TheMommyBlog

Thursday, January 07, 2010 Family

This is an excerpt from an article for which I was interviewed last April, and as with most quotes I offer, it made much more sense and was much more profound—to me, anyway—upon reading it again much later. I liked the article, and the debate in general. Not that it’s very debatable in my opinion, but maybe that’s my temperament. I don’t mind the term “Mommy Blogger,” and so have moved on from thinking about it.

Published on Mommy Tracked (http://www.mommytracked.com)
Mainstream Media Mommy Box.

...Author/blogger Mindy Roberts—who writes The Mommy Blog, created two other sites and is a panelist on the web-based chat show “Momversation”—was one of the bloggers who appeared in the Oprah episode and said she views the moniker “mommy blog” as a succinct way to describe what she does, not a sexist yoke. “Is anyone upset at being called a ‘tech blogger?’” she asked. “Or ‘social media blogger’ – especially a social media blogger, because in the end, social media does not produce the same sort of concrete, monumental work of art as mothering does. And a mother who cares enough about what she does and can think about it in complex, insightful, humorous ways is probably doing a bang-up job of raising her children because she is empathetic and sharp enough to look for micro-expressions and actually studies the family life in a way no other profession allows.”

Sounds a little arrogant, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010 Family

You know, I wish there had been something like this when my children were young and pliant and would wear anything I handed them!

thredUP kids is the new online kids clothing exchange community for parents. TheMommyBlog readers are invited to become founding members and start exchanging boxes of clothes for free!

With thredUP parents can easily exchange clothes that no longer fit their children for clothes that will. Through pre-paid mail and home delivery, thredUP brings together the affordability of consignment shopping with the
convenience of Netflix.

Their free trial will allow the first 1,000 thredUP kids members to swap for free.

Here’s how the magic happens:

Visit thredUP and tell us the clothes your child no longer wears. Then, tell us what your child needs. We want to know your preferences: brands, sizes, gender etc. Either shop for clothes in the database or let us choose for you based on our super-geeky matching algorithm. thredUP handles the swap for $20. We schedule pickup and delivery to your home.

*Not interested in swapping? You can also easily sell or buy boxes on thredUP.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010 Family, Travel

This week the kids and I watched Peter Jackson’s 2005 remake of King Kong. At certain parts of the movie, I began giggling uncontrollably and was totally unable to explain why to my adorable little angels. I’d had a flash of total recall of a night spent alone in a hotel in MacLean, VA, on business, watching the remake with room service and a bottle of wine, reviewing the movie as I watched it from the bed with my laptop.

What I learned watching “King Kong”

• Girl’s hairstyle’s got it going on.
• I mean, Faye Wray? Pffft. Jessica Lange? I scoff. But Naomi Watts? Has hair of steel. Silky-soft, angel-fine, smokin’ hot steel. My hair would have run screaming from my scalp three minutes after landing on that island.
• Speaking of Skull Island, what are we doing here? Let’s move there. Imagine the ecosystem that could support that kind of biodiversity. Sure, it’s a little unbalanced, sure, there are nine meat-eaters for every plant-eater, but maybe a rocky island can only support that blend of speciation.
• The villagers? Could use some sort of Head Start. A meal plan. Manners. At least the T. Rexes and the apes had some respect for one another. And by the way, these people managed to build a hundred-foot wall of stunning architectural durability—the Romans were engineers using tin cans tied together with string in comparison—but still used a spiked pole to lop heads off. What’s up with that? In the end, they built a flimsy door and that’s their bad, but then they did fool Kong into thinking it was impenetrable for a few good years.
• Doesn’t Adrien Brody look good with some meat on his bones?
• Whoever made Naomi’s negligee should be making a fortune in endorsements. That silk held up, people. And each dousing and soiling only added to the natural beauty of the garment. Each piece is unique and slight flaws in the color are natural and add to its overall character.
• There isn’t much that is more entertaining than bowliing for Brontosauruses on a sunny afternoon.
• Only the most co-dependant of low-confidence women would juggle rocks and walk like an Egyptian on the edge of a cliff to try to make a guy smile.
• Or point to herself when they are finally alone and ask, “Beautiful?”
• Did anyone else notice in the beginning that Naomi described that a man’s best strategy for expressing interest is to ignore the girl?
• And that Kong *also* played hard to get? Oh, sure, he beat his chest and dragged her all over town trying to find that last open bar and didn’t listen to a word she said and only got interested when she passed out cold and then he started prodding her like, is she passed out? Will she remember this? Can she pick me out in a lineup? And then she opens one eye, like is he still looking at me? Am I really his surest bet? Good lord, I’ve got get off of this island.
• Isn’t it funny how Jack Black can wield a bottle of Chloroform like a vet with a pocket full of Ketamine? One bottle broken across his snout is enough to put Kong to sleep without burning his eyes right out of their sockets or giving him permanent brain damage. I mean, wild ape? Pain in the ass. Demented wild ape? Horrific.
• Every time that movie executive with the Marlon Brando mustache opened his mouth, I heard, “It ain’t the way I wanted it! I can handle things! I’m smart! Not like everybody says, like dumb! I’m smart and I want respect!’” Oh, Fredo. Who knew you had a twin?
• No guy ever forgets, or forgives, a rival.
• No woman can resist a guy who’s just had his ass shredded fighting for her honor.
• “Are you kidding me? I survived the Holocaust and charmed an SS captain into giving me his winter coat. You don’t scare me.”
• “I am touching the beast. I am actually laying my hand on the twenty-five foot gorilla.” *touch* *gorilla twitches* You just crapped your pants, didn’t you? Heh.
• Oh, look, she’s wearing an evening dress that’s cut just like her old negligee the night he gets loose.
• Oh, he did NOT just take her skating in Central Park.
• Just goes to show that if you can make a guy laugh, you’ve won his heart.
• Damn, her hair looks terrific.

