I’M LEAVING!!!

Dear Momisodes.WordPress.com,

I am very sorry to say that I am moving on. In the past year I have secretly yearned for my very own domain. And in the past month, I have not been faithful. I went behind your back and purchased Momisodes.com and took the initial steps in hosting my life someplace else.

I promise. It’s not you. It’s me. I take full responsibility. I wanted a pretty, personalized site that was all my own, and it was just not something I could fully have with you.

I hope we can still be friends.

Please feel free to visit me sometime at http://www.Momisodes.com

Farewell,

Sandy

Why HBO is Not for Kids

Amidst the madness of outlet mall shopping this weekend, I found myself on an irrational quest for comfortable (and stylish) black boots. I have never owned a pair of real boots. If fact, I only own 1 pair of closed toed shoes, and they just happen to be sneakers.

After scouring 10 stores without any luck, I finally stumbled upon the cutest, most comfortable pair of black suede boots for less than $50! Of course, I was in no way prepared to try on the boots since I sauntered out of the house without wearing any socks. One day I’ll learn how to dress in public, I promise. Luckily the store was well equipped for boot rookies like myself, and provided disposable mini-foot-stocking-thingys for those who came unprepared.

Intrigued by this never before seen, sock-like entity Ella immediately wanted one to explore. Politely sitting in her stroller she asked, “may I…have one, puh-lease?” So I handed her a new mini-sock for her to hold, and I went about trying on the soft, sleek boots that made my legs appear deceivingly thinner than they really are.

SOLD! I’ll take them!

Utterly thrilled that I was finally fulfilling my boot desires, I suddenly felt a strong desire to smoke a cigarette. And I would have, really, if I didn’t have a toddler or was standing in line in public. As I reached down to retrieve my wallet to pay the cashier, my cigarette craving vanished when I found this in my daughter’s arms.

I rarely ever watch TV, really I swear. No CSI, Prison Break, or Dateline NBC (sadly, I had to look that up to see what shows are on prime time these days). Aside from 10 minutes of local news and waiting for my Local on the 8’s from the Weather Channel, it is rare to see actual people on the television screen during the day. Okay, maybe I watch tons of trashy reality TV re-runs on Vh-1 and MTV, but I do it when everyone’s asleep. I’ll take a stab in the dark and say that Disney did not air any recent episodes of Piglet holding up a 7-Eleven either (as he stutters his “Oh d-d-d-dear”).

Maybe she really did think it was just a hat….I just hope she doesn’t recreate the look for herself.

High Tea with Cinder-Ella

I’m waiting for her fairy Godmother to come turn the bears into handsome Prince’s

I May Need Intervention

Anyone else notice how stores are selling holiday items earlier and earlier each year? I don’t recall seeing artificial trees or isles bellowing holiday greetings until after Thanksgiving as a child. I have a theory though- the direct correlation of early holiday accoutrement sales, and the growing obesity epidemic sweeping the nation is no coincidence.

I’ll admit it. I frequent Target stores. Sometimes, I put in the same amount of hours as the store manager, but in shopping. Just last month, nearly a quarter of the store was roped off for frenzied back-to-school shoppers. Trust me, if you need pencil sharpener anywhere near this time of year, you may want to consider your kitchen knives as a safer alternative.

The minute schools were back in session all the Target stores plowed their back-to-school sections to make way for Halloween delights. The floor to ceiling bags of sugary bliss, filled with mini bites of candy bar goodness; trick-or treat canisters lined up neatly beckoning to be filled with the fruits of labor of going door-to-door. Shelves overflowing many, many weeks before the season had even changed. Do parents really prepare this soon in advance for Halloween with success?

Let’s be truthful here. How many people actually make it to Halloween night, without eating half of their candy stash?

