What I really want for Mother's Day

May 2010


Hi guys;

I know I haven't written but I've managed to break myself again! This is so bloody embarrassing because I did it in such a mundane boring way--getting in the tub; soap was involved; you get the picture.

The Mountain Man has bought me a laptop so that I will stay in bed and prop my foot up instead of sitting at the computer trying to do gymnastics to get it on the desk. I don’t dare try to put my foot on a stool since my leg then becomes an instant dog, cat, or kid and hubby magnet.

I’ve just watched, "the Proposal" with Sandra Bullock because Breyan told me that two of the characters reminded him of me and Aunt Yvonne, (which I'm really hoping is the mom and the Gamma because if he’s saying I remind him of the anal Sandra Bullock character, I'm gonna hit him with my crutch!)

Anyway, it gave me an insight into how my son views me as a Mom; most likely to take over someone’s life, fake a heart attack to get someone to talk to his son like a grown up and remake a wedding dress in one night. All right, well he’s not far off the mark on that one.

This got me to thinking about how lucky I am to have two, pretty great kids who managed to turn into normal, healthy, happy, kind of adjusted people.

That got me to thinking about Mothers Days and I had an epiphany!I don't really like Mother's Day.

No, I don’t hate Mothers Day, what I should have said was, I don’t enjoy the traditional Mother’s Day.

Yes, I love the sappy homemade 'I luv Mummy," cards.  The morning cuddle and the hugs.  It's the rest of the day I usually just don't have the energy for.

I kind of wish I had the courage at some point to tell my kids and hubby what I really wanted my Mother’s Day to be like.

Traditionally, my mother's day will start with me being woken up far too early for it to be considered, "day," convinced that the house is on fire due to the alarming smell of burnt toast.  Then I will hear a crash, the Mountain Man's rumbling at the kids, and the kids frantic promises, "to clean it up right away."

Next, they will all troop into the bedroom with a homemade, cholesterol/fat/sugar laden breakfast on a tray while I sit there thinking, “Crap, I just cleaned the kitchen."

I will paste on my, "surprised Mum," smile as they troop in as I am frantically trying to signal the dog to come into the room so I can accidently drop most of it on the floor.

When I’ve finished every bit of food on the tray and my family is convinced I enjoyed every bite, they will announce they are letting me take a bath all on my own. They solemnly promise they are not going to interrupt. "I can take all the time I need."
Yeah right!

 This sounds like heaven to every Mom, except Dad has been in there twenty minutes before doing his "man" routine involving a newspaper and Caitlin has been in doing her part to create holes in the ozone layer with her hair products and Breyan has been lathering on the aftershave.  If only I could bottle that smell I would RULE the germ warfare market!

After my bath, in which there have only been three knocks on the door, one emergency and one, "Are you going to be much longer, I have to go pee!"  I will come downstairs to open my lovely gifts.

They are very thoughtful gifts but how many bathsalts, housecoats and skin creams can one mom use? I mean really. I don't have enough room in my drawers and if I dare try re-gifting one of the baskets for a wedding or baby shower, sure enough, one of my kids will pop up with, "But Mom I thought you loved that perfume? That‘s why we bought it for you," right in the middle of me passing the canapés.

 Next, Hubby and kids will have planned a family outing. Where do we go? Somewhere that promises 'Good, Clean, Family Fun!" In the car I will have to settle at least two, “He’s touching me,” arguments.  I will dream of the days when the kids were little and we used to sing songs in the car.  Nowadays my kids will spend the entire trip answering their text messages and have their earphones jammed in their ears so tight I have to know gorilla sign language just to ask if they need to go to the bathroom.

 Throughout the day, the kids will consume large amounts of fat, carbohydrate laden, creamy, heart-buster food that they will promptly puke up on one of those clean family fun rides.

Need I go on?

Mother’s Day is just too much work for mothers. So then I thought, "What would be my perfect Mother's Day?"

The day before, everybody would get together and spring clean the house without arguing, nagging or negotiating, so that when Mom wakes up on Mother Day, there is no laundry, dishes, vacuuming etc...

Dad will run out to the bakery and get bagels, (preferably Kettlemens because they rock even without toasting,) cream cheese and fresh fruit already chopped and ready to serve. He will buy the expensive fresh squeezed orange juice, (not the kind in a can that you buy by the dozen since the kids go through the stuff like dope heads in a crack house.)

The next morning Mom will wake up when she wants, to a Martha Stewart designed tray with fresh flowers, a continental breakfast and possibly chocolate. Six cups of coffee will be lined and waiting to be refilled. All presents and cards will wait until Mom has taken her hour long, uninterrupted bath.

Dad will have used the bathroom at the bakery.

Dad will then tell Mom that he has called three of her closest friends (fly them in if you have to,) and made a deal with their partners to chauffeur the women downtown for lunch at which he has paid ahead of time for many, many Marguerita’s. There will be no children, no husbands, and no curfews.

The kids will present the homemade macaroni card and a gift thoughtfully chosen from the three page list Mom gave Dad weeks ago.  Dad will then let her know that his own gift, a gift card, comes from the place that only sells women's lingerie--not the kind that hookers wear.

