New England Mamas

The Gift of Leap Year

I don't know about you, but I love the idea of Leap Year - an "extra" bonus day that only comes around every few years.

It's exciting! Just yesterday I whined to a friend that, "I just need about six more hours each day."

Well guess what? Today I have 24 hours, minus about six I will spend sleeping.  OK - I have 18 glorious hours  to catch up on all the things I've been unable to fit into my schedule, things like:
Spend time at my kids' school.
Catch up at work.
Renovate my entire house.
Get back in shape.
Write a blockbuster novel.
Send all delinquent birthday/graduation/wedding/baby gifts.
Save the world.
Clean.

OK - maybe I can forget about that last one. One can only do so much in 18 hours.

How will you hop to it this Leap Year?

Meet Eddie

I have three kids.  Two of them are in car seats.  I drove, until Monday, a Honda Accord.  It was a good car, but boy, you put three kids back there and things get tight.  Especially when you're dealing with coats and hats and toddlers and a 13 year-old.  So we bought a minivan.  It's killing me, but we broke down and joined the ranks....

My question is, though:   If it doesn't look like one, is it still a minivan?

 

The Mazda 5.  Or, as I call him, Eddie.  Why?  Well, follow the bouncing brain of Bedhead and you shall see.

Which then make me think of these:

Which then make me think of these:

And those make me think of him:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFPEOxjqBuM

 

And that's never a bad thing.

(And if someone can tell me how to embed YouTube clips into typepad, I shall be forever grateful.)

   

Attack of the Working Mother Guilt

My work hours are from 8:45 to 4:45, Monday through Friday.

Sounds about normal, right?

HOWEVER...

When I factor my commute time into the equation, including the time I'm driving in the car to get to/from the train station...to get to/from Boston...

I am away from the Trenches for practically 60 hours a week.

Talk about a light bulb moment punch in the face.

Wow.

*sigh*

This factoid was made even more crystal clear yesterday morning as I was getting ready to leave and Baby had a meltdown.

We had been snuggling together on the couch, watching this DVD (still his favorite after all this time!).  He still had that morning, breakfast syrupy, pee pee diaper, little boy smell.  I gave him our usual "a kiss, a hug, and a squeeeeze!" and went to gather my belongings.

Cue hysteria.

(Meanwhile, Eldest and Middle were in another room, fully absorbed in the hijinks on Home Alone 2 and had both barely acknowledged my impending departure with nonchalant see-yas.  Thankfully.)

So I trudged into the kitchen, coat on, work bag slung over my shoulder to find Baby, in full spread-eagle position, his footy-pajamaed pint-size body pressed up against the back door, crocodile tears mixing with snot running down his ruddy cheeks.

"You tan't doe, Mommy.  I no let you doe ta wurk."

Ooof.  My heart.

I remember one of my friends saying to me after I told her that I was going back to work full time, "Oh, you'll like your children so much more!"

'Tis true, Jodie.  'Tis true.

I appreciate family time on the weekends now.  In fact, I savor it.  Yet, at the same time, I realize that I'm failing to carve out moments to focus solely on the boyz, whether it's playing games, doing puzzles, coloring, or just simply snuggling.  Instead, I'm trying to multi-task, to be "fun Mommy who's home today", yet still complete all the household tasks and chores that I don't have the time for during the week--namely, laundry and cleaning.  So although I'm home physically--mentally?  Not so much.

[As an aside, Hubby has been simply amazing during my transition to full-time employment.  He does far more for the boyz AND in the Trenches than I ever expected, realized or dreamed.  Truly.]

Thus, I've mentioned to Hubby that it's my desire to take the boyz somewhere special for a weekend, like here or here.

Somewhere that we can enjoy being a family without the distractions of everyday life.

Somewhere the boyz can burn off their pent-up energy from being cooped up inside this long winter.

Somewhere Hubby and I can marvel at how far our family has come over the past 3 years.

Somewhere we can remark how thankful we are to finally be able to do something like this.

Somewhere we can breathe a sigh of relief that we're past diaper bags, bottles, and cribs!

So can you help me out?

1.  Your ideas for any fun family weekend getaways in New England; and

2.  Tips for maximizing family time on the weekends whilst minimizing The Guilt.

Enjoy Your Wednesday!

Sturbridge

Before my husband and I were married, we lived in NYC.  Alright actually I lived in Hoboken, NJ but I worked in NYC.  We used to go out to various restaurants and see movies and plays.  We had a really great time.  When we moved to MA, we saw a lot movies.  That was our thing. 

