Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Barney is a communist from your imagination

The other day Mila and I attended a play date where we got confronted about watching Barney. Good old Barney.... Strikes the fear into the hearts of many a parent. The incessant "I love you", the singing, it's too much for any soul to bear.

was told that I am... In laymans terms.. The antichrist because I subject my daughter to homosexual and anti Christian ideology by allowing her to watch Barney. While this young woman educated me about the lack of Jesus in my child's life, I was thinking about Barney and the harms of this evil dinosaur. The best I could come up with was that Barney was not "the devil manifesting himself to our unprotected chillins" but simply a communist.  That's right... We all know what you're hiding under those magnificent purple scales (dinosaurs have scales, right?) with your sharing, caring for your fellow humans, and communal toys... The hammer and sickle.

It's enough that Barney tells children that it's "not so tough to share your stuff" but he even has the nerve to suggest that children are "happy helpers" who need to be told how to aid in the greater good. I get it play date lady, imagination and love are not things to be teaching our young impressionable children. Play date lady even suggested shows that are more appropriate with a founder that has good Christian values... Mickey Mouse Club.  Now don't get me wrong Disney is, as Baby Bop would say, the macaroni to my cheese,  but aren't we going a little too far to say that Walt Disney had "Christian" values? You know with the antisemitism and all...

So yes, Barney may be a communist, but he's our communist. Mila claps along, dances, laughs, and even :gasp: shares her stuff! There are bigger fishes to fry than crazy play date lady and she's completely entitled to her insane and outdated opinion. Well take our children's television with a side of love, caring, and sharing.. How do you take yours?


Mama P

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Gym Buddies

I go to Gold's Gym. Correction... I went to Gold's Gym, then I slacked off for 3 months/Mila was sick for about 2 months on and off, and now I go to Gold's Gym again. I know Gold's is pretty much known for the bros that Planet Fitness depicts in their commercials, but it's a few blocks from my house, they offer yoga for free (well clearly it's not free because I promised my 1st born and my undying loyalty) and have babysitting services.  While the bros are a major downfall, the babysitting and yoga kick ass. Mila loves the ladies which don't mind that she wants to be picked up then immediately put down, then picked right back up again... Come to think of it, Mila fits right in with the bros.

 Today was just another day at the gym until the dreaded gym buddy incident.  I came in, dropped Mila off, then headed upstairs to the remote corner of the tread mills, where no one can judge my profuse sweatiness. I just worked up to a brisk 3.5mph power walk when a lady who can only be described as a mix of Serena Williams body with Quasimodo's face stepped up to the treadmill next to me. For those of you unfamiliar with Disney references:

There were 4 other open treadmills, but for some reason she had to be right next to mine.  Let me paint you this picture: I am wearing old navy leggings, an oversized t shirt, and TJ Maxx sneakers, while this woman is all decked out in the latest gear with a matching water bottle!

Normally I wouldn't judge so harshly (who the hell am I kidding, I thrive on judging  harshly) but for some reason serenamodo decided she was going to race me.  I did not recognize serenamodo's intentions until I picked up to a brisk 4mph and was wheezing my way through the first 5 minutes. Serenamodo picks up to whatever ungodly speed she was jogging and gives me the "is that all you got?" Look. Little did she know, that was in fact all that I had. After an unspecified (let's just say 39 because I'm fit like that) number of minutes, I bring my jog down to a slow walk to cool down (and by cool down I mean attempt not to keel over). I decide that my jog was all I am willing to attempt, treadmill wise, for the day and begin to stretch my weary legs. Serenamodo proceeds to stop and tell me... I am shitting you not, this is what was said... "Maybe if you came more regularly you'd be able to keep up with me." 

At first I thought she was kidding. When I realized she wasn't, I got over my initial shock and told her that I fully intended on coming more often provided that she stop, as her ridiculous face was giving me nightmares. Furthermore I told her that she wasn't fooling anyone when she goes into the female locker room and that she needs to do a better job of tucking her penis.... That Is what I wanted to say.  What I actually told her was that I am doing my best and it is because of people like her that individuals who want to better themselves are afraid to go to the gym because they may be judged. 

Yes I poke fun at almost everything. I can also be mean. I am however never mean to those that don't provoke me first or deserve it through some horrible act of theirs. I give everyone a chance until they prove not to earn it. I don't pick on people who are struggling at something when they are clearly trying their best. Some people are cruel for no reason and it pains me to think that one day Mila will come into contact with a serenamodo. All I can do is prepare her and teach her witty comebacks (and yes restraint, politeness, and guts). I worry for my baby and for this world in general, however, there's always someone that bring me back and makes me realize it'll all be ok. The other day I got a free drink at Starbucks (I know I have a problem, just drop it!) because I was polite to the elderly gentleman paying ahead of me. It's the little things that bring us all together and just like my beloved Alma Mater states, "May no act of ours bring shame."