 There will be no possibility that mom will go to the store and come home with new jeans and socks for the kids.  You see this is the problem with gift cards. If you buy a mom a gift card for a department store, she will buy something for her kids. She will feel guilty if she buys herself new sexy underwear when she knows her kids will outgrow their winter boots and she hasn’t gotten around to buying them a new pair. Usually a mom will save a gift card for "when we really need something."

Moms don't often get a chance to buy underwear that she really hopes she'll never get in an accident wearing, (because, "what would people think?") Moms also do not want Dads picking out their underwear because most mens taste run along the lines of "two pieces of floss held up by a rubber band."  Moms want matching, comfortable, 'put it back where it was 20 years ago' underwear.  I don't care if Mom is now 250 lbs and you have to find a naughty store for six foot cross dressers, that store is where you buy the gift card!

That afternoon, the Dad's will take turns chauffeuring the women; but not all at once. Each Dad will take turns so only one wife at a time will worry; that hubby will get jealous of the mom's giggling at the waiters tight pants, or worry that Dad will say something stupid to the other women or give her the "HOW MUCH DID THAT COST? " look.

Once the Mom's are truly giddy and girly they will retire to the house with the biggest TV, preferably HD and the men will have vacated to one of the other mom's house with the kids, leaving mom to a night of wine, giggling, chocolate and a "Colin Firth in a wet shirt" movie.

No one may call mom to ask; where they left their backpack, is it okay to feed the dog the leftover fruit because they ran out of dog food, how to bake anything.

You may call her ONCE to tell her you love her and make sure she's having a ball. Make sure her friends hear you say you love her.

At the end of the night the Dad's will collect their respective Mom's-- having fed the kids and given them their baths.  The children may stay up long enough to say goodnight and let mom read them a bedtime story. Mom will collect one more "I love you, Mommy, kisses and hugs."

This is the Mothers Day I dream of and am too guilty and afraid of hurting our kid’s feelings to ask for.  I'm sure I'm not the only Mom that would love a day like this.  Is it really too much to ask?

Ah well.  I should be thankful I have a loving, caring family willing to burn toast for me.  As for the rest, I guess I can live without it.  However, don't you dare forget the homemade, handcrafted 'I LUV MUMMY.' card or I will cry and you will be in for a life of hell for at least a year or until Mom's birthday when you may have a chance to get it right.

Kimberley

PS, The Gamma in the movie is my grandmother in disguise--not me. I am a Nona!

Herding Jellyfish and Pressure Cookers

*letter dated November 2010

Hi family;  How is everyone getting set up for the holidays?  Got your Xmas cards out?  I know I had at least fifty left over from last year but for the life of me I can't find them.

Aunt E asked us for family pictures for Gramma's birthday and I am really trying to get one for her. Since the last family picture we have was done was when Caitlin was 12 and she's now 20, I decided it was time, especially since we have new family members. Yep, that was a bad idea.

Creative Swearing

*From a variety of letters home to Gramma 2005-10

There is a rule in this house against swearing.  I don't care if TV, games and even six year old's shows use curse words nowadays.  I don't like them and I won't accept them. Yes there are times when I swear.  It usually means, "Run for the Hills!!!!," because I can't take it anymore and I am so angry or frustrated I can't think coherently.

Hubby thinks it's hilarious that I am a grownup who blushes when talking about certain body parts or acts but is more than willing to do it.

"Swearwords are for people who have no vocabulary!" was the rule my kids were brought up by.  I just don't find swearing a respectful way of speaking.  I really dislike that the "F" word is in common usage and I have to say I lose respect for people who use it in their everyday language.  I really disrespect people that use what my Gramma would call, "Sailor talk" in front of their kids. 

To me, nothing marks the difference between "low income" and "trailer trash" than language and cursing.

I hate swearing, (If you ever hear me swear you know I'm past anger and into livid.   I won't allow my kids to swear or say mean things to each other; in answer, the family has come up with some creative ways to insult each other;

My Verbal Bullying Protection Spell

*expanded from a letter to my friend Sarah when her daughter was being bullied.-2008

Verbal Bullying, in my mind is the most vicious bullying a child can go through.  It leaves the deepest scars, the pain lasts longer and does more destruction than any other abuse I've experienced.  I once had an entire town call me, "witch" when it wasn't trendy.  Kids crossed the street or threw stones, old ladies made signs against evil when I walked by.  One girl even told her friends I put a "spell" on her when  I touched her shoulder and she felt faint.
(I'm such a nerd.  I was showing a friend the "Vulcan Mind Meld.")

Name calling, labelling and outright cat-calling to me is one of the most evil things one person can do to another.  I would rather someone punch me than curse at me.  It's not much use telling your kids to, "just ignore it and it will stop," because often it doesn't or it feels so intense that a child cannot imagine a future without it. 

