her up, and she noodles onto the floor. A limp and lifeless rag doll. I pick her up and attempt to put her back in the car seat--where she engages the "board method" of resistance. Straightening her body, rendering herself totally unable to be strapped in. So now it's like wrestling a gator.

I get her safely strapped in and she is NOT HAPPY. I make funny faces at her, close the door and hear a crunch. That's weird, I think to myself. I slowly back away. And that's when I notice something tugging on my hand. It doesn't make sense. And then I see it. The door and closed AND SHUT on my right index finger.

I don't know if anything like this has ever happened to you--but it's one of those moments where you just KNOW it's going to hurt. It's like the pain receptors in my brain hadn't yet received the message. The whole thing was slow mo. I gently open the door, with Abby still screaming inside. And that's when the blinding pain set in. I know it's just a finger, but it hurt so freaking bad. My field of vision was closing in when I realized that there was a puddle of blood on the floor. Pulsating out of my finger.

I ran into the house, past Ellie waiting patiently on the couch. I grabbed a dish towel and fill it with ice. Then I sat down and realized that I really was going to pass out. It's only now I notice that my nail is crushed, split open and bleeding. I considered running to our neighbors' house, but we're still new to the area and I wasn't sure what I'd even say. I imagine myself passed out on their doorstep and the kids here totally alone. I grabbed the phone and called my mom to come save me. Thankfully, it was a Friday and she could come, but she lives at least 15 minutes away--and that's with no traffic.

As I sat and waited, I realized that I was fading and fast. I can't call 911, I think to myself, I'll end up having to pay for the ambulance bill and be laughed outta town by the dispatcher. As least I know that both kids were safely strapped into carseats for now. So I do the following: open the front door a crack, then lay across it on the cold hard tile. I guess I figured that when I passed out, at least the rescue crew (that I hadn't called) could get in a save my kids. I dunno. Panic makes you do weird things. Motherhood makes you do weird things.

I lay on the tile for a while and do some sort of makeshift lamaze breathing. I never even used it when I delivered my girls, but I was desperate.

Thankfully, my superhero mom came to the rescue. And I never ended up really passing out. Things just got REAL fuzzy there for a while. It turned out to be a hairline fracture--so I am in a splint for the next few weeks and learning to adapt quickly. It still throbs, though and that seems to be the most painful part. That, and when Ellie latches into it and squeezes.

Needless to say, I marched over and introduced myself to the neighbors that night.

That's My Girl

I was just looking through some pictures of Ellie on her "birth day." Don't worry, they aren't all graphic or anything. At least not in the way you'd expect. Upon closer inspection, I realized what she was really doing with her, um, middle finger.

Some People Knit, Some People Golf...

I have an old saying, "Some people knit, some people golf. I judge." It's my hobby of sorts, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Now, I know that some of you out there will be horrified by this. But the truth is, we all do it--whether you admit it or not. I don't think that I am better than anyone else. I am far from perfect, and I think it can be a relief to realize that NOBODY else is either. I don't do it out of malice, it's just a fun distraction to the daily grind.

I thought that it would be fun to do a new feature here about my favorite past time. Don't worry, names will be changed to protect the innocent. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the first installment of "Some People Knit, Some People Golf."

This morning, I saw a lady at work wearing a black turtleneck and black faded mom jeans. Not my style, but the judging hadn't started yet. Over the turtleneck, she wore a SPARKLY vest covered with glittery pumpkins. And if that weren't enough, she was wearing light up jack-o-lantern earrings, with their beady little eyes glaring red.

I am all for being festive. But this was way too much. Let's hope that she works in a patient care area and dressed like that to amuse the children. That's about the only justification I can think of. I don't want to upset my teacher friends (and mom) because I am pretty sure that ya'll are the #1 purchaser of festivewear (my made-up word) like this.

What's the worst festivewear you've seen so far this season?

(As you can see, I am getting pretty good at typing sans index finger.)

taking a blogging break.

i am sitting here typing with my left hand and it is freakin hard. i broke my right index finger on friday. hence, no caps or punctuation.

should make for an interesting week caring for the babies and trying to write at work.

wish me luck...

A Present for Pam

To be honest, I don't even remember how I found Tabetha. I was doing a little late-night blog surfing and came across her site and fell in love with her pieces. I decided that I'd "commission" a piece for myself in honor of my 30th birthday. I wanted something pretty that could feature my girls, without being too over the top. Plus, Rob kept asking me what I wanted and I had no idea.

Since each piece is custom, I gave her a vague idea of what I like and she did the rest. And when it came yesterday, it was like my birthday and Christmas rolled into one. I had emailed her some photos and she added vintage beads and crystals. And it is seriously amazing.

If you know an expecting or new mom, a grandma, or heck, any woman with a pulse, I promise that she would go gaga for one of these as a Christmas gift. The best part is that it was really inexpensive. I mean, feel-like-you-are-stealing-it-cheap. Since each piece is different, her prices aren't on her site. But if you email her and let her know what you are thinking, she'll give you an estimate. Check our her other stuff at http://www.reminisceheirlooms.blogspot.com/

Em-eye-see-kay-ee-why...

Abby wants to wear these ears every day. All the time. At first, it was endearing. As a former slave to Mr. Mouse himself, I thought it was sweet.

I thought, as we packed up one busy morning last week, "what harm can come from her wanting to wear these stupid ears?"