Monday, January 04, 2010 Family

You see, I’ve had a couple side jobs recently that have absorbed time and attention I’d otherwise waste spend here.

Upside? More money!

Downside? No updates! Plus! No ad revenue! Not that I wouldn’t be here for you anyway.

Anyway. The irony is so thick around here (HOW THICK IS IT?), it’s still working out how there can be a Jewish elf in Santa’s workshop in The Polar Express. Actually, that’s not such an obvious question. I mean, how big does a crisis of faith have to be to take a job working for iconic Christian archetypes at the North Pole?

Well, I’ve been trying to film a few videos about how eating better can help my stressful days become more manageable, but the shooting schedule, wardrobe changes, scripts, and extensive instructions are driving me up the fucking wall. Which is very stressful. See paragraph above.

Oh good Lord, my son needs help in the bath. I swear, these kids are old enough to program an iPod Touch, what could they possibly need in the bath? I keep thinking of the butler in Arthur.

Arthur: Hobson?
Hobson: Yes.
Arthur: Do you know what I’m going to do?
Hobson: No, I don’t.
Arthur: I’m going to take a bath.
Hobson: I’ll alert the media.
Arthur: [rises] Do you want to run my bath for me?
Hobson: That’s what I live for.
[Arthur exits]
Hobson: Perhaps you would like me to come in there and wash your dick for you, you little shit.

Saturday, January 02, 2010 Family

“You know, there are a lot of words that can be used to describe you, but “boring” isn’t one of them.”
—My Guy

Friday, January 01, 2010 Family

I really couldn’t wait for 2009 to be over, but looking at this… I think I’m gonna miss it a little. At first.

So, I spent waaaay too much time trying to fit all the big moments of 2009 into a slideshow, so instead I decided to grant y’all a mercy and limit it to the length of a Randy Newman song.

The Roberts Family: 2009 In Review from Melinda Roberts on Vimeo.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009 Family

Boy, I tell ya, I am COUNTING THE SECONDS until this raggedy ole year is over. For the love of all that is good and great and crunchy, good riddance to 2009. Oh, sure, I appreciated the conferences and getting an agent (I’m sorry, but I can’t rewrite my book with no one to support me while I do it, no matter how much they want to publish it!), making new friends, sorting out relationships that needed to change, and of course, seeing my presumed-to-be-doomed-to-the-Brown-group son admitted to the Gifted and Talented Education program despite our near-certainty that this particular blend of Jerry Lewis and Tasmanian Devil would not make it through another year of school. Well done, you, well done.