Ask any guy and he will tell you, 12 year old girls are probably one of the most vicious animals on the planet.  I still have nightmares of a group of farm girls that would surround me in the bathroom.  They never laid a finger on me but the damage they've done would have carried through my whole life if I let it.  I've seen these 12 year girls old rip a boy to emotional shreds in seconds.  Pirahna could take lessons from them.

I got my best babysitter thanks to bullying.  The Mafia Mothers were outside in the park in their morning coffee klatch.  A young girl in our neighbourhood Jenny walked by wearing a teeny tiny top and skirt.  Blonde, beautiful and 6' in heels she was a knockout.  (I sometimes think the expression, "Va-Va-Voom" was created for her.)

My stomach turned when the Mommy Mafiosa's started with the whispering and sneers.  Jenny has severe eczema.  She needs to tan.  I stood up and as I walked away I snapped back at them, "If I had a body like that,  I would want to show it off.  Heck, I'd be walking around naked!"  Then I went to Jenny and asked if she babysat.  To this day she is the best sitter I've ever had and is still so close to my kids, my son has asked her to be a Godparent at his daughters baptism!

 (Mom's --protect your babysitter list like it's a National Secret!  Women think nothing of pinching the good ones until you end up Friday night and everyone on the list is sitting for your friends.)

When a friend asked for help for her young daughter who was being teased and bullied for being built like an Italian Grandmother, I gave her a copy of my "Verbal Protection Spell."  Whether you think of it as a spell or as a mental exercise, I have found it to be a great tool for healing the damage bullying can do.  

My kids friends usually found it easier to think of it as a "spell" because they know I'm a neo-pagan and they all seem to be fascinated with the occult at some point in their lives.

Early Warning Signs that my Issues have put my kids in therapy for the rest of their lives.

I know that I give my parenting advice as if I’ve all the confidence in the world in my parental skills. I don’t. I think we’ve done some things right, otherwise how could we have raised such beautiful, confident, smart, amazing kids? Yet I know there have been challenges for our children by having Hubby and I as parents.

In kindergarten, the teacher gathered the children into a circle for story time. She was reading them a Christmas book. She would hold it up and ask the children, “Johnny, Who is this?” Excitedly the child would call out, “Santa?” That’s good. ’David can you tell me what this is?” David answered, “A Christmas Tree?” When she held up a picture of Rudolph and asked Catie, “Do you know what this is?” My daughter answered firmly and confidently, “A target!”

Teacher: When Daddy wants to go on vacation, where does he like to go?
Breyan: “He goes and gets a hug from my mom.”

Teacher: Can anyone name any of the four major food groups?
Catie raises her hand: “Oh!  I know this one---Cheese and Chocolate.”

Yvonne: What do you want for snack?
Breyan: “Aunt Yvonne, Can I have some liverwurst, Please, Please, please?”

Catie: Yes I know the difference between Christmas and Hanukah; one is where you light a whole bunch of candles and they spread out the presents and the other is about the guy on a stick!

Teacher: How many boys and how many girls are in your family.
Breyan: We have one boy in our family, one girl and one dead girl.

Catie was banned from showing her show and tell pictures because they showed her with a gun. (She was showing off her target shooting skills.)

Local store manager: Could you please come down to my store? I’m sorry to inform you, you’re son has been shoplifting.
Me: (Horrified) Are you sure it was my son?
Merchant: He shoplifted cheese.
I’ll be right there.

At various points
My Dad has been attacked by sharks, my mom was bombed by a B52 warplane. I was in an avalanche, we were run over by a garbage truck,

Breyan knocking on people’s doors, “please can I have a cigarette for my mommy, she’s being crazy.

Catie: (on noticing a woman driving with a man in the passenger seat of a camero.) Daddy why is that woman driving that man’s car?

Catie: After watching a 1940’s musical with cancan the next day informed her grandfather. “I’m going to be a table dancer when I grow up.”

Breyan snuck out of the house to the backyard after his bath when he was two;
Little girl next door knocks on the door.
Jenny: “Can you please stop Breyan from bothering us girls,
Me: Oh, I’m sorry honey, I’ll bring him in. He just wants your attention,
Jenny: He’s got all the little girls attention, he’s naked.

Breyan's friend. "Your house is so much fun!"
Breyan:  Yep I guess so~If you can afford the therapy.

Caitlin once asked a city bus driver to write her a note that the bus broke down to explain why she was five minutes late for curfew.
He did.

I think my kids are trying to kill me.

_{*a excerpt from a letter to Jim from 1997}

I think my kids are trying to kill me.  I swear, there must be a plot.  They are punishing me for sneaking away to write you a letter when they both feel they should have my undivided 100% attention.  Both kids are home today from school.  They’ve come down with a nasty flu.  They’ve been home for three days.  They are throwing up, have fevers but being my kids that doesn’t mean they are lying groaning in their beds. They aren’t exhausted, I am.

You are just going to have to excuse the spelling and grammar in this letter.  I’ve had a total of six hours sleep in the last three days.  

Is it child abuse to want to offer Charles Manson the chance to babysit just so I can have five minutes in the shower?

