Dear Inconsiderate Mother,

I just wanted to send you a little note to say "Thank You" for bringing your watery-eyed, runny-nosed child to play group the other day. It was a pleasure to listen to him cry miserably because he did not feel well and wanted you to just take him home. The snot/drool combo he left on the tables and chairs was delightful, and the way you kept yelling at him to "Just stop crying already," is something to be admired. We should all be so quick-witted as you were to make the great decision to bring your virus-riddled child to a public setting where other children can get sick. Now I get to have a watery-eyed, runny-nosed child of my own. Kudos to you.

Sincerely,
Melissa

Writer's Block

I am trying to write, but am unable to. It could be because of my long day of laundry, cleaning and cooking, which left me tired. Or, it could be the shootout I hear in my living room which is interjected by an occasional "Huh, huh," that closely resembles the chuckles of Beavis and Butthead coming through the tiny headset my husband is wearing as he plays Grand Theft Auto.

It sounds like the Valentine's Day Massacre in here. And you haven't lived until you hear your husband say to his buddies, "I just screwed a hooker then shot her and took her money." Yes, I'm serious. Apparently you can't win the game without doing that a few times. Lovely.

And to add to the realistic atmosphere of the game, you can turn the radio on in the car you steal and change the stations, which even play commercials. And one radio station in the game sounds horrifically similar to a certain popular hip-hop station out of NYC that gets on my last nerve. The DJs and announcers of said station are grammatically impaired, and the show hosts are as ignorant as a bag of onions. I try my hardest to avoid the station in my own car, but luck would have it that I have to hear its reincarnate on my TV.

Screw this. I'm going to sleep.

Cookies and a Purpose

Recently, I have become quite the Betty Crocker, if I do say so myself. Actually, more like Martha Stewart, minus the snootiness. Ever since Christmas of last year I have developed an intense fascination with baked goods from scratch, and since then it has developed into an outright obsession.

It started with the Christmas cookies I gave away as gifts. I made gingerbread cookies with royal icing, vanilla-walnut tea cookies, oatmeal cookies with brown-butter icing, winter bark and chocolate cheesecake bars--all from scratch. We were too broke to go out and buy everyone gifts, but we still wanted to participate in the gift-giving tradition and to me, there is something about baked goods that makes the person receiving them feel special in a "Wow, you went all out of your way for me?" type of way.

It felt good to go to the store and buy simple things like flour, sugar, butter and molasses (I had never bought molasses in my life. Really, who the hell uses molasses this day in age?) knowing that I was going to do something that isn't expected from a young mom. I admit, it felt a little selfish, but I also wanted to start a tradition for my girls. I want them to eat a cookie when they're 25 and say, "This is pretty good, but it's nothing like what Mom makes."

The week before Christmas I was a baking fiend. I didn't even have to turn the heat on at night with the oven running until midnight. I spent hours on those cookies, but I loved every minute of it and the more I did it, the easier it got. I even learned a few things like, baking soda has a purpose other than absorbing odors in the refrigerator, and it is NOT the same thing as baking powder!

But the true satisfaction came when I gave away my pretty little confections wrapped in snowflake printed cellophane, tucked into old fashioned tins with lids. Every time I heard someone say "Oh my God, this is so good. You made these yourself?" I got a rush. I did something that was unexpected, and I succeeded. Then it hit me: I was high on praise. And I had finally realized why--I needed validation.

I was no longer working outside of the home, and I spent the majority of my day alone with the girls while my husband worked. I felt like I had no purpose. I know being a mother is important, but it's nice to hear every once in a while that I'm doing a good job. I was home all day working my butt off, but nobody told me my house was clean, or that dinner was awesome, and baking was the perfect opportunity to have something to show. The same way a kindergartner brings home artwork to hang on the fridge, I wanted someone to say, "Wow! That's nice!" It wasn't the reason I initially decided to bake, but now I realize it's why I continue to bake.