I’m not an impulsive shopper. I’m not the one who grocers strategically bait their check out lines with candy, gum, and snacks for. I purchase my gum by the 6-six pack from a different isle in the back of the store, just because it’s cheaper. But when it comes to Halloween candy…it’s a whole new bucket of worms. Stores are now heavily armed in all corners of the building, so that you’re completely surrounded, and must eventually surrender to the candy artillery (not to mention their low prices that you swear will be higher in a few weeks).

Every year, I promise myself not to succumb to the candy pressures until closer to Halloween. But stores like Target marketing them sooner every year is making it tough. Throw in a $1 off Sunday coupon, and it’s all over. I now own more pounds of individually wrapped chocolates than I do fruit. And the candy probably won’t even last a week. At least now I can show my daughter how a bag of healthy grapes in our fridge can slowly turn into raisins! The frantic scene of me digging through cabinets for leftover restaurant mints as trick-or-treaters come banging down my door, has become a tradition in our house; one that I am obviously not going to break this year. My flabby mid-section is praying those shiny, pre-gift wrapped boxes of Russell Stover are kept off the shelves just a few more weeks.

Maybe We Need More…

I am not sure if this is a sign of normality or a subtle hint in disguise. Ella has now taken on interacting with inanimate objects. Not the usual baby doll intermingling- giving a bottle, feeding them her unwanted peas. The photo to the left is of her chair cushions. Yes, orange crab chair cushions she sits on. And it appears as if they were thirsty because she’s giving them refreshing, hot imaginary tea from her Disney Princess teapot.

I assure you, my daughter is not a caged monkey with a fake cloth mother sitting in the corner. She socializes nearly everyday with other children, either through a play date, class, or trip to the playground. But it is always the same once we arrive home. There is no one left to play with, but me.

It is times like these I wonder if she needs something more- like a sibling. All of her friends have siblings. She has now reached an age where everyone she knows either has a brother, sister, or one on the way. And lately, she seems especially lonely in her car seat when I peer through my rear-view mirror. She gazes at the passing cars, looks down at her own fingers, and usually just sits alone quietly.

If it were up to my husband, we would have had another child already. But I am not sure if I’m ready to re-live another 9-months of relentless pregnancy. He did not have to give up contact with the outside world while imprisoned by bed rest. He did not have to stay on a restricted diet due to gestational diabetes, never to taste a slice of bread or sugar for months. He did not have to take Turbutaline everyday to hold back premature contractions, a drug that makes a human heart race faster than a greyhounds. He never endured any of it. In fact, he was hardly there to witness it. He was always at work. And still is.

So I guess for now all she has for company at home besides me is our dog Pete. Their relationship very much resembles a brother and sister’s. They both compete for my attention. His world fell apart once she was born. She pulls his hair. He loyally protects her. And she annoys him to no end.

I know. Maybe we need fish.

Who Knew You Could Turn That Into a Pumpkin?

Tah-Da! Here is this week’s craft project from Ella’s toddler class. I must say… I’m incredibly impressed. Maybe it’s because I’m not the most “crafty” individual. I mean, sure I can draw a mean stick person and maybe even a goldfish, but things like this have never been my forte. So needless to say, each week in Ella’s class, I’m always the big kid sitting in a tiny chair anxiously anticipating what nifty project the teacher has is store for the day. Sure, I’m not a 2-year old. But hey, I rarely leave the house, I can’t even name the last movie I saw, and I think everything I’ve jotted down in the past year has been in crayon. This could have something to do with my easy amusement.

I digress. As adorable as this holiday decoration is, it’s incredibly simple to re-create. And trust me, Ella’s already taken it apart and rebuilt this a million times just today. Here are the 3 required items.
As Ella sat down with her teacher, they followed these simple steps:

1) The teacher placed the orange piece of fabric face down and flat on the table.
2) The toilet paper roll is then placed standing upright in the center of fabric.
3) Then Ella was instructed to pull the corners and sides of the fabric, one at a time, up and into the roll of toilet paper. And then she pressed the fabric down into the cardboard roll. Repeat until all the side fabric is tucked in.
4) With the help of the teacher, Ella tightly rolled up the brown paper bag.
5) While gripping the rolled up paper bag, Ella inserted it into the toilet paper roll hole with the fabric to give the pumpkin it’s stem.
6) Lastly, Ella inserted the green pre-cut leaf alongside her paper bag stem.