Why is it the only thing siblings will happily share with each other are cold bugs and lice?  They didn’t get sick at the same time of course.  First Breyan got it and then he shared with his sister.  You can’t blame me for wondering if they have an “illness” baton and they are playing relay.

  Breyan woke me up a couple of nights ago with, “Mummy, I puked in my bed.  Can I have some more grape juice?” Caitlin came down with it yesterday.

The Mountain Man is useless when the kids get sick.  I’m not saying he doesn’t help I’m just saying I can’t ask him to clean anything up because he sees one kid barf and next thing I know---he’s on his knees right beside them. And Goddess Forbid they should bleed!!!  How is it a man that can hunt Bambi’s, try to pry the door off a burning truck with his bare hands to save someone in an accident and can bench press 375lbs will turn into a statue of a deer in the headlights when he sees a drop of the kids blood?  He’s tried to explain that it’s because it’s our blood but I just don’t get it.

So I’ve now got two kids parked in the living room in front of the Nintendo whatever and I’ve stolen away to the dining room for a cup of tea where I can hear them if they need me.  So why do I think they are trying to kill me?  Because these are some of the comments coming out of the living room;

Caitlin:  Bet you I can puke farther than you can.

Breyan:  No you can’t, put the bucket back there and I’ll prove it.

Caitlin:  You’re cheating.

Breyan:  I’m not, I’m just better than you.  Ow!!! What was that for?

Caitlin:  Now you’ll have to play with one hand.  That should even the odds.

Caitlin:  Why do I have a little bird and you have a big one?

Breyan:  (sigh) First of all Caitlin, they are not little birds.  They are Chocobo’s.  They grow through the game.

Caitlin:  They look like baby chickens.

Breyan:  No, baby chickens are fuzzy little yellow birds that grow up to be chicken nuggets.

Caitlin:  If you don’t stop cheating I’m gonna make sure you never hear from that girl you like again!

Breyan:  (sarcastically) You can’t stop my friends from talking to me Caitlin. 

Caitlin:  Yes I can!  When they call, I’ll just tell them you’re dead.

Breyan:  What colour’s your snot?

Man, my kids are weird!!  If I survive this I promise to write more.  As it is I may just need it for proof of sanity when the men with the little white jackets show up.

Kimberley

The Danger of Dating My Daughter

*from a letter to Katie January 2007

[You need to know that we live in a split level house.  When you come in the front door, you go up six steps to the dining room/kitchen, another six steps to the living room, six more to our bedroom and another six to the kids room and bathroom.  This also explains how I keep my weight down,]

Now even I have to admit that Hubby is a tad overprotective of his daughter.  I’m the one that has to argue with him every time we go to a weapons store that he cannot buy his daughter a tazer.

He’s scared so many boys off that there is one I only know from the MySpace pictures. 

You have to give Keagan props for braving the gauntlet he ran to have his [now, five year relationship] with the Mountain Man’s daughter.  He’s been patient, brave and I am thankful she has someone like him. He has no problem when Hubby orders them to leave the door open.  He makes sure she calls when they are going to be late and he never had a problem when early in their relationship he was threatened life and limb with a selection of weapons if he hurt our daughter.

Since Hubby feels more comfortable with Keagan sleeping over in the house when he knows that Keagan will have to get past our room and we have really squeaky floors; some mornings we will find Keagan asleep on our uncomfortable couch.

I’m sure Caitlin tried to prepare Keagan for life in our nuthouse but I don’t think anything could have prepared him for last night.

So it starts with the fact that Mountain Man made chili for dinner.  Being a courteous hubby he leaves the room to drop a gas bomb.  He also sleeps in the buff.

You see where this is going?

Middle of the night and Hubby jumps out of bed, hops outside, aims away from the bedroom door and lets it rip.

He was almost back to bed when we hear from the living room, “Oh My God!!  What the hell is that?”

Did you know men can blush with their whole bodies? 

The Crazy Mother's Club

I have a friend who has chosen to be childless, or in her words, “I just don’t see any reason to spawn.” This is a valid lifestyle choice.  I’m happy because she’s always been there at a moment’s notice when I call her to babysit, watch one child while I take the other to the hospital or just to listen to me rant so I don’t end up in tomorrow’s headlines.  Her mother on the other hand, does not feel this way.

Every time my friend has to go to visit her mother, she and her husband make a bet on how many times her mother will mention the word “baby.”  Extra points are awarded if her mom pulls out pictures of her cousin’s, friends, brothers or sisters babies and sighs that she will never have grandchildren.  If my friend’s mum mentions the word, ‘baby’ over 25 times, hubby has to do the dishes; if it’s under, my friend has to do them.  It’s just one way she copes with the stress of having a crazy mother.

 She is a card carrying member of the Crazy Mother’s Club.  To be a member of the Crazy Mother’s club you have to be the daughter of a crazy mother.  The level of serious of the crazy doesn’t matter, there are crazy mothers out there who are not alcoholics, drug addicts, depressives etc… but if you are a daughter of a seriously crazy mother, we are the women you want to talk to. 