As a complete and irrelevant side note, it's hubby's and mine 5yr anniversary tomorrow.  Every year, I quote the wise and immortal Celine Dion...

They said, "I bet they'll never make it" 
But just look at us holding on
We're still together, still going strong

I love that man more than words can explain. He has given me a beautiful baby, a happy home, and more yoga pants than I know what to do with. We fight, disagree, and get angry often, but like the penguins, we mate for life.


Mama P

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Stranger Danger

Don't you love when people give you unsolicited advice on how to raise your child? You know what even better? When complete strangers not only give you advice but tell you that everything you're doing is wrong. Clearly I dont feel guilty enough on a daily, scratch that, hourly basis (because the difference between having avacado or sweet potato for a snack could cost Mila her future Ivy League acceptance).  Welp guess what... I found the perfect shirt to reflect how I feel about stranger danger (and any other unsolicited advice):

Let me backpeddle by saying that there are plenty of times when I want and need advice.  I don't know what the hell I'm doing as often as the next mom.  I try my best and pray that how I'm raising my daughter turns her into a successful, productive, intelligent young lady. I pray that I'm feeding her the right foods, reading her the right books, picking her nose boogies the right way (tmi, I know), but I'm far from perfect. I'm a damn good mom but even damn good moms need some help along the way. There are plenty of people I come to for advice. They're family, friends, my hubs, and especially my dear friends - Google and WebMD. I come to them often and sometimes panicked. These wonderful people help me, calm me down, and tell me that I'm doing great. These people make me feel more like the damn good mom that I am and less like the failure that strangers try to make me feel. 

Once I was told by not only a stranger, but a childless stranger, that I am incapable of feeding my daughter because I wasn't fortunate enough to be able to breast feed. Another stranger informed me that I was doing Mila a disservice by vaccinating her. These people speak out without any education, experience, or right and think they are actually doing moms like me a service. Now if my Mama didn't raise me right, I would be compelled to show these people my slightly more violent side. Luckily, Mama didn't raise no fool, so I usually reply with a snappy comeback and leave before they can see the tears well up. In reality I do feel like a failure for not breast feeding. I do die a little inside every time Mila gets sick. I do feel like I betrayed her when I catch a dirty diaper a few minutes too late and slight diaper rash forms. I am a mom. Mom guilt is real (my husband says it's the reason moms get to make their kids feel guilty when they're adults) and I'll be damned if I'm going to let some idiot with a big mouth and no kids make me feel worse that I make myself. 


Mama P

Monday, April 7, 2014

Brunch is a serious matter

I'm going to take a time out from mom blogging and talk about my experience at brunch this past weekend.  Before you all roll your eyes and close out of this post, this will not be a detailed play by play of how good my eggs Benedict were.  This is a warning to anyone who is thinking of eating brunch at Victoria Gastro Pub in Columbia, MD.

Last Saturday I visited my best friend, who lives in Baltimore, for a girls night.  Let me preface this by telling you that when we went to brunch at 10:00am on Sunday, we were extremely hung over. Let's face it, I am a mom who barely goes out, so clearly it doesn't take much to do me in. Moving on... In defense of this fine dining establishment the coffee was good, the restaurant layout and decor were nice, and there was a puppy store next door. That is all.