It started with cookies and has expanded to include an assortment of cupcakes, coffee cakes and pound cakes. I'm addicted. I now buy my flour, sugar and butter in bulk and there is always a sweet treat ready to be devoured in our house. I have filled a void. When I'm unhappy, I bake. When I'm bored, I bake. When I want some extra attention from the hubby, you guessed it: I bake. After all, the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?

Am I the only one worried about making sure my children don't turn into those kids nobody can stand? I know you know what I'm talking about: those little brats that annoy the living hell out of you so bad that you wish they were old enough to tell them them off. The kids who run around being obnoxious while their parents are oblivious. I know, I know, it's really the parents' fault for not curbing the behavior, but it doesn't make it any less aggravating. It is my mission to make sure my girls are not the ones that nobody wants to invite to birthday paries. I'm just saying...

I Need a Village

Support is great. Whether it be in the form of an awesome group of friends, a mother who will always have your back or a great pair of Spanx, a good support system always makes life easier. I have a great group of friends, even though within the last two years it has dwindled down to only a core few who I can always count on. I have a mom as well as a mother-in-law who will always have my back, and best believe after two kids I own a pair of Spanx, but sometimes I still feel as though I am treading water.

I recently moved to a place that is an hour and a half away from my family and friends (and let me tell you, it's not until you move away that you find out who your real friends are) and even though I'm still within driving distance, some days I feel as though I might as well be in Timbuktu. The only ones I have at arm's length are my husband and my mother-in-law (yes, we get along just fine, thankyouverymuch) but my husband works crazy hours and my MIL is a very busy woman, so that leaves me. By myself. With my girls.

I am not complaining about being home all day with them (okay, maybe just a little) but it would be nice to have that proverbial village to help me raise my child. You know, like someone who could stay with the girls for five minutes while I run to the store to get that gallon of milk I forgot instead of having to get them ready, strap them into their car seats, drive to the store, take them out of their car seats, try to find a shopping cart with a seat that doesn't have gum, dried chocolate or that indeterminable goo stuck to the seat, make it to the refrigerated aisle without Leila begging for whatever is displayed on the shelves and without Mia standing up in the seat (because usually if the cart is clean it has no straps, and vice versa), wait in line while Mia has a fit because I won't let her get out of the cart, pay for the milk, go to the car, strap them in again and drive home.

It would even be nice to have someone who could entertain my children just long enough that I could do something simple, like wash the dishes before they pile to the ceiling, or cook [insert meal here] without Mia serenading me with her never-ending high-pitched wail that echoes through kitchen and verberates off the tile, all because she doesn't understand the concept of "wait." And yes, she will stand at the gate and cry the entire time I am in the kitchen, stopping only to breathe in and start again.

I would even be okay with having someone come over for just ten minutes, just so I can eat a meal in peace, while it's still hot, without anyone climbing over, yelling at, or just plain bothering me. Yes, that would be nice. Very nice indeed.

That being said I suppose I don't need that village. I'd be okay with just one person. Someone.

Anyone?

I love how when my girls eat their dinner, 1/3 of it ends up on the floor, but when they eat a cupcake, not even the plate has crumbs.

No 401K Here

I love my girls. Before they were born, I couldn't imagine life with them. Now that they're here, I can't imagine life without them. They are beautiful, funny, smart, sassy, strong-willed, opinionated and they haven't even started kindergarten yet. I wouldn't trade them in for the world, but they are a lot of work. A WHOLE lot of long-houred, unrewarded, unpaid, unappreciated work.

Whoever said "Motherhood is it's own reward," must have been inhaling too much baby powder. Or eating the Balmex. I am pretty sure that if someone went to work for 16 hours a day and had to try to get work done while her co-workers kept getting in the way, making messes that she had to clean up, on top of having to make three meals for said co-workers and take them to the bathroom, teach them how to do their jobs and keep her cool when the coworkers threw tantrums, all without so much as a head nod from her boss, no paycheck at all, no benefits, and had to listen to people tell her that her job is easy and she should actually take on more work, I'm sure she would quit the next day. Shoot, I would!