All our members sympathize and fully understand that as a daughter, you can love, respect and care for your mum while you duck her phone calls, find you need a drink after you talk to her or turn off the light and hide behind the couch when she shows up on your doorstep.

The point of the Crazy Mother’s Club is just to have someone to talk to who says, “Poor Baby,” and runs for the vodka when you sigh, “I’ve just talked to my mother.”  It’s the code word for, “Would you consider breaking my legs and putting me in hospital?” when you tell them you have to go home for the holidays. 

You have to be over 18 to be in the Crazy Mother’s club because every teen girl has moments when she thinks her mother is a Nutjob!~  But unfortunately, some of them are right.
Society puts the idea of motherhood on a pedestal.  We are bombarded with images of Madonna’s, Earth Mothers, and June Cleaver’s in every aspect of our lives.  A mother is; in the everyday world, considered an angel of nurturing, love support and caring.  She is your best friend and is a font of patience, empathy, love and support.

In reality, a mother is a person who passed the practical. 

So we end up with people who are considered mother’s that I wouldn’t trust to babysit my goldfish.

The average member of the Crazy Mother’s club though, just has a mother that gets on their nerves so bad that they go into a sweat when they have to call her on Mother’s Day.

My kids, of course were issued their cards at birth.  I know that they consider me a crazy mother and I secretly fear they are right!  Every mother does.  If you find you think to yourself, “I’m the perfect mother!” Run; do not walk to a therapist!  Do not pass go, do not collect $200.00.

The pedestal is just too high and wobbly for anyone to stay on it.  It’s an ideal, not a place in this dimension.  The only person I’ve ever even heard of who met that ideal was Mother Teresa and she didn’t have children.

When your kids are growing up being a crazy mother can definitely be an important weapon in your guerilla urban mom-fare kit.

  I remember my four foot Gramma, getting up on a chair, grabbing my 6’ 4” cousin’s ear and telling him that if he spoke back to her again in that tone of voice, she was gonna’ jump!

I know men and women over the age of forty who still flinch at a flash of wooden spoon, or if they are Italian, the slipper! 

Caitlin once begged a teacher, not to tell she didn’t do her homework, “because my Mom will ‘chat’ at me.”

Being a crazy mother instills a sense of awe in your children so that when they are twelve and the threat of turning them over your knee is laughable, they will still respect you. 

Sometimes you just have to be a “Crazy Mother” to keep discipline. 
Unfortunately there are some mothers who take it too far.  I haven’t even spoken to my mother outside of family occasions for about ten years.  Not because she hurt me, I can take a lot, but because she hurt my kids.
I admit I’m over protective of my kids.  I even had a police officer advise me that I didn’t have to be so overprotective; I just had to get my son some steel toed boots.  (But that’s another story.) 

However, if I think someone is going to hurt someone I love, I can’t help it, my eyes turn stoplight green and my claws start growing.  Yet this was an asset to my kids growing up because some school bullies were terrified that if they messed with my son or daughter, they were going to have to deal with me!

I’ve discovered that the average “crazy mother” is someone who can’t convince herself that her children are grown ups and doesn’t realize that her children have discovered she’s human.

As children grow up the relationship to their parents change.  It’s only natural.  There has to come a point when the power percentage shifts as sons and daughters recognize that their parent is a “person in their own right.”  You will either become friends on an adult level or you will sign up for Crazy Mother’s Club cards.

And it’s hard on both sides to reach this point.  As an outsider who grew up without her biological mother in her life I can stand back and see this.
For sons or daughters letting go of that Madonna-like image is terrifying, it’s letting go of a safety net.  Mum stops being omnipotent and you have to start weighing her advice and ideas and making your own judgments and decisions, consequences and all.

For mothers, well they’ve spent 20 odd years having an appendage that walks, talks and cries all on its own and you just feel naked going outside the house without a child attached.  It leaves you with a sense of something lost or forgotten, like leaving the iron on.

You just pray that when the time comes you can recognize that your children can or must take the consequences of their decisions.  You do your best to raise them to be strong, responsible adults.  You hope that in the end you not only have a daughter or son---you have a friend.

If your mother hasn't discovered this yet, if you are one of those daughters that got call display just to see if it was your mum calling, come on down and sign on up!

The Mountain Man's Labour

Dear Gramma;

Sarah is having Braxton Hicks today.  I called her and I agree with her it probably is, she's had this problem in her other pregnancy's and she pinched the nerve in her back yesterday.  Even if it is, she's only four weeks early which today is almost routine.

Everyone on Facebook is telling her to get checked out anyway.  I was concerned enough when I saw it that I wrote, "Get Your Butt to the Doctors or I'm gonna ask Dad to go over and check you himself!!!"

Then I called her and calmed down.

Then I thought of the ultra panicked look on the Mountain Man's face if I really did ask him?!!!!  OMG I'm laughing so hard I feel like I'm going into labour!!!!  hee hee hee

I told her she could relieve the pain in her back by lying down on the floor and puttting her feet on the coffee table.   Remember when I had to do throughout my pregnancy because Breyan kept sitting on the nerve in my back? 