10:00am: we show up to restaurant and get seated right away.
10:05am: our waiter comes to us to take our drink order. He is a mix of Herman Munster and Gordon Ramsay (provided Gordon Ramsay looked like he might off himself at any moment). We all order our coffee but Olga, being vegan, has a special request:
                 Olga: do you have soy milk? I'm vegan.
                 Gordon: no, will cream be ok?
                 Olga: no I'll just take it black I don't eat meat products.
                 Gordon: ...... So no cream?
         I could tell this wasn't going to go well.
10:10am: waiter comes back to take our order.  I decide to get a burger and poutine.  Please don't judge my culinary choices as it was the hangover speaking.
                 Gordon: what kind if cheese would you like on that?
                 Me: American?
                 Gordon: will (enter a pretentious way of saying cheddar here) be ok? We don't use processed cheese.  The chef studied at a french culinary academy and will not cook with processed cheese.
                 Me: yes because the burger is clearly the most health conscious item on the menu
                 Olga: you don't serve American cheese...IN AMERICA?!?!
                 (Gordon stares at her blankly)
10:30am: Gordon comes back to tell us that they are out of the portobello sandwich that Olga ordered. Olga proceeds to order another all veggie item.
10:40am: Gordon comes back to tell us they are out of that item as well.  There is no other all veggie item on the menu.  I tell Gordon to tell the chef to get whatever vegetables they have in the kitchen, put them on some bread, and bring them to her.
10:50am: Gordon comes back to tell us that they are out of vegetables and the chef won't do that. They are out of freakin vegetables. Seriously. I do not buy this seeing as how this is a restaurant and not chuck e cheese. Gordon suggests that Olga eat lettuce with avacado and tomato. Apparently these are the only vegetables the french culinary mastermind will serve.  Seeing as how there are no other options, Olga agrees. She also orders potato hash.
11:20am: our food comes. Olga's potatoes are raw. I am not over exaggerating. It is one potato, sliced on a plate, and microwaved for maybe 45 seconds. My order is swimming in grease. Literarily there is puddles of grease on the plate and I can barely hold my burger without it flying out of my hands. I eat half. I pick at the poutine. I incur such horrible heart burn that I'm afraid my esophagus may leave me for the throat of a non poutine eating person. Meanwhile, every time I take a sip of water someone takes my glass away to refill it. While some of you may see this as wonderful service, I can barely get a grease soaked piece of poutine in my mouth without someone's hands in front of my face. I become very irritated.
11:30am: we ask for our check. Gordon comes by once more with the water. I proceed to yell "no more water!" As I get one last boob graze. I am angry.
11:40am: we go to pet puppies at the store next door.  All is well in the world.

While I am normally not a picky person, the combination of seemingly small details really turned me off. Nothing was particularly wrong but nothing was right. This is a Gastro pub in MD not a 5 star restaurant in the city.  They were snooty, pushy, and not accommodating. I am a foodie. I love new, interesting, and innovative places and dishes.  This place had the potential but ruined it by trying to be something they couldn't pull off. I will never go back and I urge you to steer clear.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

I'm baaaack...

It's been over a year. I know, I know... I suck, I'm lazy, I've become one of those mothers whose life revolves around her child (it's horrible, I agree). There were many reasons I stopped posting which I won't get into now, but I think I'm ready to give this relationship another try. Forgive me? Good.

I can't describe how crazy this past year has been. So many good, horrible, embarrassing, exhausting, tearful, joyous days! Don't worry, this won't be a blog about how wonderful and happy go lucky my life is, because let's face it, nobody's life is like that. I won't bore you with details but instead pick up right where I broke our trust fall by disappearing for so long.

For the past year of my life, my world has been this little girl...

..... And let me tell you how much shit I've gotten: No, not from my friends and family, who have been extremely supportive, but from - you guessed it... strangers.

The other day Mila and I were having lunch at Starbucks (enter housewife joke here) when a seemingly lovely woman approached us to ask if she could sit with us.  All the other tables were taken by people too busy to be bothered.  After I fought off the initial urge to yell "You cant sit with us!!!!" In a Mean Girls fashion and being the kindhearted woman that I am, (Olga, I can hear you laughing all the way from Baltimore), I let this woman break metaphorical bread.  We ended up chatting and once the subject of occupation came up, I heard this formerly lovely woman utter an audible gasp when I told her that I am a stay at home mom.  She looked at me like she was expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out of my latte and inform her that she'd been punked.  "But you seem so smart," said the lovely (I'm attempting at curbing my potty mouth since Mila has decided to yell "Ass" loudly in public) woman. I brushed it off and thanked her.  Did she stop there? :picture me snapping my fingers: oh no she di-int. the lovely woman proceeded to lecture me about how I'm wasting my life and should be doing something that actually makes a difference.

I could have taken the moral high road. I could have smiled, packed up the baby, and walked out of that Starbucks with my head held high. There are lot of things I "could" have done. Sidebar- those who actually know me well know that I have a smart mouth and short temper. Couple that with my fierce mama bear-ness (bearocity? Who cares, at this point I'm just making up words) and it was game over. This was the rest of our conversation, power phrased:

Me: do you have children?
Her: no
Me: then you won't understand when I tell you that raising your child is the most important job in the world. What do you do?
Her: I'm unemployed
Me: so you're attempting to give me career advice when not only do you not have a job, but instead of searching for one you're at a Starbucks in the middle of the day? I could be raising the future president of the United States, the woman who will cure cancer, the next Barbara Walters. And what are you doing? You're drinking coffee and trying to lecture a perfect stranger about how SHE doesn't have her life together?
Her: she's just an infant how do you know what she's capable of?
:::: moment of true proud motherhood::::
Mila: "AAATTHHH!" Pushes woman's drink off the table and all over her lap.
Her: did she just call me an ass?
Me: out of the mouth of babes.... Have a nice day.

