Self-Made Mom

I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions.  But if I did, this is what I would resolve to do in 2008:

Ensure my nanny doesn’t take her vacation after I’m already back from mine.  This would guarantee that my valuable Saturday night caloric intake, which is usually spent on a restaurant with at least a quarter of a star, would be better utilized than this:

No, I’m not above “this.”

And would make certain I would avoid this:

My kid didn’t even get ketchup on his clothes.

But seeing him grit a Happy Meal was kinda worth it. I mean, worth the stain on my sweater. Not the absence of having a babysitter.

Just be glad your mom didn’t make any resolutions in 2006.

Happy New Year.

For me, there was nothing worse than my middle school years.  The years where I was as tall as I am now (5′8″), skinny as I am now (not publishing weight here), but with worse skin and less friends, I choose to banish the middle school to the recesses of my brain with camp memories (I hated camp) and the bar mitzvah circuit. Let’s be clear. I never want to have to wear black puffy-sleeved off-the-shoulder dresses again.

So now I can cross ever moving to a retirement community in Florida off my list.  It’s like reliving the tween years all over again.  Except the people look a little different. I used to think being a new mom was the ”new” middle school. Over a long weekend at a fancy club in Boca I was proven wrong.  I learned quickly that old people can gossip just as well as us youngsters.  Among other things.  A typical lunchtime conversation uncovered many facts about the people in the room.

“See him over there? He says his daughter got pregnant with twins at 50 - without in vitro!”

“See her? Her husband is never sober!”

“See them? They sent around a nasty email about me to everyone in the club.”

Old people really know how to dish.  But more than that, it was amazing to me - this “club” I was privy to - the cliques, the outfits, the in-fighting, the caste system of housing.  (”Ooooh, yooou live in the condos over there near the road?”) I didn’t know that as people age they start resembling their teenage grandkids more than they ought to. 

And the hair and the clothes! I think I saw more hairspray in Florida than I ever did on a parquet wood dance floor in a banquet hall.  Not to mention the black puffy-sleeved off-the-shoulder dresses I saw in action. Even the makeup was a throw back to the eighties. As my step mother-in-law said:

They just can’t see anymore how much makeup they are actually putting on.

My in-laws sure had some good one-liners.

What set the community apart from middle school, however was the food.  The gobs and gobs and gobs of food.  No one ate (this well) in middle school.  Even a former Slim-Fast addict, now a chubby 80-year-old with serious bling could not avoid the chocolate sundae fountain that was on display.

It was like this. Only bigger.

I would be wrong to say that old people just sit around their communities eating and gossiping.  They also go to the movies.  In style. I am now a major movie theater snob.  After sitting on a veritable “couch” watching Juno (fabulous!), only the ”Premier Level” will do.  It does help when you attend the movie at 1:50 pm.  Oh wait, we were in Florida. It was half full at that time.

It pays to get old, I guess, because you can afford the “Premier” seats.

Now that I’m back in the cold of Chicago, though, I realized that Florida really grew on me.  I’m starting to miss the palm trees, the swimming pool, the bad driving and especially the chocolate.  Having a fondue fountain in my kitchen doesn’t exactly have the same appeal as it does in a fancy club dining room.

Self-Made Mom is heading out of the cold for a few days to join other tribe members in sunny Boca Raton.  Doesn’t everyone know that’s where all Jewish people meet up in December?  We have a big party and make fun of everyone who stayed North.

I’m just kidding.

Really, we just go to buffet breakfasts, lunches and dinners, take yoga with sixty-somethings and entertain our toddlers in screened-in pools.  Sounds like a hoot, right?

I’ll try to post if the mood suits me, but more likely I’ll just be bitching because I have to wear a suit.  Either way, hope all of you non tribe members have a terrific Christmas.

See you on the other side of Santa day…

To all my animal-loving colleague,

Thank you for sharing the adorable photos of your furry friend with me.  I had no idea  they actually made sweaters for dogs. Er, make it that people actually put the sweaters on their dogs.  I especially love the photo of Toto with the bow in his (her?) hair.  It’s a very becoming look on a Schnauzer.

However, when our conversation turned to the difficulties of business travel, work commitments and general stress levels of owning a pet, I must admit I started to tune out.  Sorry, having a pet is nothing like having a kid.  Even if he (she?) is the love of your life.