Remember the Sarcasm King, the one man I know whom Nothing makes him panic?  He used my belly as his coffee table!!.  I could have killed him!

Breyan got his revenge one day by kicking so hard, hot coffee went all over his uncle's lap.
What goes around comes around, snorkle!!!

I will update if there is any news.

Big Hugs

Yes Kids, Mommy is Psychic.

I don't know if I put my kids in therapy for the rest of their lives or just awed them but when my kids were little and when they were teens, they thought I was psychic!

What I was, was a mom who got to know her neighbours, her kids teachers, the other mothers at the school, her community and especially each and everyone of my kids friends and their families.  I had a spy network that made the Kremlin look like amateurs.

Hubby and I made sure that everyone knew that these were our kids and if they saw anything they thought we should know about, we would be happy to take it as constructive criticism and we would never tell my kids who told us.

It helps that the Mountain Man is a shameless, harmless flirt and always takes the time at the local stores to notice if the cashier has a new haircut.

So one day, Breyan decides he's going to take the new skateboard and ride down the middle of the street with no pads or helmets.  By the time he got home, I had received three phone calls.  One from my pharmacist who had been leaving his store when he saw him.

Breyan walked into the house with his skateboard under his arm and his helmet and pads on, (sneaky kid.)

I advised him he was grounded off the skateboard for two weeks.

After the normal, "What do you mean.  I didn't do nothing," argument he finally asked me. 

"How do you know these things???"

I answered, "I'm psychic."

When you think about it, it's a brilliant strategy.  One I'm sure my son will use with his kids. 

There are few options for disciplining kids these days and it's even harder now than when my kids were little.  Now I don't go for the willow switch type thing but ask ten women if there kids has ever said, "I'm gonna call the police for abuse."  Most of them will say yes.

It's harder for me and Mountain Man because while he is Catholic, I'm not and we can't use the God is watching you! threat.

And don't give me these parental magazine ideas of "positive reinforcement."  I've read those articles, (my favourite was the one that says you should explain to your six year old that your family is like a corporation and that Mummy and Daddy are the CEO's. To a six year old?)

For those things to work you have to have a child who is smart, pliable, respectful etc..or on drugs.

Yes positive reinforcement has it's place but after they are twelve, forget it. 

Italian mother guilt, now that works forever.

Breyan's 18th Birthday

BREYAN'S 18TH BIRTHDAY

*  originally written in September, 2005

     On Friday, Breyan reached the adult status age of 18.  When he was a little boy, I had imagined the day to be a milestone in his life.  We would have friends and family over for a potluck dinner, wine would flow and Breyan, uncomfortable in his tailored suit would shyly blow out the candles of the huge cake I would make him.

     We would tell stories of how when he was two, he ran outside naked and the little girls of the neighbourhood brought him back and politely asked us to make, "Breyan stop bothering them."  He would blush as the Mountain Man recounted the time when Breyan played busdriver with the neighbours van, hit the emergency brake and landed up backing the van out of the driveway, into the street.

      As he grew, I knew this idea of a family gathering was a dream.  I grew into accepting the idea that if I was lucky, I could grab him for a family dinner with just me, his dad and his sister and have a box-mix cake as he was on his way out the door to meet his friends. 

      Over the last few months, I resigned myself to answering the door at 3 am as his friends poured him through the door explaining that, "they had just one or two but Breyan wasn't used to drinking and felt a little sick."  Ya right!  I would look stern, send all his friends on their way, put Breyan to bed and the next morning at six am I would start vaccuuming right beside his bed.

     Didn't happen.

     What did happen was:  I made the cake for Thursday night, we had a nice lasagna dinner and Breyan went off on Friday night with two friends for a "surprise" birthday party his friend Andrew cobbled up for him.  I expected this because Andrew called me Tuesday to make sure it was okay and to ask me to help him get Breyan to his house.  (Breyan had informed me about the party on Monday.)  I had thought the drinking age was still 18 in Quebec but it turns out it's 19 and they have the same closing as Ontario so there went one of Breyan's goals.

    I had forgotten an important point.  A few years ago at his cousin Sammy's Italian wedding, Breyan got right snockered on Italian wine.  It gave him a three day migraine and cured him of the teenage idea that getting drunk is "fun."  His friends had told me that Breyan rarely drank at parties but I took that with a grain of salt.  Another experience with drinking was a party he went to at the beginning of the summer when someone spiked his drink, (or so he says) and he ended up throwing up for six hours and having to go back to the house where the party was the next day and clean his friends bed.  (Yes, I volunteered him to do it but it was only fair.  We then had the bed professionally cleaned but we didn't tell Breyan.)  The girls parents had wanted her to "live with her mistake," but I just think that's unsanitary.

     I did not expect that Breyan would come home at 1 am on Friday with eleven kids in tow.  I did not expect him to come home with 14 sets of keys in his pocket that we are still finding owners for. When he first came in the door, I thought he had the three kids we had agreed could sleep over with him and was ready to greet them with a smile but kids just kept coming up the stairs like those red soldier ants in the movie, Scorpion King.  The quality of these kids convinced me I might rather face the fire ants.