Astonished at her brilliant masterpiece, Ella’s eyes were mesmerized. The teacher asked her “Ella, what does that look like?” Ella yelled out her proud reply “a PUN-KIN!”

One by one, each toddler took their turn in creating a holiday toiletry of their own. The last little girl up to bat coincidentally shares Ella’s exact birth date. As she inserted her green leaf, she glowed with the same aura of accomplishment. The teacher also turned to her and asked “Danielle, what does that look like?” Still wearing that shining smile, she too yelled out her proud reply “ T-O-I-L-E-T P-A-P-E-R!!!”

Bah…some kids have no imagination, LOL!

I Used Behind My Husbands Back…

Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike mornings? Besides peeling myself from my warm and welcoming bed, the entire process of getting my family and myself ready for the day is quite unpleasant. I am NOT a morning person at all. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life getting home from work and eating dinner at 8 am, and now I find myself still adjusting to the more human sleep/wake cycle. I can barely utter a word before a cup of coffee, and on weekends, I can shuffle around like an 80-year old man in Pj’s for a good few hours. Sadly, my weekdays don’t allow that. My recent alarm clock has been 2-year old tugging at my arm saying “mommy! Wake…UP!” So I have two choices: 1) Get out of bed and shower so I can drive my husband to work on time and get my daughter out of the house 2) or, Let my husband watch her for 10 more minutes so I can continue to be in a half-asleep/awake state. Today, I chose option 2. Which meant shower time was going to be tight.

I did my usual bathroom routine- brushed my pearly whites, washed my tired face, and then stepped into the steamy shower. Everything was typical, until I realized I needed to shave. Yup, definitely needed to shave. I turned around and looked for my razor, and it wasn’t there. I pushed open the wet shower curtain to check the counter; it was nowhere to be found! It must have made it into the trash somehow. This was an emergency. I needed something. Now! In a state of desperation, I looked up and found this…
No, that is not a woman’s razor. On the contrary, it’s one of those Mach XXXII, or what ever they’re called. The ones with a few dozen blades, because beards and mustaches have somehow evolved into dense forests that require instruments like these to whack them down. I’ve felt my husband’s beard before. Okay, maybe I can see the justification- But for my legs? My underarms? I was a bit skeptical. But I did not have time to debate this issue. Oh well, I had no choice. I lathered up, and began pulling the razor up my leg. And to my surprise, it felt kind of nice. Really nice. Hey! My razor doesn’t feel this nice; like a gentle mower, not the weed-whacker I expected. Maybe there really is something to the hoard of blades…((Gasp!))…The bathroom door peeked open. “We have to leave soon!” I stood frozen; with his razor stealthily tucked behind my shampoo bottle. “Okay!”

Whew, who would have thought using paraphernalia behind his back would be so hairy? My smooth and silky legs are thankful though

Disco Inferno

Light “On”
Light “Off”

Light “On”
Light “Off”

“On.”…. “Off.”

On- Off- On- Off- On- Off…. AHHHHH!
And the experimentation continues! That seems to be the ongoing theme these days.

My daughter has managed to find every possible light switch in the house that she can pull up, stand on a chair, or scale a wall to get to. I read somewhere that this is normal behavior for a toddler, so I’m biting my tongue (hard) as I try my best not to lapse into a seizure here.

I mean it’s kind of neat watching as she discovers how the world works. It’s initial novelty was amazing. Seeing her eyes light up as she illuminated a room by a mere flip of a switch.

But soon after,…it was just a game.

Believe me, I lost.

I’m guessing there are a few terrorists out there, fixing to lock up some poor hostages in a room full of switches and a 2-year old, flickering them into submission.

