New England Mamas

Ahhhh, Kelly Clarkson!

So in the past few days, I've gotten a bikini wax, a pedicure and a manicure (Myrtle Beach--2 more days!) during my lunch breaks. Opting for cheap instead of ritzy, I go to a salon I discovered in the somewhat gritty Downtown Crossing area of Boston, as opposed to swanky Newbury Street.

A total of $64 later (not including tips), I am tidy (yes, that area) and uncalloused (not that area--my feet!). And because I'm a giver, I thought I'd share with you some of my salon observations:

Bikini waxing. There's just no damn way to be modest during this process, is there? Even with granny panties on, your legs are sprawled wiiiiiide open.

It helps when your waxer doesn't really speak English. That way there's no pretense of small talk or chitchat about the weather as you're lying (laying?) there with your girly bits exposed; thusly leaving you free and clear to compose blog entries such as this as you anticipate the next excruciating tear of the waxy paper off your nether regions.

It lessens the pain if you grip the skin on the inside of your inner thigh and hold it taut while the waxing is being done. Truly. (Right Sarah. Kinda like a Dora bandaid would heal a gaping flesh wound?)

It always helps to have a meticulous waxer. Someone who's not all willy-nilly in her application. Otherwise you could end up crooked or lopsided down there. Just sayin'.

I would recommend NOT getting a waxing during the work day, as I did. It's hard to focus on your work product when you're worried about being cemented by wax to your office swivel chair. While wearing a skirt.

Finally, in all honesty? Getting a bikini wax is just not that bad. It's really not so much about the ripping out of the hairs as it is the vulnerability of your private body being exposed to a stranger. Am I right?

Moving on to manis and pedis:

Is it just me, or does anyone else get paranoid when all the Asian beauticians speak in their native language? Are they making fun of me? "Look at her gnarly toes!" "Ewww, gross." "I can't believe I have to touch these things!" (Ok, so maybe I'm slightly paranoid.)

Having the callouses shaved off your feet feels soooo good. But not so good that I'm even remotely tempted to purchase this. Spaghetti with "sprinkled parmesan", anyone?

Some women (*cough*thetwosittingonbothsidesofme*cough*) have really gross feet. Hmmm...maybe the girls were actually talking about them??

And finally, before you even make it out of the damn salon, you will inevitably smudge. Every. Single. Time. Grrrr.

Cross-posted at In the Trenches of Mommyhood.

I'm (Diaper) Free and Lovin Every Minute of It!

I AM DONE CHANGING DIAPERS! (Notice the Seinfeld reference in the title?  Well, right now I'm doing the Elaine dance.)

Baby became fully potty-trained in a matter of days. I swear it, you guys.

Get this though: I have had been changing diapers for over 6-1/2 years.

That's oh...approximately 2,400 days.  (Yep, I'm a dork and I added it up.)  In a row.

And, in 2004, when Middle was born, both Eldest and Middle were in diapers that summer.  Then, a year later, in the summer of '05 when Baby was born, both Middle and Baby were in diapers.

Of course, I'm not so naive to think that we will actually see any savings now that we are a diaper-free Trenches.  Oh no.

It's called PRESCHOOL PAYMENTS.  And FOOD.  *sigh*

So what's your number?  How many days/years--in a row--have you changed diapers? Anyone ever have, dare I ask, 3 in diapers at once?  (Bless your soul.)

Cross-posted at In the Trenches of Mommyhood

A Walmart Confession

Last night, upon my return home from work, Hubby (who had left his work early due to the stomach bug) asked me if I would head out to Walmart or Target later that evening after the boyz were in bed. He had a list of stuff we needed for the Trenches.

By the time we got everyone settled (past 8pm), I had already changed into my "comfy" clothes--you know the ones: tee shirt, baggy exercise pants, no bra.

Crap! Still had to take one for the team and venture out to Target/Walmart.

So I simply threw on a sweatshirt and headed out. Braless. To Walmart. After 8pm.

Where I most definitely blended in with the rest of the Walmart crowd, especially in our Central Massachusetts neck of the woods.

Because where else can you buy applesauce, undershirts and curtain tie backs all in one-stop-shopping?

Sure, I could've gone to Target as well...

But then I definitely would have had to wear a bra.

Cross-posted at In the Trenches of Mommyhood

The Commute

Since returning to full-time employment in the professional corporate environment (in downtown Boston), the one thing I've realized the most in these past 4+ months? 

Man, I'm tired.

(Yes, my ass is sitting on a train for over 2 hours every day, but I'm still TIRED.)

Here's why:

1.  I MUST leave the house by 6:42 a.m.  6:45 at the LATEST.  Even when there's urine soaking on the floor.  And children blocking my path.  I won't even go into detail about waking up, hitting snooze, showering, blow-drying, flat-ironing, makeuping, dressing, packing my lunch.  Oh wait, I kinda just did.  On top of making nutritious breakfasts pouring bowls of sugared cereal and having some snuggle time with whomever is awake at that UNGODLY hour.