     He explained to me that some were homeless, some had missed rides to Gatineau or Bells Corners, some could be sent home right away and all of them had been prepared to sleep in park if they couldn't come here.  Obviously we couldn't send them back out into the night but I was not pleased and Mountain Man, well it was just bad.  I was not prepared for this and I was not prepared for the STINK!!!!!!

    To be honest, only one seemed to have been drinking and since I'm a reformed teen partyer I can usually tell signs of stoners or drunks in a shot.  There was a little punk girl that I would have bet money was on E or some other drug but she was one of the parent pick-ups so I will let them deal with it.  Breyan had not been drinking.  In fact, Breyan had collected keys from drunks by asking for them as a gift for his birthday.  He also turned to me at one point, hung his head and said, "I'm too sober for this.  Do we have Tylenol?  They are giving me a wicked headache."  

     Four of the kids were homeless.  I had gotten my hands on Sheldon, 16, a homeless native boy last week so his stink was only a weeks worth.  He still left a ton of dirt on the shower floor but it wasn't overwhelming.  Mohawk boy, however had not had a proper bath in forever and He left the tub black!!!  He stank so much I was stomping down my tummy with both feet so the first order I gave was to get him in the shower.  The other two weren't too bad but I lined them up outside the bathroom door with towels, soap and toothbrushes and told them to keep the soap and toothbrush.  (and in the case of the Spanish girl, feminine products.)

We desperately need another bathroom.

 Last week I had depleted my supply of hotel soaps and sample packets with Sheldon but luckily Hubby's parents are world travellers and constantly resupply me.  I made sure every kid had at least a bar of soap and some deodorant while Breyan did a cold wash with pretty well everything these kids owned in one load.

     While I was doing this, I ordered Breyan to get the kids to call parents for rides or just to let them know their kids were safe and where they were.  It's what I would want another parent to do if it was my kids.  Two parents volunteered to pick up their kids immediately, most weren't home and some didn't have parents.  We scraped together enough money for a cab for two of them since their parents did not own a car.  This left us with eleven kids. 

  

     The Mountain Man, while trying to be calm, couldn't take the smell dived into our bedroom and refused to come out.  I left him madly Febreeze'ing the bed and mumbling about doom and gloom, groundings till his kids were 35, house insurance and plans to introduce his son to Inquisition style torture the next day.      

     Now, I must note here that I am not in the best of health right now.  I've been suffering some pretty bad side effects of a medication that leaves me chewing Immodium and running to the bathroom every two minutes, physically very weak but on the bright side, has let me lose over 40 pounds in two months which in my book wasn't a bad thing.  A stinky thing yes, but not bad.  I'm going through the medical gauntlet right now but there are no answers as of yet so I muddle through as much as I can and considering that I'm the most spoiled wife on the planet, it's not as devastating as everyone assumes.  I've been through worse.

    I also tore a shoulder muscle a few years ago and am in constant pain with some really bad days.  Friday was one of them.  Caitlin had been sleeping over at a friends that night, (they have cable).  Before Breyan had boiled through the door, I was enjoying a quiet night with the Mountain Man, watching Russell Crowe in Gladiator and had managed to relax to the point that I wouldn't jump when the phone rang.

    I had hubby gather up all the sleeping bags, blankets and sheets we keep in the bedroom closet, he hopped out, threw them into Breyans hands and told him to start making beds in the living room.  Of course that wasn't enough space so we branched out to the sewing room and Caitlin's bedroom.  Breyan had two sleeping in his room, four on the living room floor, one on the couch, two in Caitlin's room and I'm not quite sure where the rest ended up but some didn't go to bed.

    Then they hit the kitchen.  Locusts have nothing on regular teenagers, homeless teenagers are even worse, they make locusts seem positively anorexic.  Before I could properly get out water, juice, snacks and so on, they had cleaned us out of bread, chips, pretzels, lunch snacks, a cold chicken, peanut butter and jam and I even caught one girl prepared to make a cake!!!!!!

     Now we are not so poor that we can't afford some tea and coffee and snacks for visitors but this was ridiculous and I hadn't done the groceries yet so we were low on food to start.  I herded them out of the kitchen, put on coffee and tea and set out the snacks.  Every time I turned my back there was another kid in the kitchen going through the kitchen cupboards.  I will never complain about earwigs again.  I've finally met their match.  At one point I considered telling them to just go ahead and have an earwig fry up, "They are a great source of protein, like the grasshoppers in Africa."  

      It took until five am to get all the kids sorted enough to leave them and I still had misgivings but I told Breyan, he was not only in charge, he was accountable for each and everyone of them and he would be cleaning up after them.  Then I went to bed.

     The next morning I woke to the Mountain Man slamming dresser drawers, still mumbling and bringing me coffee.  (You have to love a man who brings you coffee or tea every morning in bed no matter what else he has planned.  I'd remarry him all over again just for that.)  He was very upset and I don't blame him. 

