I Survived my Mother In Laws Visit

Its a total cliche. I am a daughter in law who does not get along with her mother in law.

BFD.

This is not shocking, unique, or interesting.  

They say that men marry women who have similarities to their mothers. My poor husband must have meant to marry someone else that day and was too drunk to realize it was me, since this lady and I could not be more opposite. 

She was born in the country, I, in the city.  She's a nurse, I'm a beauty/fashion/media contributor.  She's tall and I'm short. I could go on. But you get the point. Nothing alike. 

Anyway, she announces in May that she's coming to visit June 16th in her RV and we are supposed to drop everything because she decided to visit. 

Past experience tells me that this visit will be a pain.  It's especially dicey because the visit is over Father's Day and my Husband's birthday.  It's also the start of my son starting summer vacation, so our schedule changes quite a bit. 

Bluntly speaking, it's not the right time for a visit. 

I had an unforeseen family circumstance occur on my side of the family that I had to tend to, so I was less available mentally, physically and emotionally this time around. 

Each mother in law visit has the same story.  My MIL insults me and I responding to the insult with

something crass and we have an argument. 

I can't live that way anymore.

Over the last two years I've "cleaned out" my mental place of situations and people that cause me harm. It's been a very healthy process. In order to continue in that spirit, I had to figure out how to manage this woman. 

My strategy was complex, but doable. My goal was going to be the best prize fighter of all time. It was my chance to be the daughter in law version of Sugar Ray Robinson.

I entered the ring, or in my case South Street Seaport, for a boat ride and early dinner. 

She gossiped about people's wives (which I can not stand.)  

She repeated sentences two and three times that she thought would get a rise out of me.

She undermined me as a parent and asked my five year old to go camping with her, (she knows the answer is "no.")

Sugar Ray Robinson said nothing. 

I was a prize fighter on defense ducking, blocking, and tucking.  

But she would get no jabs from me. 

My Husband was shocked by the match. 

I even gracefully handled my son blowing me up when he told my MIL that, "mommy said the dinosaur structure you sent me was stupid and threw it out."

She had one in her hand reminding him of the wood chips that were all over our apartment. I asked
her to put the one in her hand together and she quickly saw my frustration.

I think we have both grown, but I can only speak for myself. 

I've learned in two years of cleaning out mental and emotional clutter that other people's problems can not become your problems.

I can't change this woman.  No matter how much I talk back or argue I'm powerless to make her change.  

What was empowering was that I could change myself and my way of handling the situation. I was strong enough to handle every verbal punch thrown at me with grace and dignity. 

I also had my lawyer put in writing that my son is never allowed to go camping with this woman. 

Just to avoid any future confusion. 

How do you raise children here?!

Id like to say "I get this question a lot" in a good way, but I'd be lying.

I'm asked by people who come to visit me in the city with children in tow, "how do you raise children here?!"

Those asking usually have dark circles under their eyes with frazzled wind blown hair and bags of American Doll and Disney Store items. 

I know this look well. It's a cross between frazzled, worried and confused. I call it "Frarriedused."

The answer is, "the hell if I know."

Raising kids anywhere is tough. Raising kids in NYC is like a contained circus that brings in wild jungle animals to stir things up.  

I have cried. 

Because I have been that tired. 

Garbage trucks at 4:30am wake your children. Even if you live on a high floor. Even if you have a sound machine. 

My son gave up his nap at 18 months because my building was rebricking outside our apartment unit.  The building did not provide notice so I did not make alternate arrangements. Out of nowhere we heard sudden loud drilling and a bunch of men outside my living room window. Followed by a baby crying. A baby who would never nap again. 

An added element to living in NYC is being in front of people all of the time.  It makes child rearing in NYC a touch more stressful. My son doesn't pitch a tantrum in the back of a car. He does it on a street corner.  

Taking your four year old child to pre-school on the NYC bus becomes entertaining when your child begins to pole dance while singing Old McDonald Had a Farm. 

People don't find it amusing or cute at 7:30 in the morning. 

I often feel like I'm juggling cats. 

Getting strollers through doors, down and up steps and in and out of subways becomes an Olympic sport.  Putting babies in cabs, while cars around you beep and beep and people wave with the middle finger make you not want to leave your block. 

Like anything else, you figure it out. 

So how do I raise my child here? I just do. I pray a lot for safety. I pray for sanity. 

I just keep going. 

What we need to stay alive

Today concluded my sons pre-k experience and his portfolio is very impressive. In this portfolio he shares some thoughts that I wish to pass on to you.

Q: What do we need to stay alive!
A: "Eat spaghetti and meatballs because that will help if you're in the ocean you might die and if you eat you won't die."

We are Italian American and I am glad that I've instilled the value of spaghetti and meatballs making everything in the world better.

Q: What do you like to do with your family?
A: I like to eat chickens with them.

Great.
All the baseball, wrestling, shows, museums, vacations, martial arts....
But eating chicken really made an impact.

Happy official start of summer!