Since we became parents, though, things have changed.  First of all, date nights are few and far between.  Even though we have grand plans to go out for dinner and a movie like we used to do, it rarely happens.  Either I don't have enough babysitting co-op tokens for both  or nothing good is playing.  Actually there's a third reason too that trumps all the other reasons:  if we're going to have a limited amount of alone time, I want to be able to talk. 

Because of this, I like restaurants in which it is easy to have an intimate conversation.  I also like to have good, reasonably priced food and have the option to be able to dress nicely or to just wear jeans.  Wow, that's sounds like a lot!  I have actually had good success in finding two restaurants that meet all these requirements.  They are located in Sturbridge.  From what I've heard from others many of the other restaurants there are just like it. 

The first place I like is the Publick House.  The food is a little pricer than I would like, but they have coupons in the Entertainment Book.  Now that I have a preschooler, and I'm in a moms group, I get hit with requests to buy these books all the time.  Plus our Y sells them.  They appear to be ubiquitous.  That deserves its own post though!  We recently made our first visit to a place called The Ugly Duckling Loft.  It's the tavern for the restaurant The Whistling Swan.  The food is the same, or at least appeared to be and the friend who recommend it said it was, but the prices are cheaper.  The atmosphere was great.  There was a singer there which was fun.  It did make it a tad bit harder to hear than I would have liked, but the music was by no means overwhelming. 

Quite often when we tell people we're going to Sturbridge, they seem surprised that we're traveling so far.  For us it's about 30 minutes.  Total time is still less time than a dinner and movie, but more of the time is spent conversing since we talk in the car and during the relaxing meal. 

My Ultimate: House Party Time!

("My Ultimate" will run most Tuesdays and will feature any topic that hops into my head.  The views expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the other New England Mamas. . . although they should).

First, a confession:  I have control issues.   And, I'm cheap.

I think these reasons pretty much sum up why my kids have never had a birthday party at a "do it all for you" place.  We've attended parties at several local gyms, a couple YMCA's, a Children's Museum,a  crafts store, an ice cream parlor, a swing set store, a  girlie "makeover" spot, and even a pirate ship in the ocean.   The kids have loved these parties, and I've been tempted to try out several places for ourselves.  Most recently, I was enthralled with the idea of hosting a party at the new indoor water park,  CoCo Keys in Danvers.   But when I saw that a weekend party would set me back at least $490 (never mind the cost of gas to get us all to Danvers), I knew this wasn't going to happen.

The other reason I don't hand the reigns over to someone else is that I really enjoy planning parties  (it is the execution of them that I don't love so much, but "Mommy-for-a-day" rentals aren't so easy to find).   I've gotten ideas from the kids (of course), from books and magazines, from websites, and from friends.  To manage costs (and reduce the amount of crap I need to buy), I search the house for decorations and props.  If I don't have it, I try to borrow it from someone who does. 

So, here is a short list of some of the best birthday parties we've either hosted or attended in someone's home.   I'm leaving off some of the really fun ones that ended up either being expensive or time-consuming  (so, the Luau of '06,  isn't making the cut).

1.  Favorite Color Party:  This is best for a first birthday party since, chances are, the child hasn't the ability to voice their preferences and would be satisfied with a cupcake at dinner.  For our son's first birthday, I walked around the house and saw that we had a lot of "red" things, so "RED" was the theme.   Red balls, red trucks, Elmo and Clifford were all over the room.  Red streamers, balloons, plates & cups were easy to purchase.  The cake had red balloons all over it.  We all wore red shirts or pants and served pizza, watermelon & strawberries, fruit punch and Killian's Irish Red beer (for the grownups of course). 

2.  Extreme Gross-Out Party:   We attended this party in the back yard of friends.  Activities included "ant eating" (licking black sprinkles off a plate without using your hands); "catch the crickets and worms" (alive and put into a large box; each child was given a little plastic insect 'house' in which to place their booty); "find the bugs" (plastic ones were hidden throughout the yard).  This type of party has loads of variations from a Fear Factor theme to a Bug theme, and can be as elaborate or as low-key as you want.