I got pulled over that same morning when I was in the carpool lane. The cop accused me of putting a Mickey Mouse stuffed aninal in the car seat to fool cops. It was just Abby with this hat on.

Sweet as Pie

The Gift of Fear

There are a lot of weirdos in this world, that I know for sure.

Recently, I was approached by a very obviously mentally ill man in a dark parking lot. He was homeless, or at least looked that way and stank of urine. It was as I was leaving the grocery store. I just had Abby with me and she was still in the cart as I unloaded into the trunk.

He asked me for cash, and as he stood there, he was rambling incoherently to himself. I wasn't mean to him--the truth really was that I had no cash. But I certainly tried to put out that polite, but you-don't-want-to-mess-with-me-or-my-kid-vibe. I guess I went into "momma bear" mode.

I never looked back to see what Abby was doing while all of this was happening. Then I hear her scream "DAAAAA-DAAAAAAH" and when I turned around there she was, smiling as brightly as I've ever seen and waving frantically to this man. You see, Abby calls pretty much all men (including Rob) daaa daaah.

He didn't wave to her, or even smile back. He really didn't seem to know what was going on at all. He just stood there and stared. He ended up leaving after I gave him a bag of tortilla chips from my grocery bag and asked him leave us alone. And he went on his way, uneventfully. But it got me thinking. I know she's little, but she seemed to not pick up on my stress or the man that was CLEARLY not interested in playing her game.

I am not a scaredy cat, it just seems that lately, I've grown to be more and more paranoid about stuff. I guess it's all the media surrounding Jaycee Dugard. It also didn't help that, while I was up in the middle of the night with Ellie, I watched the Oprah from this week that featured all the missing children.

I know that my kids are probably way too young to learn about "stranger danger." I want her to still be her outgoing little self, without being so paranoid about strangers that she lives in a constant state of fear. How do we teach our kids to be safe, without being scared? Please weigh in on this issue, whether you have kids or not. Any advice?

On a side note, I read a great book a few years ago about trusting your instincts. It's called The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker. It's where I learned that sometimes, in the name of safety, it's okay to be direct and ask someone to leave. He stresses that it's always a good idea to trust your instincts. They are there to protect you. He's written another book about keeping kids safe, so maybe I'll read it and do another book review...

My first book review: The Second Nine Months

I love to read. Although back-to-back babies have somewhat hindered my ability to devour books like I used to, I still like to squeeze in at least a little reading at the end of a long day. If for no other reason than it forces me to sit still. I'd like to be more regular about doing book reviews, since I think it could be helpful to others out there. Especially for busy moms, life is too short to read bad books. So I'll only review books that I would recommend.

My inaugural review is of The Second Nine Months, by Vicki Glembocki . I was given this book by a friend after Abby was born. To be honest, my first thought was "yeah right, when the $%# am I ever going to be able to read this book with this screaming baby hollering all the time???"

But one night during one of Abby's mini-naps, I started to read. It's a hilarious and candid portrayal of what happens after the baby is born. Page after page, I found myself laughing (out loud). I could totally relate to what she was saying. Besides striking coincidences, like our daughters sharing a birthday and both having AWFUL colic, I felt as though I could have written many of those chapters word-for-word. She had let me into her private quarters.

I saw the all-too-familiar strain that the new baby put on her marriage. I saw my own self-doubt as a mother in her tales. I really related to her loneliness and feelings of intimidation and fear of joining mother's groups. She writes about stuff that, as a new mom, I felt that I wasn't even supposed to think about, let alone put on paper. It was like she was brave enough to admit the thoughts that I has been avoiding--the good, bad AND ugly, from a close friend. And in the end, the takeaway is that you don't have to be perfect to be a good mom.

I read it again recently and found it just as funny and relevant the second time around. It helped me to see that I wasn't alone, and that it was okay that things weren't perfect all the time.

Now, I need to come up with some sort of rating system. Any ideas? Stars are overused. Maybe vodka/soda-filled sippy cups?

In any case, this book was good enough to make me keep reading, even through the bleary-eyed exhaustion of new motherhood.

And you are...?

I am in the midst of an existential crisis. You see, the last couple of years have been a whirlwind. I am an otherwise totally independent go-getter, who's all the sudden sidelined with exhaustion and memory loss. Now I can't remember what happened 5 minutes ago, let alone what I liked and what I wanted before I was a mom.

This past weekend, my sister took me for a spa-day getaway to celebrate my upcoming birthday. Nobody has EVER done anything like this for me. It was an all-expenses-paid-baby-free day. (Thanks, Brashear Family, for pitching in and making this day possible). She even took me to a fancy-pants dinner afterward. And therein lies the problem--when it came time to decide where to eat and what to do, I was at a loss. I couldn't even think of restaurants I liked or places I had been before I had the girls.

I came to the realization that every decision I make now has a kid-based factor. Is it family friendly? Is there enough parking? Will the double stroller fit through the door? Is it a loud enough place that if Abby screams and Ellie cries, will it ruin everyone else's meal? Do they have slings for the baby seat?

And now, for the second time this week, I am being asked what I want and I don't know. I am turning 30 on Thursday, and my hubby and family wants to take me out to dinner. What do I want and where should we go? The truth is, I'd be happy with a stiff drink and a long nap. Is there a restaurant for that?