2.  I drive about 20 minutes to the train station.  And stress when I get stuck behind a school bus.  (Hey, whatever happened to BUS STOPS?  Why does it seem like each and every kid gets picked up directly in front of their house?  Even when the houses are 2 doors down!)

3.  I pull into the train parking lot.  And must find a parking space that will ensure me maximum quickness in the evening when departing from said parking space.  (The parking spots numbered 352-357 are the best for this, I've come to realize.)  (More on the rationale behind this later.)

4.  I have to make sure I have $2 to pay (daily) for parking.  Which doesn't always happen.  (Hello parking police.  Yes, I will pay your fines.  Eventually.)

5.  Then, I scurry to the train.  Sometimes I mustn't scurry.  Sometimes I must SPRINT.

6.  I have to stand in the appropriate spot on the platform to ensure that the train door will stop directly in front of me to ensure that I will be one of the first ones to enter the train to ensure that I will get a good seat on the train.   I always get on the 2nd car from the front, and I try to sit in the window seat in the 2-seater row. 

7.  Commence snoozing whilst hoping that I'm not snoring or drooling.  At this point, all I care about is waking up at my stop.  I've only slept through my stop once.  Which isn't a big deal.  Then I just walk directly to work instead of taking the subway.

8.  Get off at Back Bay.  Climb steps into station and scurry through turnstyle to subway.  Stand at platform and wait for the T.  Elbow back those who elbow me in hopes of cramming onto overcrowded subway.  Grrrrr.  Find it ridiculous and aggravating and RUDE when snooty businessmen bury their noses in their morning paper and ignore pregnant women STANDING while they're SITTING.  (I ALWAYS offer pregnant women my seat if I happen to be sitting.  And I glare at the jerks who don't offer their seat.)

9.  Get off subway 3 stops later.  Walk 10 minutes to work.  Arrive at work at 8:30 a.m.  On a good morning with no delays, that is.  Almost 2 hours after I left the Trenches that morning.

GETTING HOME:

1.  Leave work by 4:45.  Walk to South Station to catch commuter rail.  (I don't take the subway at night.  Easier to just walk directly to the train.)

2.  Get on train.  2nd car from front again.  Try to sit in aisle seat in 3-seater row that's already occupied with someone sitting on the inside.  And then try to make myself look as large as possible so that no one will ask to sit in the middle.  Best case scenario:  I'm there early enough to get a single seater.  Score!

3.  Don't sleep.  (I worry that I won't wake up at my stop and will end up stranded in Worcester.)  Instead, solve "sudorku" puzzles, or read.

4.  Head to front of train car at stop before my stop in order to get in line.  The post-train traffic at my stop is a nightmare. 

5.  Since the parking lot is such a CLUSTERF*CK, once at my stop, I RUN from the platform, up the stairs (along with my fellow "rushers") and to my car.  I learned the hard way that if I don't do this?  I end up in PARKING LOT TRAFFIC for 20 minutes.  20 minutes that I'd like to spend WITH MY CHILDREN WHOM I HAVEN'T SEEN ALL DAY, THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

6.  Drive 20 minutes home to the Trenches.  Arrive around 6:30ish.

7.  Hubby usually has dinner all ready (all together now: "Awwwwww...") and we sit down to eat.  And talk about our day.  And laugh.  As I'm continually amazed at how blessed I am to have the family I have.

8.  Dinner/dishes/cleanup lasts until at least 7pm.  I'm still usually in my work clothes.

9.  Bathtime for the 3 boyz.   I usually do all the undressing, butt-wiping, bathing, drying off, diapering, pj-ing, hair combing, toothbrushing, etc. while Hubby does miscellaneous cleanup downstairs.  I change into my workout gear at this point too.

10.  Depending on the naps that Baby and Middle had that day, either it's Bath&Bed (with stories beforehand), or Bath&Downstairs (for an episode of John&KatePlus8 or the Sox game).  And LOTS of snuggling.

11.  Bedtime is 8:00ish. 

12.  Once the boyz are settled, I rush down to the basement to ride the stationary bike for 30 minutes.  No running yet.  It still gets dark around 7:30 and I don't want run at night until after the boyz are all tucked in.

13.  Finally time to let the sweat dry relax in front of some quality programming bad (Real Housewives of NYC) reality (Big Brother) television (America's Next Top Model) shows (Survivor)!  My DVR is my bestest friend.  (And I'm too tired to link to those shows.)

14.  Bed at 11.  Wakeup at 5:30 and do it all over again.

Needless to say, I LIVE for weekends now.  And vacation days. 

And?  I feel I must point out that I may just very well have The Best Husband Ever.  Who has graciously (for the most part) picked up all the slack since I started being the breadwinner this new job.

I get that this sort of routine/lifestyle may not work for everyone, but it's working for us right now. And that's all I can ask for.