Our first embarassment

I embarrassed my son for the first time yesterday.

I'm not proud of it.

But, when I think of what a loose canon I am of ridiculous behavior, I have to give him kudos for being able to go this long without being embarrassed by me.  I mean, this is a child who sits in the back seat while I rap to the milkshake song and he never said boo about that.

The guy must have a thick skin.

We were at the playground and one of his friends was eating a rice Krispy treat. Naturally since I have "7-11" tattooed somewhere on my forehead that only I can not see, my son came over and looked in my purse for one.  I did have mini muffins and he was content with that offer.

Here's where things went south.

Because he was touching all the grossness on the playground, and didn't wipe his hands all that well with the wipe I gave him, I did something I have done a zillion times.

I opened the bag and attempted to put a mini muffin in his mouth so that he wouldn't touch the muffin:

"Don't feed me!"

This was said in a whisper through clenched teeth and was followed with:

"Don't feed me! I will feed myself over there with my friends!"

My response, "oh, ok I was just trying to help."

His response, "don't."

Yikes.

So I guess we are approaching that point where I'm a drag and he's awesome and knows everything. Whatever.

Kids don't understand, nor would want to think that their parents used to be fun.  Before I was saying things like, "did you poop?" Or "why is this sticky?" I actually was a fun, dare I say, carefree person.

But the winds of change are blowing and now I'm tasked with raising an adorable, although recently sassy little person, who on occasion I'll embarrass and drive nuts.  I'm not going to start twerking on the playground or anything, but I can see how chasing him with spray sunscreen and making him wear hats that look like that of a bee keeper would get on his nerves.

We are going to keep on trucking and get through this journey ok and hopefully without too much time spent in therapy.

Sprinkler Season...

Welcome to Sprinkler Season in New York City, or as I like to call it, "Communal Childrens Shower Season."

I'm a germaphobe and I'm able to admit it.

The great outdoors and I have never been great buddies, unless it's a beach with white sand and crystal blue water.

Sadly, that is not what I have access to raising a little one in the hustle and bustle of the Apple.

Yesterday, we hit the playground and true to form, my son jumped right in to the ice cold sprinklers. Things were going well until I ended up joining him fully clothed to fill up some water balloons.

Things got hectic at this point. He did keep his water shoes on for a while, so my worry about fungus was calmed for a little while.

Three hours later, I was able to peel him out of the sprinklers. He was covered in icy water and sand.  A young child's version of a tar and feather exercise.

But he loved it.

When he's happy, I'm happy.

So sprinklers, carry on. We will be back.

Do I home school my son because the hours of drop off and pick up suck?

I know that the hours of the school day are not a compelling reason to home school.

I also know that my living in the northeast in a city that has schizophrenic wear on a good day is not a reason to stay in my apartment.

But the ideas still cross my mind.

Schools are a HUGE topic amongst residents of NYC who choose to raise our children in a city that has been called "an amusement park for adults," although I am not amused by it most of the time.

NYC has so much to choose from and so many people want to take a bite out of this "Big Apple" that at times I feel I'm best off sitting under the blanket with a bottle of wine and a box of chocolate, but I know that won't help, so I persevere.

First off, I lived through figuring out where to send my son to school.

Twice.

The first time I joined in on the fun activity of school applications was for pre-school. It felt like a balancing act of insanity wrapped up in a big bow of crazy. My son was in the 18 months old range; that age can be really unpredictable (duh.).

My role as Mom in the family interview process was that of a spiritual leader of sorts. I sent all sorts of hopes, wishes and prayers to the universe that my son would not poop in his pants. I also wished and hoped that my husband would not say anything stupid.
We went to our scheduled appointments and play dates and found a school that we loved. My son spent the following three years participating in the 2's, 3's and pre-k program.

Once the Pre-K year began I found myself immersed in elementary school tours, both public and private. Our current private Pre-K was a school that went on through high school, so our current school was a serious contender. We were happy, our son was thriving, so why rock the boat?

We "applied out" to a few all boys schools, to my Husbands discontent. His worry was our son would not have "game" and needed to have lady time in and outside of school.
*note my reference above to my worry about my Husband saying something stupid.

Our current private school became our co-Ed school option, should we choose single sex, we had some applications out and our public school, which is very well respected in performance remained on our radar.

Many sleepless nights later and much to the shock of many, we are attending our zoned public school in the Fall.

I can not tell you the number of personal choices that this decision entailed, but I can tell you that for us, we make our choice and lived to tell the tale.

The most I can advise is to stay calm. I have not met one person who did not have any place to send her child to school.

You can do this. I promise you can. If I could get through all the warm fuzzy crazy, you can too! Good luck and happy hunting.

What underwear are you wearing?

Tis the season of summer!
To celebrate, my son has recently become fascinated by the difference between men and women's bathing suits.

For instance, "why do girls wear a top to cover their heart but boys don't?"

Serious head scratcher.

This has naturally progressed to what he finds to be a hysterical fascination with mens and women's and underwear.