Well, welcome to Motherhood. The most overworked, underappreciated job on the world. Yes, I signed up for it and dammit, I'm good at it, but that doesn't mean it's easy or that I don't have a right to complain. If that's the case, all those people at work groaning "This day is going by so slooow, I can't wait to go home," or "I have so much work to do, I am so stressed," should just shut up. After all, they applied for the job, right? Hmm, doesn't quite seem fair.

Now, there are things that keep me going and make me realize that what I'm doing is worthwhile: the smile Mia gives me when I walk into the room, the stories Leila tells me about her day, the way Mia acts out "The Isty Bitsy Spider", Leila knowing her alphabet and counting to 12, the way they sit down at their tiny table and have their meals like little adults, the way they dance to anything that remotely sounds like music, the way Leila takes care of her little sister, the way Mia will repeat any word I say with clarity, the way they look like living angels when they are sleeping. These are the things that keep me from quitting my job. My benefits, if you will. But I cannot say that Motherhood, in and of itself is a reward. It is on-going. Not until I am old and gray and I see that my children are grown, successful and happy will it be its own reward.

I'll wait.

Mother of the Bribe

Who says we shouldn't bribe our kids? I think the problem with the bribe is in the word itself. I like to consider it more of a motivation or incentive, if you will. A way of tricking your little ones into doing what you want because they are still too young to hold their own in a debate of the issue.

Just yesterday I told Leila that if she took a nap I would give her a cupcake when she woke up. I just heard a few of you gasp, but honestly, what's the big deal about a cupcake? It saved me an argument with a toddler (which, when looked at from the outside seems pretty silly) and it gave my daughter a reason to stay in bed. Well, a better reason than "because I said so," I should say. She's still too young to understand that if she doesn't take a nap she gets tired and cranky as the day progresses and by bedtime she is overtired and it's like WWIII to get her to go to sleep. All she cares about is missing the Dora episode on TV and collecting rocks in the yard. I need to speak her language, and that language is Cupcakes.

The incentive is not always food, however, so you healthy eating advocates can relax. Today, in fact, it happens to be a trip to the library. The other day it was a game of Memory. Whatever it is, it's something that I know she will look forward to and do whatever I say so to get it. It's not like this will go on forever. My teenagers will not be getting brand new shoes for brushing their teeth and the latest iPod for washing the dishes, but for now, it works. The kids are small, the rewards are small and the payoff is huge. Works for me.

Summer

I remember having a conversation the other day with some friends, during which we got on the subject of summer. And although I don't remember who said it (sorry, if you're reading this!) I do distinctly remember her saying that she does not see what the big deal about summer is. "I'm not a teacher," she said, "so it's not like I get summers off, and it's too hot anyway. I'm over it." She said that she enjoyed summer vacation as a kid, but now it's no big deal. And although I totally understand where she is coming from, I have to disagree.

Summer is so much more than time off from work and school. It's warm weather and longer days. It's leaving your windows open at night and waking up in the morning with the house full of fresh air. It's being able to have all your friends over at the same time because more people fit in your backyard than in your living room. It's delicious tomatoes, peppers and corn on the cob. It's fresh lemonade and iced tea. It's barbecued dinners and eating outside.

Summer is lazy days at the beach and falling asleep in the shade. It's running to the water's edge because the sand is too hot. It's sandcastles with moats and seaweed "grass". It's eating lunch on a blanket under a tree with the sunshine peeking through the leaves, making patterns on the ground. It's fireworks and ice cream trucks. It's volleyball and miniature golf. It's flip flops and shorts and no makeup.

Summer is a glass of wine (or two or three) on the deck while listening to a cricket serenade. It's beautiful sunsets and mild night air. It's playing outside until the lightning bugs come out (or the mosquitoes, whichever come first). It's nights full of fun after which you sometimes need to look at the photos to remember it all.

Summer may not mean vacation for me, but I still look forward to it every year. I still get excited, much like I did on the last day of class, just as the bell rang and I knew it was the beginning of two and a half months of no school. And even though at that exact moment I wasn't sure what I was going to do with myself, I knew it was going to be fun.