*yawn*

Zig Zag Zone

Last Friday, I was home with the boyz.  A day off for good behavior Good Friday.  But Hubby had to work (heh).  What to do?  What to do?

Clean?  Nah.

Cook?  Nah.

Chuck E. Cheese?  OH HELLS NO.

I remembered that a friend had recommended an indoor playground in Milford, MA, but we had yet to venture there.  Friday seemed like as good a day as any.

So the boyz (ages 6, 3-1/2 and 2-1/2) and I headed to the Zig Zag Zone at the John Smith Sports Center.

And we were not disappointed.  The cost was $7 per child, but no fee for me (it amazes and angers me that some indoor playplaces actually charge admission for adults!). 

The boyz played.  And played.  And climbed.  And slid down the slides.  And jumped in the bouncy house.  I didn't know what to expect, so I hadn't brought anything but my purse.  I was, in fact, bummed that I hadn't brought a book or magazine for myself!

It was completely age appropriate for all 3 of them and they truly had a blast (and GREAT naps that afternoon--bonus!)

Care to join us next time? 

This Part of Spring Stinks!

Won't you join me in my gripe-fest, o fellow New Englanders?  Here's a list of reasons why I hate this part of the season here:

*Obviously, the weather.  The notion of spring connotates green grass, flowers in bloom, milder temps.  Not so much here.  We're still at least a month away from real spring.

*The winter fat gained; ie., the muffin top.

*Pale, sickly white skin that looks even more ghostly when compared to the lucky few who glowingly return from places south.  Hi Kate!

*The fact that the stores are displaying bathing suits (and have been since February) makes me PIMMAL (puke in my mouth a little).

*The lonely clumps of dirty snow that slowly disappear - - that is, until the inevitable snowfall accumulation in April.

*Being sick of wearing the same winter wardrobe, yet having no desire to dress one's self in spring attire, knowing the temp won't get above 40 degrees.

*The hair growth.  I'm gonna need a John Deere to rid this bod of its winter fur.  Uhhh...am I the only Sasquatch?

*Spring cleaning.  Yuck.

On the bright side?

It's spring!  Scurry outside and play, children!  Don't forget your hats and mittens!  Momma will wipe your snotsicles after you've had some fresh spring air!

Sarah's Thursday Randomness

Did anyone else catch the spectacularly gorgeous New England sunrise this morning?  (I was driving to catch the train when I saw it--lest you think I specifically awoke just to view it.  Please.)

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I heard that our very own Clay Buchholz is dating a Penthouse model.  Awww....his mother must be soooo proud.  (My boyz will not EVER be allowed to date, thankyouverymuch.)

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One word--Ewwwwww!  (Ok, so that's not really even a word, but it's all I could come up with.)  Just ewwwww.

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This morning, Eldest gleefully discovered the free Matchbox car that came in the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  Well, Middle had a meltdown.  He WANTED that car!  Commence copious sobbing and hysterics from my almost 4-year old.  Now, mind you, we already have 863 Matchbox cars scattered throughout the Trenches.  Thankfully, in a rare heartwarming act of Big Brother Kindness, Eldest handed over the cheap coveted car to Middle.  Crisis averted.

Funny thing is, I totally remember my siblings and I being the exact same way when were were younger.  Ahhh, the timeless lure of the chintzy cereal box prize.  Nonetheless, I swear from now on I'm only buying Cheerios.

Money Grubbing Bahstahds

Dear Jonathan,

I liked you.  I really did.  You seemed like such a carefree young dude (the dancing) having the time of your life (the World Series win), loving the wild ride and intensity of being an ace closer (the fist pumping.)

But now?  Just SHUT UP already!

"I feel like with me being at the top of my position, I feel like that standard needs to be set and I'm the one to set that standard."

So you're declaring yourself #1?  Sounds a little conceited to me, Mister.  And I'm sure that statement will hardly make opposing hitters want to crush the ball on your lace-shirted-wearing watch, buddy.

"At the same time, I feel a certain obligation to not only myself and my family to make the money that I deserve, but for the game of baseball."

That you deserve?!  Because over a half million dollars won't put food on your table? (or in your dog's mouth?)  And you're demanding this money for the integrity of baseball?  Puh-leeze.

Let's just call bullshit  a spade a spade, okay Paps?  You're greedy.  You've caught this ugly trait (that spreads in locker rooms faster than an STD, apparently) just like many most of your cohorts in the realm of professional sports.

But, hey, who am I to call you out?  Despite all this, we the fans will nonetheless continue to tune in, to cheer you on, and to root for our team's success. 

We will do this cheering, though, from the comfort of our middle-class living rooms, as we lament the fact that it's impossible for most families to afford a day at the ballpark (unless they choose to sacrifice their grocery money for the week, that is.)

And you say you want, no.... need....how many millions?

Sincerely,

A Disgusted Mother of Little Boyz Who Idolize You

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.

Global Warming and Team Pride

R.I.P., Mr. Snowman.

Date of Birth:  January 7, 2008
Date of Death:  January 8, 2008