For one, you actually get to leave Toto unaccompanied for hours on end without supervision.  In those instances, Toto can make his (her?) own decisions about eating, drinking, sleeping and peeing.  Well, hopefully not about peeing. Toto can choose to stare out the window in a daze or chase his (her?) ball around and around and around. Toto can get up and down with ease onto the furniture, the bed or wherever he feels like sleeping or resting.  No baby gates! No childproofing cabinets!

In addition, Toto can clean himself and make himself presentable upon your arrival home with little assistance of a wipe or powder.  An accident on the floor, while unfortunate, can usually be cleaned up in one fell swoop as opposed to the leaky-up-the-back diaper explosion I encountered yesterday.

Now this is not to say it’s not difficult being a pet owner. I’m sure it’s hard to find reliable pet care.  I mean, walking Toto and picking up his messes does take a certain amount of skill.  But at least you don’t have to worry about if your sitter is sticking your kid in his crib so she can take care of “personal matters.” I know pets need stimulation too, but somehow I don’t think “we’re working on learning our colors” is part of your daily vernacular.  I’m just saying.

As far as planning ahead, however, for business trips, I can hardly pity you. I believe one month’s notice is ample time to line up doggie day care.  While the whining of your pooch in the kennel must be tough to listen to, it’s got nothing on a clingy baby screaming “mommmmmyyyy” as you rush into a cab with your coat half buttoned.

So fair warning: the next time you try to comiserate with me about the struggles of being a “parent” to something your dog, please excuse me if I stop paying attention.

Signed,

Your bitchy coworker

I thought my fine tuned organizational skills at work would behoove me in ordering holiday cards this season, the first season I have ever send out holiday cards.  Boy, was I wrong.  A list of my comedy of errors:

• Cheaping out and buy the minimum amount of cards I think I need and then having to reorder more at the last minute. Read: friends who receive the cards after Dec. 26, I’m sorry.
• Ensuring all my “new” mom friends receive such card, to the expense of “old” friends.  Old friends of my husband, that is.
• Ordering too few fancy return labels so that I have to pick and choose who gets to see my matching label and card. Read: Friends of my husband, I don’t think you care about such things.
• Getting umpteen paper cuts from undoing and redoing such cards to ensure only my friends get the matching label and card.  Thank goodness I have Gloves in a Bottle to fix my dry cuticles.  Oy, my cheap ass is turning into such a shill.
• Using an old mailing list from my wedding four years ago such that I have no confidence if my addresses are correct or not. Returned holiday cards are such a killjoy.
• Using an old mailing list from my wedding four years ago marked up with check marks of who I invited to my son’s first birthday party such that I forgot to send a holiday greeting card to anyone who wasn’t invited to the birthday bash.  Hence, the need for additional cards at the last minute.
• Having to lie to dear husband on several occasions when he calls and asks, “did you send a card to XX?” and I know for sure they didn’t make the cut.

Maybe this is the reason he said Jewish people shouldn’t send out holiday cards?

I’ve been naughty this year by being lax on promoting some great giveaways and gift ideas on my blog.  Here’s some bling and links to two great holiday gift guides and giveaways from my friends at Working Moms Against Guilt and Cool Mom Picks. Since Santa doesn’t visit my house, hopefully this will give him a nudge to visit yours!

Santa looks like he threw up in your office lobby…

‘Tis the season to be tacky.

Your coworkers bring flat irons to work so they can do their hair…

On the fourth night of Christmas my true love gave to me a flat iron instead of a Japanese perm.

And leave clumps of makeup on the counter after primping themselves…

Squint and you’ll see lots of bronzing powder.

You know you’re a mom faking it at the office holiday party when…

You eat leftover goldfish out of a snack trap on the way to the shindig…

Goldfish.  It’s the perfect prelude to a glass of Pinot.

And leave 30 minutes later to put your son to bed…

You thought I’d really take a photo of that sacred moment?

Happy Holidays.  And if you were the one to get sloppy drunk with your coworkers and have a hangover tomorrow I’m jealous.

Actual Conversation:  

Nanny: “Hi Sara, I have a problem”

Me: “What?”

Nanny: “I just got my period and I bled everywhere so I’m washing my clothes. And wrapped myself in one of your towels. Do you have any tampons? Oh, and Junior’s in the crib so he doesn’t walk anywhere.  And, I washed my hands thoroughly.”

Me: “Ok.” [What the F**!!$$$???]

Nanny: “Anyway, so I’m calling because I won’t be able to take Junior to Gymboree this afternoon.”

Me: “Ok.” [This the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard to get out of going to a Mommy and Me class.]