3.  Pretend Sleep Over:  For my oldest's seventh birthday, we had a 'pretend' sleepover which ranks as one of my favorites for its simplicity and fun.  Girls were invited to arrive at dinnertime, dressed in PJ's and bringing a pillow.  The TV room was decorated with silver stars hanging from the ceiling and white Christmas lights hung from the walls.  On the floor, I had several sleeping bags and blankets.  Activities included decorating white pillow cases and getting a manicure (I enlisted two neighborhood tweens to help out).  The girls held their own impromptu dance party before having cupcakes and ice cream and opening gifts.  A little after 8pm, I gave each girl a little popcorn box filled with microwave popcorn and turned on a movie in the TV room.   Parents arrived at pickup to find the girls quietly watching the movie, munching popcorn and relaxing on the sleeping bags and pillows.  Their goodie bag contained breakfast for the next morning (a Poptart, juice box and fruit). 

4.  Fire truck party:  A few years ago, my girls attended a party with a fire truck theme.  The highlight of this party was when a real fire truck arrived in the driveway to surprise the guests.  The gracious firefighters let the kids pose on the front of the truck and even squirt some water from the hose.  This party requires some pre-planning and a backup plan since the mother knew that if there was an emergency in town, there would be no truck.   But, it went off without a hitch and was a huge hit with all the kids.

5.  Hello Kitty party:  If forced to do a 'character' party, I'd pick Hello Kitty over just about anyone else.  First, the decorations are adorable and readily available.  Second, you get to make a cake the looks like this:

. . .or cupcakes that look like these:

6.  Ice Cream Party (this one is currently in the planning stages):   My middle child is turning five and loves ice cream, hence the theme for this party.  For her invitations, I cut out cone shapes from construction paper and had her color big round 'scoops' which were glued on top.   Her 'cake' will be cupcakes baked into flat-bottomed ice cream cones and covered in mound of frosting.  We will have a sundae bar with loads of toppings.  Favors will be little plastic ice-cream-cone-shaped bubbles along with a coupon for a cone at a local shop.   

The next party after this will be my son's fourth birthday, to be held in September.  Any ideas?

 

They still scare me

"Who's gonna take it best?"

Growing up, that's the question I would ask myself when I had to break some bad news to Mom and Dad.

I would assess the situation at hand, decide who would take it easier on me, and go from there.

It wasn't an exact science, of course.  Sometimes I would judge horribly wrong, and suffer the wrath of the parent I thought would let me off easy.

Not that I was a bad kid.  I was actually very much a "good girl" when I think about the kind of situations teenagers can get into.  And my parents knew that.

But I did get myself into some situations that got me in big trouble warranted the ol' talking to.

And I really hated disappointing my parents.  I respected them.  I cared about their opinions.

And I knew that they had raised me to be smart, make good decisions, and not do anything that would embarrass them me.

When I was a senior in high school I was involved in "an incident" (let's just leave it at that) at a restaurant one night.

Literally my first thought was, "How am I going to tell Mom and Dad?" Because I knew that not telling them was never an option.  They always found out the truth.

That night, though, I was more concerned about telling Dad.  I remember calling home on the way back from the restaurant and being relieved that Mom answer the phone.

"Is Dad sleeping?" I asked.

He was.  A sigh of relief.

"I have to talk to you when I get home about something that happened tonight at XYZ restaurant," I told my Mom.

When I got home, I sat on the edge of my parents' bed and relayed the story to my Mom (my Dad is out like a light when he sleeps) - the truth, very close to the whole truth and pretty much nothing but the truth.

Of course, I ended it with, "Can you tell Dad?  I'm too scared."

So the next morning, I woke up to Dad standing over my bed.  Not looking too happy.

But at least he had already heard the story from Mom.  It lessened the blow.

(Do not, however, get the impression that Mom is the pushover of the two.  Sometimes Dad was definitely the go-to guy when you needed an ally.)

The funny thing is, though, even now as an adult, I still find that I don't want to do anything that will disappoint Mom and Dad.

I still hold their opinions in high regard.  I love spending time and having fun with them.  I love that there is a mutual respect between us, and I never want to jeopardize that.

Which is why, from time to time, I still need to enlist one of them as a go-between, just like when I was younger.

Just recently, I had to borrow one of Dad's company vans to transport a load of chairs from a rental company.  Dad's company would need the van back first thing Monday morning.

So when I found out that the rental company wouldn't be able to take the chairs back until Monday morning, I felt that old familiar feeling of nervousness creep in.  How was I going to get around this one?

So I did what had always worked for me before... I went to Mom.

I'm not ashamed.

My name is Jane. I'm twenty-seven years old and I'm still afraid of my parents.

- Jane 

The other side of snow

As much as we all bitch and moan about the snow, it is beautiful. Well, at least it's beautiful right after it falls and before it gets all disgusting and slushy brown.

The view outside my bedroom window.