It’s just getting dark on this penultimate (another word I don’t get to use very often; add that to the list from yesterday: symbiotic, felicitous, and a couple I can’t remember—little help, Guy?) day of the year, and the children are with their father. Guy is in Seattle with his boss, and I am here all alone, with the Wii dragged in from the garage, Rock Band, roast chicken with blueberries, rice, and Brie (don’t ask, I just started throwing things into a pasta bowl, it needs to be eaten). A little Kendall Jackson Reserve and Tucker Max and I’m good to go.

Solitude is fun at times.

Also? A relief. I lost my voice four days ago and am just now able to speak above a Don Corleone whisper. I had to get Maggie Mason to sub for me on Momversation this week. It was getting difficult to yell at the kids. So difficult… HOW DIFFICULT WAS IT? It was so difficult that I actually—and I shit you not—put batteries in the megaphone someone gave Daphne for Christmas so I could prevent my vocal chords from bleeding.

Yes, thank you for the megaphone, Santa. Thank you. We love it so much that we’re sharing the joy. Tonight it went to Daddy’s with our little angel. As I pulled away I heard her singing GOOOOOD BYYEEEE through it on the sidewalk. Heh. Let me know how that works out for everyone.

The microwave has dinged, so it’s time to shovel down some food so I can start whooping Green Grass and High Tides Forever through to the end. So far I’ve been kicked offstage at 70% and 80% through the song. I aim to finish, and finish big. It may be a good idea to go back to Flirtin’ with Disaster for a while until I’ve got my chops back.

Happy December 30. I’ll be back tomorrow with a few of the things I’ve learned this year.

Thursday, December 24, 2009 Family

Thank you for sharing your time and stories with me this year… It’s certainly rewarding to keep a record of our young family’s life, but the real rewards are in the friendships forged, the exchanges that start in comments and then continue in email and real life, sometimes for years.

I am tremendously grateful for my health and that of my children.

I wish just a little bit that this panopticon were more manageable.

I write about things that most people don’t talk about, and sometimes that hurts more than it helps. So many of you have written to say that some aspect of the exchanges here has had a positive effect on your life, or at least lessened the feeling that you are alone in your mistakes, worries, stresses, and, yes, joys. It’s what keeps me going and why I’m still writing here after eight years.

Have to admit that my skin is a little thin just now, so I will wish you well and slip away for a bit. That last string of comments about my sad, tired life that I seem to enjoy rather than admit I’m a failure and an unfit parent parading men through the house, well… no thank you. I defended, and shouldn’t have. Never feed the trolls.

Anyway, I don’t feel much like hanging around here, and will try to enjoy the rest of the year with my loved ones.

I hope you do the same.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009 Family

My seven year old daughter saw this on the screen and kept asking, “Mom, what’s a BJ??”

So I finally got up and looked and tried to scroll my way away from it… and saw the rest of the photo:

Ahahahahahaha…whew.

Omg, she just started flipping through the Victoria’s Secret Catalog that arrived in the mail and is saying, “THAT IS JUST WRONG. Are they selling this as UNDERWEAR?”

OMG, AGAIN. my son just lost a tooth. IN THE TOILET.

Yes I fished it out.

Shut up, it’s the one that just got fixed.

Monday, December 21, 2009 Family

Seriously, I’ve got the inclement weather, the passel of kids, people coming in and out of the house, and generous people coming out of the woodwork. All we’re missing is a war hero and a staircase finial that won’t stay put.

Yesterday, I was hopelessly underwater, such that my next paycheck would barely bring my account to zero. The water is set to be shut off in a few days. And then, and then. Help started to trickle in. A check from my father, tucked inside the stocking my stepmom knitted for me in 1975, the year they were married. A few donations through the Support This Site button over there on the right, appreciated more than I can ever say, because you don’t really KNOW me, and I am verklempt at the gesture. Thank you.

A relative who was a little cranky with me for not corresponding often enough and to whom I wrote last week saying WELL HELLS BELLS, MARGARET, THINGS ARE SHIT HERE. And today, a check for the children for Christmas. I announced its purpose to them, since there will be no gifts from me under the tree this year, and my eldest’s first and immediate response was, “I know where my share goes: I vote for groceries!” GAH. I love him.

