There’s nothing like getting hit on by a sleazy 50-something party crasher to make a girl appreciate the innocence of staying home with kids. 

“So,” he says, eyes slicking over me like an oil spill, “Are you a swimmer or a gymnast?”

Seriously?  That’s your pick-up line?  You go to the trouble of joining a company party where everyone knows each other and you stand out like a roach on a fancy dinner plate and that’s the best you can do?  Sir, your subtlety is staggering. 

I have to confess that I had no comeback.  It’s been awhile since creepy guys tried to stand inside my bubble and look down my shirt.  He went on to comment that I must work out and ask me for tips on how to do push-ups, as if I might drop to the ground right there with a demonstration.  All the while he slowly inched forward, working his way to actually brushing against my arm. There was a time when I would have loudly told him to back the f*** off or he’d start losing limbs, but I have lost all those skills in a wave of home-bound and diaper-filled years.

Extricating me from the situation, one Kurt’s co-workers went up and pointedly asked him with whom he’d come to the party.  What a shocker, Mr. Sleaze vanished in a miasma of booze and cheap cologne.  While mostly amused, I did find myself wishing briefly for my mom uniform of t-shirt and jeans.  The real world of adult conversation and corporate socializing is a fun side-line but turns out a life without barflies has its benefits, too.

On a side note, while several others saw the whole show and came to my rescue, Kurt was three feet behind me and totally oblivious.  When we told him after the fact, my dear sweet husband came back with this gem.

“Hey, if I had been there, I’d have told him that not only are you a gymnast, you’re a naked gymnast at that!”

Thanks, sweetie.

In the local news this week there’s a story of child abuse that resulted in a little girl’s death.  The mother’s courtroom testimony described the events that led to the toddler’s demise.  I broke down and cried after reading about it in the paper.  I cried again in the car when they mentioned it on the radio.  In fact, I’ve been thinking about her almost all the time, and there’s nothing I can do to help her.

Part of parenting, as we know, is encountering moments, sometimes hours, oh hell, weeks of extreme frustration and anger.  There have been times that I couldn’t imagine how I would survive my baby.  What comes to mind were the endless nights when my oldest was a newborn.  I had no help with the feedings,  no peers that could offer advice on how to handle colic, I was bleary-eyed from a few hours of sleep over several days, hadn’t bathed or eaten since God knows when, and sobbed almost more than my baby did.  There were those horrible split seconds when thoughts of pain and hurt and just frantic escape nibbled at my mind, but thankfully I returned from the brink of madness when he’d finally go to sleep.  I’d peer into his crib, or wherever he’d managed to conk out, and watch his amazing, miniature chubby body, the Bhudda-belly, the dried formula on his chin, his arm thrust out like he was a tiny swordsman, and his little lips sucking on his dream bottle.  This amazing, living and loud person that came from my being was all I had in this world, and he trusted me, implicitly.  How could I forsake that trust?

Motherhood is messy, and stressful, and really damn hard.  I know that I’ll become a howling misfit when my buttons are pushed (they’re pushing my buttons while I’m trying to type this, in fact), but it won’t go further.  I gave my girls extra hugs this week, and even gave one to my shocked teen. 

I’m still crying though.

We have a small house.  The ‘main living space’ is around 1000 square feet, so I like to count the basement and call it 1800 square feet. I love my house. This isn’t about needing more space…

No, this is about screaming. Despite the fact that we are nearly on top of each other no matter where we turn in this sweet house, the girls insist on SCREAMING for us when they need something.  Sometimes the screaming can sound like they’ve amputated a limb and when I arrive expecting a bloody mess, I receive a request to help with a shoelace. Or a hair bow.

I have made it VERY clear that I do not appreciate being screamed at and, if they need help with such matters they can come find me.

So, the other day — a beautiful Saturday when Dave and I were enjoying coffee and the paper at our dining room table — Delaney starts screaming bloody murder from the basement.  To our credit, neither of us looked up.  She kept screaming.  Our parental instincts just didn’t hear anything alarming in the scream and so we let her bellow on. Finally, she marched upstairs and barked at us.

DELANEY: “Didn’t you hear me?! I was calling you!”

