What the Fox!

Hi!  I wanted to apologize for the long stretch of radio silence.  Looks like it will be a little while before I can get back to posting as I’d like.  A little career fun is adding to the chaos and I’m working around the clock.  I promise to get back to posting once the dust settles.


Something every busy working woman needs.  A place to put your phone when you pee....

Something every busy working woman needs. A place to put your phone when you pee….

Dear Shorty #2



Dear #2:

Its amazing to me how big you are getting.  You seem to be growing up so quickly.  While we’re on the subject of maturing, could you do me a favor and speed through this thing called sleep regression?  I’m a little wiped out already, but the 2am – 3am wake-up every night is getting a little old and frankly its not doing either of us any favors.  Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the middle of the night cuddles.  Its the early morning toes digging in my back and elbows in my face that I can do without.

Could you work on the whole “sleeping through the night thing” again so we both can make it through the day?  You see, you’re the lucky one.  You can shut it down for naptime by 11:30am, but I on the other hand am a little busy working for a living to keep a roof over our heads and its somewhat frowned upon in our office for employees to pass out at their desks.

Soooo, if you could work on this for me I’d really appreciate it.  If you can swing it, we’ll be sure to take this into consideration in about 13 years when you’re looking for a later curfew, a raise in your allowance or some new fangled personal electronic device that hasn’t been invented yet.

Thanks in advance for your assistance with this matter.



I Aim to Please… Maybe Not So Much Anymore

As you may have gathered by my previous posts, I’m a type-A personality.  I’m also one of those people that’s a pleaser.  I don’t like to inconvenience people and prefer to make things easier for them.  I can’t help it.  I’m actually a horrible spa client as I spend most of the time trying to contort my body into the exact position I think the therapist or esthetician might need.  I mean, I drive manicurists crazy with my stiff knuckles.  Seriously, I’ve been scolded by massage therapists constantly “Can you please relax your arm?”

Its the same with doctors.  I hate to inconvenience an already busy doctor’s office or emergency room with our little case.  I carry that deference to the medical profession that my parents generation had when the doc was always right.  But little by little I’m starting to feel a change as my Type-A is beating out my Aim to Please gene.

This change probably started with pregnancy.  All of a sudden it wasn’t just my own health I was worrying about, it was the Shorties.  The Mama Bear instinct takes over and all of a sudden the infallible Doc that’s only half concentrating on the issue is in my sights.  The health and safety of the Shorties trumps everything else.

Poor Shorty #1 has had a couple of strange allergic reactions, so we were packed off to see an Allergist yesterday.  Luckily, I read the reviews for the doctor and was somewhat prepared for a potentially confrontational visit.  #1 is TERRIFIED of needles.  I mean, she is apoplectic when she sees them.  Anyone who has visited an allergist will sympathize then with the pin-cushion like experience that can happen when being tested for allergies.  She was beside herself when she realized what was about to take place.

The “nurse” was no help.  She tried to mitigate the fear by explaining to Shorty that there would only be 5 pokes.  I finally convinced her that this was a must-do and there was definitely a treat waiting on the finish line.  She sat her 4 foot plus frame on my lap and the nurse started the pokes up each arm.  As she attempted the 6th, Shorty who was carefully counting flipped out.  She very nearly kicked the nurse in the chin.  I thought of apologizing to this total b%^&# but decided not to.  We both sold #1 on 5 needles and she was changing the plan on the fly.  I decided that this was now her problem and suggested maybe next time she should give kids a little more credit and tell the truth.

Now enter the Doctor.  With piles of diplomas and certificates lining the walls heralding his status as a pediatrician and allergist, he came in with an abysmal bedside manner.  Poor Shorty was now itching like mad, allergic reactions abounding from the test.  He gruffly came and grabbed her hand.  When she flinched, he admonished her telling her to “calm down”.  Excellent.  Now I was ready to kick HIM in the chin.  Seriously, why doesn’t he get it?  He must do this all day, every day.

When he told me that Shorty’s reaction to tree nuts was anaphylactic, I was shocked.  I said “really?”.  His condesendingly replied “Well yes!  can’t you see the reaction.  It was 10 blah blahs in a dilution of blah blah blah blah.”  DUDE, you just told me that if my kid eats a cashew she could possibly DIE.  Can you have a heart for two seconds and stop being a f%^&ing scientist?

Now here’s where I pupped out and didn’t actually say this to Dr. Dickhead.  But next time I may not be so civilized and nod and acquiesce and be too afraid to ask questions.  Next time I’ll stand up to that self-righteous ass and ask him to treat me AND Shorty with the respect we deserve as human beings who have come to him for some help.  I hope you will too.


The Most Awful Time of the Year

Shorty #1 selects some Coachella inspired headgear for her first day back to school.

Shorty #1 selects some Coachella inspired headgear for her first day back to school.

Labor Day.  Ugh.  What a crummy holiday.  A holiday that celebrates labor should have better name.  Labor and Holiday – bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?  Holiday Day would be so much better.

My disdain for Labor Day is really more about the meaning of this date on the calendar; end of summer, back to school, no more white pants (and I just got a great pair of white CoH jeans on sale!).  I hate holidays that signal the end of something like New Years Eve or even Sunday Evenings.  Yes yes yes, I hear all you positive, glass is half full, lemonade drinkers out there.  These endings all herald in a new beginning – a new week, a new grade a new year, an opportunity for a fresh start.  Sure, this is true but sometimes we aren’t ready for things to end.

I spent my Labor Day tidying out closets and bedrooms, writing names in labels and packing school bags to get everyone ready to go back to the daily routine of school days.  The sleepy whining, lunch packing and frantic nagging all working towards a crescendo as the clock ticks faster and faster to 9am.  I envy those Moms arriving at the school well before the bell rings, calm and peaceful.  Have they given their kids a Xanax as they woke up and lead them in a drug induced stupor to the classroom door?  I’m sure they haven’t but c’mon, what’s the secret?  I’m usually speed walking through the halls, hair wet and a conference call waiting, all the while encouraging (read: speaking firmly… ok, yelling) Shorty #1 to speed it up.

This is always the most amazing thing to me each morning.  Why is it always such a surprise that we need to eat breakfast, put on shoes (really!) and remember school bags before we head out the door?  Like we don’t need to do these things EVERY morning.  Like the routine is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT every day?  Really?  No seriously, really?

As Labor Day heralds in the new school year with all the promise of a bright future, with young shining faces eager to embrace learning, this Mother secretly cries for the lost summer and morning routines that included cartoons in bed!