Then, omg then, an anonymous reader sent a hundred dollar bill in a card. I was floored. I don’t know who they are, but I will do my best to track them down and thank them for covering the gas bill this month. My parents practically balled up a check and bounced it off my forehead last night for not telling them sooner I needed help. I’m a little stubborn. For those of you keeping score at home.

I made a jubilant trip to the bank to deposit my treasures, and ran back to pay bills online. Only, the bank isn’t reeeaaaalllly sure it wants to admit that the money is there. They’ve made a note of it, but they’ve put it in a parking lot in a column next to the one that says “Available Balance.” Where it doesn’t do my any good. So, I picked off a few tiny bills, ten dollars at a time, until I’d run through the portion they’d decided to lend me until they’ve run the rest through the pixie dust machine. The water and other bills will have to wait.

The good news is that I seem to have gotten through to the creditors, because I haven’t had a single call today, from the USA or India. THAT, my friends, is a vast improvement over the ten or so I was getting every day for the last month. I am unutterably grateful for that small kindness.

In other news, my home warranty company sent a plumber out to fix the children’s toilet that has been out of commission for what seems like two months (and they don’t seem to get that it’s not to be used. I put the huge, heavy porcelain cap on the seat so no one would try. But every time I think to look, there’s evidence that someone knows how to remove and replace that porcelain cap very, very quietly. Only they can’t flush, since the water’s turned off. Happy birthday to me!) So, I was overjoyed to have more than one toilet again, and won’t have to share mine with three little ones anymore.

But then there was the sink. I, um, disabled part of the main pipe when I removed the P trap to rescue my Great-Grandmother’s diamond earring I’d dropped down the drain. Like an idiot. One who actually thought, huh, I shouldn’t have the water on that high because one of these could slip—FUUUUCK.

The plumber, a very nice but stern German man, deducted that I’d probably touched the pipe, and repeated that several times so that I’d know he knew I knew he knew it was me. And there was a problem. Since I disabled the main pipe, the entire pedestal sink has to COME OUT. As in SEPARATE FROM THE WALL AND THE TILE FLOOR. As in, I have to paint an entire wall and re-tile around the base when it’s done. And, of course, after a brief consultation with the home warranty company, it could not be covered as part of the visit’s $60 deductible. See, I love this warranty, because no matter how bad the problem is, you just shell out $60 to have it fixed. Unless it’s a pedestal sink pipe I killed while trying to save a family heirloom.

Now, he’s coming back on Wednesday to pull everything out and repair the pipe for the low, low price of I DON’T HAVE IT. But it has to be done. Criminy. It’s like that old joke, “Well, your teeth are find but the gums have to come out.” The pipe can be fixed, but we have to rip the entire sink out of the wall and the floor!

In the meantime, we are tremendously grateful to each of you who have helped, who have written, and who have commiserated with us. You restore my faith in humanity.

“A toast! A toast! A toast to Mama Dollar and to Papa Dollar, and if you want to keep this old Building and Loan in business, you better have a family real quick.”

Monday, December 21, 2009 Family

Swedish pancakes, to be specific. The kind that need lots of eggs (oh, we have been having eggs seventeenhundredy ways this week), lots of milk (crap, that half gallon didn’t last long), and lots of love and patience (crap, fresh out).

I was still slinging the last crepes onto plates as I turned on the shower and realized I had 45 minutes to make it to a job interview. It’s for a position in my old field, the one I’m really good at and have made a living at before. Sounds like a plan, no? It’s so crazy, it just might work.

Interview went fine, can’t think of any reason not to work with them, and can’t see any reason why I’m not tremendously qualified. We’ll just have to see if I can afford the extra expenses I’ll incur, like day care and summer camp and gas and clothing. No more wearing pjs all day, and that is a HUGE EFFING SACRIFICE, let me tell you.

Omg my head will split open like an overripe melon if I do not get out of earshot of Chowder and the rest of the Cartoon Network crew. I should have thought of that when I put the Wii on hiatus. Frying pan, fire. I’d sent them outside to wash the driveway (you heard right—it actually presents a new and unusual challenge, and they want to get it right.) but it’s started to rain. We’re boxed in.

Friday, December 18, 2009 Family

I received a sobering text from my ex last night while at Guy’s office Christmas party (no shiner! whew.): When he went to pick up the kids from the church’s after school care program, they gave him a huge box full of of food, plus a present for each of the children.