My underwear seem to be an area of interest but he only asks questions about my underwear when we are in public places and lots of people can hear. This has happened to me in restaurants, on the city bus and swimming lessons.
Only in those environments am I lucky enough to have strangers hear my son ask the following:

"Mom, are you wearing underwear?"

Those who can not help but overhear must think, "his Mother must not make it a regular habit."


"Mom, why are your underwear pink?"

Those lucky enough to overhear now know what color underwear I am wearing.

Just another day of disclosing all our business all over NYC.

If anyone has an answer to why girls wear bathing suit tops and boys don't, that is child appropriate and not cheesy like, "because girls have sweeter/bigger hearts" I'd appreciate the suggestions greatly.

My "Sanity Toolbox"

You don't spend years in the fashion and beauty industry without picking up some tips.
Time management becomes an insanely important skill because the hours are long and if you have other hobbies and interests, you need to know how to fit them in.

Long before I was "Mom," I learned ways to incorporate my fitness hobby in to my day.

I find weekends challenging for me to fit workouts in. Classes start later in the day, I'm talking 7:30/8:00, which is late for my crew, and I usually have a commitment in the 10ish range. My workout usually falls by the wayside and I start to feel a little crabby (a lot) by about 3pm.

I'm sharing a tip with you, whether you are a mommy or not.

There is an app called "Booya."
On this app a woman named Kira Stokes makes her intense NYC workouts available to you.

I'm not recommending this as a substitute for all of the great classes that may be available to you, but it is definitely something to add to your tools.

I go to the gym around the corner from me with my iPad and pick a workout.  I almost always pick a Kira Stokes one.

I can not workout at home because my family members are under the impression that I am an information desk and chef.

It's awfully frustrating to try to get my booty lifting time in while simultaneously being asked, "why is the sky blue? Not dark blue. But that lighting blue? Tell me. TELL me now."

Or to be in plank and the dog start licking my nose.

Or my Husband saying, "are you sure you haven't seen my keys? Or hid them on me?!"
(I do that sometimes if I had too much wine. I think it's hysterical, I don't know why.)
 I keep the sound on "mute" and I do my thing. It's a great way to fit in some "you" time in on your own schedule.

Check out Kira on Booya and please note I am not a paid endorser for either of Kira or Booya, I just think it's a lifesaving device when you are feeling a little like your ship is sinking.

The Chicago Dance

The not even kind of funny thing about your children getting older, and I'm talking pre-k, is that they interact with other children and the topics of conversation become bizarre. They also become, in my opinion, a little age inappropriate, but somehow you can't put your finger on how. 

If your kid says a curse word, you reprimand the child and tell little Susie or Bobbie, or these days, Apple and Moonbeam, not to say it again because it's a "bad" word. 

But how do you handle this:

Moonbeam: "Mommy, what's a Chicago Dance?"

Mommy: "I don't know. What is it?"

Moonbeam: "Its when you poop on someone's head."

Followed by Moonbeam in a fit of hysterical laughter. 

Am I the only person reminded of things like a glass bottom boat? I don't remember what that is and I'm not googling it, I just know my husband told me what it was at one time and it was gross and sexual. 

So what do you say about "The Chicago Dance?"

I won't even look it up right now because if I find more information and its perverted, I'm going to start to cry. I know at some point I'll google it.  I just can not bring myself to right now. 

A parent once told me she could not stay home and raise her children because it's mindless, (whether it is or not is by opinion), but I'm thinking of calling her to find out how she would handle "The Chicago Dance."

FML

Leaving the nest...

It seems over the last few weeks, I've been conflicted.
This is an odd feeling and not one that I respond well to.
After maternity leave I went back to work and had a nanny to care for my son and It didn't work for me Fortunately, for the first time ever, in my line of work the money is ok, not a deal breaker since most of my after tax income went to pay the nanny.  I was able to make a decision and my decision was to become a stay at home mom (SAHM).  Something I NEVER thought I'd do.

Now my child goes to school for a full school day and it seems to me that I should be working. In my mind it seems I should go back to work and somehow find a position where I can leave at 2pm to be at pick up by 2:30. Sounds like searching for the impossible?

It is.

Don't get me wrong, I have my free lance work and my writing, but somehow, I think that I should be working full time, but really part time because I never finished work at 5, let alone 2. I should also be raising my family and taking care of every single aspect of what goes on in my household.

It's caused me anxiety.

My son is five, so it's not like you can hand them a metro card and be like, "see you tonight."
At the same time I feel a little lost and like I'm missing a piece of something.

Yesterday, I finally updated my resume. It made me feel so much better.
I looked at all of my academic and professional achievements in my career journey and it reignited my soul.

If you are feeling a little blah, whether working or working as a mom at home, I recommend making a list of your accomplishments. It works wonders for the psyche. It also helped regenerate my creativity, which was a little blue, along with my feeling of magenta.

If you watch the golden girls you will know what I mean about feeling "magenta."