School Vacation is a Slippery Slope

"Mommmm!!!" my son screamed just moments after we entered our hotel room at the Crowne Plaza Resort Hotel in Lake Placid, New York.  "There's a coffee maker in the bathroom!"

Ah yes...firsts.  That's what this mid-February getaway was all about for the
Dynamite children. A first time snowboarding. A first time tubing. A first time ice skating on an Olympic venue. And yes, a first time helping mom brew coffee in the bathroom.

On day one, we traveled off the beaten path on our journey northwestward from Connecticut to a little place called Willard Mountain, "where winter and family fun come together."  While my children got outfitted for their "family fun" in the form of snowboards and boots, I embraced "winter" by slipping not once but twice on powder-covered sheets of ice bordering the parking lot.   I seriously thought I broke my shoulder, or my elbow, or my collar bone, or my wrist, or maybe all of those bones and then some, but alas, I soldiered on, sobbing only briefly (but quite dramatically) on my daughter's shoulder while she sipped hot cocoa in the lodge.

My kids echoed my sobs shortly thereafter, when they simply couldn't get the hang of the rope tow while balancing on one foot on their snow boards. We bid adieu to Willard Mountain as my husband mumbled under his breath, "I'm the only one who hasn't cried yet today."

Gotta love family vacations.

The ride to Lake Placid was breathtaking and lovely, with endless frozen waterfalls and marshmallow-white snow-t0pped peaks.  Home to the 1932 and 1980 winter Olympic games, Lake Placid offers families much to do for winter fun, including toboggan rides out over a frozen lake, ice skating on the Olympic speed skating oval, dog sled rides, virtual reality bobsled/ski jump/luge/downhill ski "rides" in the Olympic center, and of course, skiing and snowboarding on nearby Whiteface Mountain.  For the bold and adventurous, there's also snowshoeing, ice fishing, igloo building, snow cone making, cross country skiing, icicle fencing, and ice climbing.

Lest I forget perhaps the most incredibly exciting and fabulous activity for children aged 15 and younger, there's also swimming in the hotel pool and marinating in the hot tub with dozens of other young hotel guests.  (Um, ew.)

We had a lovely visit to Lake Placid and packed in as many activities as we could manage, then headed toward home with a stop at Butternut Mountain, a "true family mountain" and "family gem."

 

Indeed it was.  And totally tubular to boot.

We arrived home just in time for more snow - snow that somehow, now, seems less cold than before.

Yes, this snow is different. It's magical.  Rife with possibility.

Not a burden or a chore, it's fun, and everything about it is brand spanking new.

Now that's a first.

Some random weirdness.

• I was born on the same day as my youngest uncle. May 27^th. Of course, we are 23 years apart. But 1969 was a pretty fun year to be born.    

     

• When I was a wee one of 5 or 6, my Mom made most of our clothes. She also volunteered us (me, my older brother and younger sister) for modeling her clothes in some fashion show I don't really remember.    

     

• I make a mean Chocolate mousse.

     

• When I was 18 I worked as a volunteer for the Royal National Eisteddfod in Wales. That year it was in Newport, in South Wales. I lived in a little village called Rhiwderyn and walked a couple of miles to work each day through the Welsh countryside. The best part of this walk was climbing over the fence turnstiles at the foot of a grassy hill surmounted by old Roman ruins.
  

     

• When I was a kid, my older brother packed up his huge, five string double bass and headed out to Tanglewood for a summer studying with “Tiny” Martin and other members of the BSO. My little sister and I, for the July 4^th bash, were given the jobs of gate runners. Which meant, basically, that we pressed our little faces up against the gates with hundreds of other concert crazies, waited for it to open, panting and chomping at the bit, and when it finally did, left the gate at full gallop, blankets streaming behind us like superhero capes as we made the mad dash across the green perfect lawns to our favorite spot by the big tree near the main shed. There we spread the blankets and collapsed into jellylike lumps to wait for our parents to catch up. They would bring the lunch/snack/dinner basket. In the meantime we watched a small city spring up around us. A few blankets away, a card table was erected, spread with snowy white linen, and set with china and wine glasses. Over behind the shed on the other side of a line trees, we could see hot air balloons begin to swell and rise over the foliage. A line of cannons waited quietly on the lawn for their moment, hours away as of yet, when they would fire and bring down a rain of fireworks that would all but obliterate the strains of Tchaikovsky blasting from the shed. But what did it matter? We were young, happy, and dreamed young dreams of flying off in those hot air balloons that would eventually rise from the earth and float away over the mountains.