Holy cow. A charity package. Usually our kids deliver those with the church program to those who need them. I’d forgotten that he’d secured a scholarship for the children to attend free because we earn below the poverty line.

I read the text to Guy, and then went to sit in the ladies room for a while. Ruined my makeup. Shame mixed with gratitude. No idea how to react. So relieved that there will be something for the kids until I get paid again.

When Guy asked why I was so upset, I said, “I just realized that I hadn’t eaten all day because I didn’t want to cut into the supply. The kids are home for two weeks starting tomorrow.”

And then I went back to sit in the ladies room again.

This just can’t get any more tragically comical.

Oh, wait, it can. One of the children just called home for lunch money because you need an ID to swipe in the cafeteria. It’s only forty cents. And I had to be called for it. I shuffled through my drawers and found two whole dollars in change, put it in an envelope and left it at the school office.

And now I’m going to sit down again until I stop thinking about it.

Thursday, December 17, 2009 Bad Mood Dude, Family

So. Christmas party tonight. Meeting Guy’s boss and co-workers for the first time. All I have to do is show up sober, look nice, and make small talk, am I right?

Well, there’s a bit of time to kill and a few things need doing around here before I go, so I get cracking.

First, the TV. Our TV is twelve years old, has three inches of dust on it, and weighs a metric ton. Also, it doesn’t work. As in, you get a one-in-five chance of it actually turning on, and even then you might get the picture shmushed down to a five-inch bar for an indeterminate amount of time. Annoying. It was decided last month that the family gift to our home from Guy and me would be a new TV. Cheap as all get-out, must have been mislabeled at Costco. We didn’t ask questions, we just grabbed it and drove off.

Here’s the catch: in order to use a new TV, you have to get rid of the old one. I know. Pissed me off.

I figure I can do this.

Turning that thing around on the turntable was like waltzing with a phone booth, but I had to disconnect everything so that it didn’t fly out of my arms when I tried to lift it out of the cabinet. How many freaking cables can be plugged into one goddamned TV? HOW MANY? After forty minutes I was reasonably sure that nothing was still connected—whether or not I’d destroyed any of the cables such that no TV could ever be used there again is yet to be determined. Satisfied with my work, I lifted the 32” behemoth off the tray.

Have you ever tried to give the Heimlich to Refrigerator Perry? No? How about moving a cow out from in front of your car by wrapping your arms around its middle? Or, better yet, carrying a mailbox ten feet in a room with only eight feet to maneuver. That’s kinda what it was like. I heaved once, staggered, and fell back onto the couch where the front-heavy screen smashed into my cheek bone.

I know one thing for sure: I do not want to show up at Guy’s company Christmas party to meet his boss for the first time, sporting a shiner.

Anyway. I don’t know how, but I got the TV back onto the floor and decided to wait for someone with a Y chromosome and advanced cable and TV expertise to wander by.

Time to get out of the heavy stuff and figure out what to wear. Simple. Red sweater, jeans, and look at that, I’d forgotten all about these…I think I’ll wear Great-Grandma’s diamond drop earrings. They definitely do not see the light of day more than once a decade.

They’re a little dingy.

Think I’ll clean them.

So I did.

And then rinsed them over the bathroom sink.

And dropped one into the drain. Fuck a duck and the flock he flew in with.

No problem, that’s what P-traps are for, right, people? I’ll just unscrew that puppy, pluck out Great-Grandma’s earring, and pop it back in.

Trouble was, I could only get one half of the P-trap to unscrew. Luckily, it swung out and I could reach inside. Nothing. I took apart the drain stopper assembly so I could look from the sink. Holy Mother of God you would not believe what was in that thing. Let’s just say I’m glad I was able to kill it and flush it before the kids got home. (Did I mention that we are going on Month Two of an inoperable toilet? It has a leak that won’t stop—I’ve tried five different flappers and had scads of advice but it won’t stop leaking, and my water bills are through the roof. So I turned off the water and made the kids use my bathroom all this time. Which they love.)

Now I couldn’t see what was down there. And I don’t own a flashlight, because I am too stupid to be a homeowner. But! I have a USB nightlight! I scrounged it up, plugged it into my netbook, booted it, and propped it against the wall behind the faucet so I could point the light down the drain. Which was blocked by the faucet. So I turned it to the side. Have to tighten that later. Once I could see, I realized that the trap was still full of water. Duh.