DAVE: “We heard you. What do you need?”

DELANEY: “My microphone needs a new battery.”

DAVE: (completely calm) “Well, instead of screaming at us, you can bring it up here and I will replace the battery.”

DELANEY: (Stares at Dave and sighs, like he’s very tiresome)

DAVE: “Delaney, there are only two legitimate reasons to scream for us…”

DELANEY: “What.”

DAVE: “One, if you’re so hurt that you can’t get up.”

DELANEY: “And?”

DAVE: “If you’re on the toilet and there’s no toilet paper.”

I about laughed coffee right out my nose!

I have a dilemma.  How do you know the difference between ‘mother knows best’ and ‘pushy mom?’

Have you faced this?

My oldest daughter, Delaney, saw Swan Lake late last year and decided she HAD TO take ballet classes. So, we enrolled her in ballet and she’s doing quite well.  In the meantime, Allie, my youngest, started ice skating and loves it!  Well, now Delaney wants to bag ballet and take ice skating.

I am NOT concerned about creating Denver’s next prima ballerina. I’d love for  my girls to try all kinds of sports and instruments and skills. But what about requiring a little commitment, too?

I’ve told Delaney that she has to stay in ballet. Honestly, when she’s in class, she loves it! And she comes home doing all the little movements she’s learned. Then she sees Allie in ice skating and… she MUST ice skate. Alright, I could let her do both… but what about her commitment to ballet?  Remember, she HAD TO take ballet just six weeks ago.

The ‘Mother Knows Best’ side of me wants her to stay in ballet and, actually, take one more class a week!  I believe that if she sees more progress in her skills, she’ll enjoy it more.  No, wait… is that the “Pushy Mom” side of me?

Thoughts?

Ok Peeps…here’s the deal: what would I, after almost 9 years of parenting tell all new moms and dads? It’s crucial, because it will save you both time AND money (like, hundreds, maybe even thousands) so listen up…

Skip the goody bags.

If you have only one child that hasn’t reached the age of one and you haven’t experienced the pleasure AND expense of throwing a birthday party for your little darling, then probably that last statement doesn’t even make sense to you, “goody bag” isn’t even in your vocabulary yet.

Or maybe you kind of have an idea as to what I’m talking about but you scoff at the term “goody bag” and are thinking instead “party souvenir” and are already stitching away (at capes and tutus for the “prince and princess” party you are going to throw) or glue gunning away (at the mini scrapbook you are handing out to show all your child’s infant buddies in the year leading up to YOUR child’s birthday–hey, I’ve seen it done) or just simply acrylic painting a personalized beach bucket for 30 of your baby’s closest friends, complete with matching shovel, coordinating towel and some fake seashells for effect…guess what? Been there. Done that/seen that. And you know what? I still say…knock it off.

Ok, maybe do it for the first birthday. Of your first child. If you must. It’s kind of a rite of passage, I guess.  And it makes us moms feel real good about ourselves.  Clever. Original.  Way more on the ball than anyone else in our playgroup. Pottery Barn catalog might be calling us for a photo shoot or something. But really, after that, you’re just screwing yourselves. Because4-5 years later, you are doing this…

Scrambling last minute on the one day you have nothing else to do before your now 4,5,6 on up’s birthday party. Which is now in itself costing you over $200 because it’s not just running loose in your house for an hour or so, it’s laser tag, or open gym, swimming, Chuck E. Cheese, Pump it Up, etc.  It’s that PLUS the aforementioned “goody bag” that we’ve all (myself included, you bet) conditioned our kids to expect ON TOP OF the gigantic expense of entertaining them for two hours at places that charge $15.99 per kid. 

I came up with the idea for this post the other day when I forked over $50 for a bunch of plastic cr-p to hand out at my son’s 7th birthday bash because I was convinced that an entire gymnastics facility to ourselves for 1 1/2 hours was not enough. I was suspicious that thought was ridiculous, however,  and the point was driven home when a couple days after the party, I noticed that several bags of goodies had been left in my minivan. Unopened and unappreciated.

So skip the souvenirs, guys. Sage advice. Money saving, sanity saving, sage advice.