Lavatory Forecast – some afternoon showers…

When someone cannot handle their own personal hygiene, maybe it is a sign they should not live on their own.

At approximately 4:17pm today, I took a short break from my computer to make a phone call. Thankfully I have a nasty habit of pacing when I speak, much like trial lawyers do when persuading a jury. Somehow I paced my way into my bedroom, when I heard the sound of water running as I meandered by our bathroom. My heart stopped. Did I leave the faucet running after brushing me teeth? Maybe the shower? Oh jeez, is the toilet broken!

I immediately opened the door and saw something far worse than a toilet leak. Water was pouring from the ceiling. Not dripping. Pouring, like a faucet. I immediately scoured the apartment to find the largest receptacle to place below the gushing stream. In a panic, I somehow decided it would be my 8-quart stainless steel stockpot. Probably not the best choice.

As the downpour continued, I sloshed around the bathroom with towels scrambling to soak up water, as it crept within inches from our carpeted bedroom. But as I crouched down for a closer look, I noticed the water wasn’t exactly clear… I stood up stiff as a board; with this unknown liquid now dripping from my knees and hands. I shuttered at the thought of what the cloudy, brownish fluid could be; but here were the obvious culprits:

A) I didn’t want to think about it.
B) I really didn’t want to think about it.
C) Oh Lord, please don’t let it be that.
D) Maybe it’s just tap water picking up dirt from within the walls (Uh huh. Yup, I’ll go with this one).

Amidst the chaos, I imprisoned my daughter in a Pack-n-Play, locked out our dog onto our 3rd story balcony, notified emergency maintenance staff, and made a mental note that I must disinfect my daughter and cell phone later on. A handyman arrived at my door after 3 stockpot deposits of tan water down the toilet. He took one look at the scene and ran out the door to pay a visit to my neighbor upstairs. Soon after, the steady stream slowed to trickle, and eventually stopped. The final report came an hour later when he returned to our door to say that the neighbor upstairs accidentally overflowed his tub. What kind of adult does that?

I suppose I should be thankful it wasn’t worse; like it being option “A, B, or C” from above. But now my bathroom ceiling looks like it may cave in, or we’ve just sent out a mass invite for mold colonies to come and gather. Either way, I’m peeing with an umbrella until it’s fixed.

Tagged, She’s It

She is only beginning her independent journey and it’s already become a bittersweet ride. My daughter started her first toddler class today at our local Boys and Girl s Club. The brochure mentioned something about, “Arts, Crafts, Fun and Stories.” Kind of vague, but it sounded like fun. We had been to the facility before for many open gym play sessions; the normal gymnasium full of mats, toys, and clutter strewn about for kids to reek havoc. But somehow today’s 45-minute session of minor-toddler-separation-anxiety was not something I anticipated.

With my daughter’s hand wrapped tightly around my index finger, a woman at the front desk led us over to the door labeled “Tot Class.” We entered gingerly around the corner, and then, my daughter immediately let go… ran…and didn’t look back. But of course, I followed. The teacher approached us and exchanged handshakes. With a marker in hand and a sheet of name tag stickers in the other, she bent over. Row after row her finger scanned, as flashbacks of field trips and first days flooded my thoughts. Then her finger paused. She began to peel off the name tag already written out, “E-L-L-A”. I swore it happened in slow motion, like slowly tearing off a band-aid from my heart, making sure to tug on every sensitive nerve. Stuck onto her chest it went. She looked down at it for quick glance, and then went on her merry way. Now tagged and labeled with more independence. Normally, if at home, she would peel it right off and stick it to a wall or maybe the dog, but as if she knew, she paraded around the classroom wearing it, maybe as a badge of honor. No longer my baby, but officially a toddler.

You’re probably wondering what the heck this is on the left. It’s my little Van Gogh’s first masterpiece, a.k.a. an Apple made from a paper plate and tissue paper. It was her first experience with gooey white Elmer’s glue and went a little nuts (glad it didn’t take place in our house). Yup, the glue is STILL drying.