I’ll just drain it out with a turkey baster! Yeah! Where is that thing? Only two utensil drawers in the kitchen… has to be here somewhere… what kind of a mother doesn’t have a turkey baster handy?? ARGH!

Wait. I’ve siphoned gasoline out of a car’s tank before, right? All I need is a flexible tube. Bingo. One of the boys’ sports bottles has a long, bendy straw. Perfect. I carried that into the bathroom with a bowl, stuck the straw in, and gave the other end a little suck—just enough to get it flowing but not enough to actually have to taste anything. See? It pays to grow up in Chicago where you learn these important skills.

Water’s gone, I can see straight down, and now the only problem is that there is a blind spot right in the middle of the bend. Of fucking course there is.

So I finally gave in and started to unscrew one more piece of the pipe, toward the sink—which suddenly broke off into my hands. Whoops. But there was Grandma’s earring. Which was all that mattered, right?

I shoved that thing back in as best I could, reattached the P-trap, reassembled the drain thingy, turned on the water and tested it. HULL BREACH. That’s enough of that! Leakage! *squeak squeak* I turned off the water to the sink.

Poor little sink with the water turned off, next to the poor little toilet with the water turned off. Poor little me with just enough MacGyver in me to take things apart and jerry-rig a solution but not enough skill to put it all back together properly. Poor little sore and bleeding hands. Poor little strained wrists, to go with my strained neck and back. Poor Guy, who I hope will not have to endure funny looks if my cheek starts to bruise.

Now, if you’ll pardon me, I am going to retire to my bed for a wee nap. I was up for four hours in the night because my body thought it was still time to party in Thailand.

Three hours later: Oh, the irony. The mailman just brought me a water termination notice for nonpayment. I don’t fucking believe it.

Thursday, December 17, 2009 Family

From the time Dylan was a year old, we’ve said that he will be the one running the Three Card Monty operation behind the dumpsters at school. That, or selling chances to see a pair of his sister’s underwear.

I was so wrong.

Logan started a business at school yesterday. Back story: We brought the boys each a two-inch, beanie turtle from the Marriott resort (their mascot). He loves it and named it Jordan and takes it everywhere with him. It’s become so popular at school that he charges people to play with it. One girl paid him five bucks to have it for a whole class period. I was floored.

“Mom, I already made five dollars, but had to pay my employees.”

“You know, you’re supposed to pay them in arrears. Are you paing an annual salary?”

“No, just two weeks at a time, and I had them each sign a contract so they can’t just take off with the money.”

I asked why he needed employees and what they did.

“I have one secretary, to make appointments. Then I have one lawyer—we had a case already when someone threw Jordan across the room and there was a dispute of ownership. My lawyer was very good and got him off. I also have a couple of bodyguards, and a trainer to teach him dance. A dancing turtle, people will LOVE that!”

Last night, he made Jordan a little suit and I lent him my old cell phone. “Now he looks the part and can attract a higher class of clientele. I’ll be making lots of money to help with groceries in no time!”

The world doesn’t stand a chance.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009 Family

Groggy in the day, awake and cranky at night. I’m a lot of fun, I tell ya.

I think the best part about coming back has been the confluence of collection calls about medical bills I can’t pay, credit card that is maxed, kids’ excessive absences while I was away (including three play practices), projects not worked on AT ALL while I was gone, no checks in the mail and bank overdrawn, kid’s lunch account with low balance, my accounts with low balance (love that they politely call “negative” a “low balance”), parents out of town, no tree up yet, too tired to even talk about doing it. The Coup de grâce? A care package from a longtime reader with blank Xmas cards, a music CD, and a ten dollar bill. I looked in my wallet, and let the two dollars in there since last month know that company had arrived. I have the best readers, ever. Somehow, they guess the little things.

Btw, hope for parents worldwide: kids will come in handy someday. Daphne gave me her cash stash in case I needed it to buy groceries yesterday. I was so proud that I was able to get two loaves of bread, milk, & eggs for under twelve dollars, and could give it back to her. As a backup plan, I have about forty boxes of pasta in the garage. Hope the kids like plain pasta.

Actually, I don’t give a rip. They will eat plain pasta.