Nanny: “Thanks for understanding, this is so personal, you know.”

Me: “Ok.” [Is this conversation OVER yet?]

Preferred Conversation:  

Nanny: “Something personal came up that I don’t need to give you the gory details about and I cannot take Junior to Gymboree today. Is it ok if I do a make-up class instead? I will call to find out what the alternative classes are.”

Me: “Yes, of course.” [Good! She’s so responsible!]

Junior: “Cheeeeeese”

At least now I know she’s not pregnant.  Uh, oh, did I just say that?

Let’s be clear - I really don’t go out that much anymore.  But the “Hellidays” are here. ’Tis the season to pack in a year’s worth of socializing into three short weeks.  It doesn’t help matters that someone on high decided to schedule Chanukah one freaking week after Thanksgiving which means enduring tradition after fattening tradition for almost two weeks straight. I mean just when you’re trying to work off the stuffing, someone throws potato latke in your face.  How can I say no to fried potatoes and applesauce?

However fattening, this time of year does provide me with good excuses to get together with friends, coworkers, kids and wear some of the clothes relegated to the back of my closet behind my sweatpants. 

First up, a fabulous party sponsorsed by Graco for the Chicago Moms Blog. I’m so honored to be a part of such an amazing and diverse group of women.  I get inspired Alma’s commitment to her work, family and the environment. Grrlfriend Jess always makes me laugh even though all she’s going through.  And I got to pal around with another fellow Wolverine.  All with pomegranate martinis at Danielle’s house.  I couldn’t ask for anything more - other than the chance to get together for dinner with Amy, MJ and Steph one of these days!  Actually, the only other thing I would like to ask for is a version of this, but for adults.

I bet there’s nothing like sleeping off a hangover in the “Soothing Center.”

I could barely wind down from the fun before I moved onto “moms” party number two of the week.  The funny thing about “moms” parties are the fact that we actually call them that. I mean before I had kids what did I call a party at a friend’s house? Yeah, just that.  Anyway, I somehow got snookered by my friend to host moms party number 2.  Right, what was I thinking? It was labelled potluck, but as hostess I couldn’t live with myself letting everyone else bring stuff.  Hence the $80 I spent on poinsetta centerpieces, which immediately got taken over by the tornado of baby clothes that the woman who came over to sell them to us at a discount spread across MY ENTIRE HOUSE. I don’t have that much counter space around.  But whatever I had she used as display space.  And she brought hanging racks.  I kinda felt bad that she dragged 80 miles to the “moms” party so of course I spent $100 on clothes my son doesn’t really need. I thought home-based, potluck parties were supposed to be cheap!? That’s ok. It was fun to see all the “moms” with our hair blown out.

Just imagine if this tornado was pink and blue and brown.

Amidst fun for moms I had to make sure that I showed my son some fun as well. I mean, it is still Chanukah.  So Friday night we were off to our Temple’s Chanukah celebration. Note to self: buffet dinners are hard to coordinate when you are alone with your child. Thank g-d for nice table mates who flag down the waiter for some more applesauce while you leave your child unattended to run to the ladies’ room. Aren’t I such a good Jewish mother? 

As if these three parties weren’t enough, my husband and I were asked to attend a huge black tie gala tonight - like $700 a head huge - by some very important very senior folks from his firm.  I’m not saying it’s not going to be fun, but I’ve already gotten good mileage of some of my “going out clothes” this week without adding the pain and misery of pantyhose to the mix.  Although there’s something to be said about having a reason to wash my face and hair today.

And amidst all of this, PunditMom actually thought something I wrote was funny and awarded me a ROFL award. How much more popular can I get in one week!?

Remind me of this come the doldrums of January, please.

p.s. did you notice I forgot to take at least ONE photo all week? Right. I suck.

1. Once someone says: “I’m a working mom of a young son and I’m having a hard-time balancing my current PART-TIME job” it’s fairly certain that she’s not looking to switch careers.
2. Talking really close means I have a better view of the 20 layers of mascara you’re wearing.
3. Telling someone who works in PR that you got laid off twice in the PR industry is not going to improve your chances of recruiting me.
4. While complimenting my new fabulous coat was a great pick-up line (and the coat IS fabulous), wondering who makes it and how much it costs is probably not a good second and third line.
5. If you’re going to use a Starbucks in the city’s third largest building to search for your clientele, you’d probably want to wait to approach your “tired looking mom” candidate AFTER she’s gotten her coffee.