The moral of the story isn't not to judge. It's not to be nice to strangers.  It's definitely not to put yourself in someone else's shoes. The moral of this story, ladies and gentlemen, is not to fuck with my daughter.


Mama P

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Growing Pains

This is the anatomy of the female human body:
This is the anatomy of a 7 month pregnant female body:
At this point you may be thinking to yourself "Hmm... that baby sure is taking up a lot of room... I wonder how there is still space for her organs and not-so-important things, like ribs and lungs."  Well to answer your question, there's not.  On Monday I got kicked (Or jabbed?  I'm not sure which body part of my daughter's was inflicting WWIII on my insides) in the ribs.  HARD.  When I say hard, I mean not only did it knock the wind out of me, but I had to sit down and lean back so I did not projectile vomit on my keyboard.  My ribs still hurt today but they were getting a little better.  Apparently Mila did not like my recovery progress because today I got kicked so hard in the same, exact spot that I actually did throw up.  Fortunately I made it to the bathroom.  As I was sitting on the bathroom floor, after the white spots I was seeing went away, I reminisced pulling a muscle in my lower-right abdomen last night (Yes, I was just as shocked as you that there are in fact still muscles under there).  The muscle pulling was less traumatic, since after some Tylenol and a hot bath I was feeling much better. 

The events of the past few days have lead me to these two conclusions:

1. Mila will either be a soccer player or ninja.
2. I am a wuss.

If I can't handle a kick from a 2.5lb fetus, I stand no chance during labor.  I might as well as request the epidural as soon as I walk in, tell them to hop me up on whatever painkillers they have, and pray that I am too far gone to realize where I am and what I'm doing for the next 8-24 hours.  If I am a giant wuss now (at almost 28 weeks prego) and tear up at rib pain, how am I gonna handle a 7lb baby using my spleen as a chew toy (OK maybe I'm exaggerating a little, nor do I know where the spleen is without Googling, but you get my point)?!  I need to get it together and toughen up in the next 10 weeks. If I do not, those around me better be very concerned for their health and safety.

Do any moms out there have any suggestions on how to deal with this rib pain?  Sharing is caring!


Mama P

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Volvo Driving Soccer Mom

We've all heard the song "Volvo Driving Soccer Mom" by Everclear, right?
The song talks about a reformed "bad girl" who once got "Busted for possession of her wizard shaped bong." Now, however, she is a suburban stay-at-home wife with two kids, perfectly set hair, velour track suits, and living the American Dream.  This video always makes me laugh at the train of events that took this lovely lady from being a gross young stripper to a Volvo Driving Soccer Mom, and makes me think about how many moms out there used to engage in not-so-savory behaviors before the squeaky clean image they now uphold.  Everyone has at least one chain of events in their life that, while seemingly insignificant at the time, is why they are who they are today.  There are quite a few chains-of-events in my life.  For example: 
  • Had my parents not decided to move to Lower Moreland when I was 12, I would not have ended up in LMHS, where I would not have been expected to do very well in school.  Had I not done well in school, I would have not gotten into PSU Sapphire program, which was my driving decision maker for attending PSU over Baruch College (CUNY).  Had I not attended PSU, I would not have joined ADPi sorority, where I would not have met my college friends.  Had I not met my college friends and joined a sorority, I would not have let my bank account quickly deplete, forcing me to get a job at Bank of America my freshman year.  Had i not gotten a job at BofA I would not have met my future husband, who also worked at BofA.
That is one very simple example of how small things could potentially shape your future.  Now I am not saying that everything is predetermined.  We all make small choices along the way that shape our outcome.  But how crazy is it to think that had you only not answered one phone call, not gotten on one plane, or not returned one library book, your life could be completely different!

This brings me back to the Volvo Driving Soccer Mom.  Mila will be here 3 months from today (assuming she arrives as scheduled), at which point I will become a mom (unfortunately I do not drive a Volvo, yet).  Looking at my life now, it is easily seen how drastically I have changed in the past 7 years.  I was definitely a bit of a "bad girl" and if someone told my 18 year old self that in 7 years I will be married and expecting my first child, I would have laughed in their face.  Marriage and children were never in my life plan, at the time.  I fully expected to live in NYC and have a high demand job that left no time for love or family.  i expected to still want to party, go out every weekend, and not be tied down.  Seven years later I think to myself, "How wonderful it is to be tied down!".  How great is it to have someone to come home to and love and to create a little miracle!  Who am I?  I suppose I will be asking myself that question many more times in my life, but for the first time, I like the answer.


Mama P