     There were no eggs, no bread, no cereal, no milk, juice or water in the cooler.  There were bodies all over the house, stinky bodies and "OH MY GOSH!"  HE HAD MISSED HIS FISHING SHOW!!!!!  He hadn't wanted to wake up the kids until I was up so he missed his Saturday morning fishing show.  To my mountain man, this was like missing church!  He was very unhappy.  

     You have to understand.  My guy is a clean cut, all Canadian, security type.  Faced with girls with Mohawks, boys with so many body peircings that you have to wonder how boring their life really is and one girl that I very politely made put on a sweater so she wouldn't catch cold in her teeny-tiny little top, he just couldn't cope.  This is a man who thinks Hippie is someone who grows their hair long!  Fifty years ago he would have a crew cut, horn-rimmed glasses and a cardigan.  He still likes to wear his hair in a flat-top!.  Faced with todays version of hippies, he was at a loss. I let him go play at working on the car to get him out of the house.  My car is now totally spotless.  He cleaned inside and out and even my trunk is organized and vaccuumed.  Greg, our car friend would be very impressed.  

      I, on the other hand, had no compunction about waking them up.  Or Breyan for that matter.  I put on the coffee and tea, got the Mountain Man to put a new bottle of water out, sent him to the corner for milk and started making Cream of Wheat for breakfast.  I put a brush and comb on the table, grabbed the mint plant from the balcony while instructing them that "chewing mint leaves will settle your stomach," pointed the kids to the soap and towels, ordered the little one, Dave to the toast and told Breyan to get the phone book.

     I gave him the list for shelters, bus schedules, Operation Go Home, (Sheldon had specific orders to call them.)  Do you know OGH is a nine-to-five, Monday to Friday operation?  Somebody needs to give them enough money to start a 24 hr hotline!

      Breakfast, well to the Mountain Man's eternal horror, I make Cream of Wheat with milk.  I always have and I love it that way.  It adds calcium and Vitamin D for kids that don't drink milk and Cream of wheat is a great source of iron.  (Sounds like a commercial I know but I really love the stuff for kids.)   For special days, I put vanilla in it.  Topped with brown sugar I figured this would be a treat for the homeless kids and make sure the rest had something solid in their tummies for the day.  (That comes from my Grandpa Smith who was a firm believer in a good breakfast.)  

     So I made a huge potfull and what happens?  Two of the homeless kids are lactose intolerant.  When Mohawk boy snottily informed me of this condition, I almost kicked him.  I'm sorry but if you are homeless and starving and a guest in my house, you do not dictate the menu.  I don't mind arranging other food for allergies and conditions but you do not act like I was trying to poison you.  So I told him that.

     Then I made rice.  Rice is good.  Nobody is allergic to rice.  Personally I'm not a fan of it, always looks like bugs to me but hey, whole nations have been built on a rice diet-----Live with it.

  

     During all this, I listened to the kids stories.  There is something about me that makes people want to tell me their life stories and I always have time to listen to teens.  I was pretty impressed with a few of the kids.  One of them was 17, had been living on his own since 15, went to school and worked full-time.  His mom is a recovering alcoholic, dry for two years but he couldn't live with her and didn't know who his dad was.  I call him the tall-boy because he looked like a beer can, one of the quart ones, not a pint.

     Earring through the nose boy, had lived on the streets since he was twelve but had got it together when he turned 18 and now lived with his buddies and was returning to school.  I sent him to Jane at the Adult High School and hopefully he will make it.

     Spanish girl, I'm not sure if I liked but something Bad has happened to that girl.  She has this incredible pain in her voice and manner that I didn't have the time or energy to get into but I pray she makes it because she has an innocence about her that moves you.

   The rest were a mix of bland, everday or users.  Mohawk Boy downright scared me.  Now don't get me wrong, having a Mohawk doesn't make me afraid.  His eyes did.  I don't know what it is but it had a reptilian quality that put up my guard and made me hide the valuables. 

    Mohawks on white boys are not something I understand.  With one exception from my teen years, they look stupid.  I think they look marvelous on native boys.  The actor from "Indian in the Cupboard," was much sexier with his than with a full head of hair.  I have only met one white boy who looked good in a Mohawk but considering that I was a head-over-heels teen, I probably would have thought he'd look good in a clown suit.  Yet, I look back at school photos and still agree it suited him. 

    

     As soon as they were finished eating, I ordered them out the door.  Breyan, I told to stay as he was going to be doing dishes, deodorizing the couch, doing laundry and such for the rest of the day.  We don't have a dishwasher and don't have room for one so I have teens.  Breyan managed to get most out of the door and finally we were left with two kids.  Sheldon and Dave. 

     I like Dave.  Dave has parents.  Dave is a little computer geek, 5' 4" who used to be a wrestler till he slipped a disc.  He reminds me of my friend Jim S.  He's solid, polite, helpful and just all around a good kid with a cynical yet healthy outlook.  Dave fixed my computer.  Dave taught me to blog. 

     Dave did dishes.  Dave made toast.  Dave helped me to get cake girl out of the kitchen the night before and sat on her all night so she wouldn't raid the kitchen again.

     He helped Breyan get Sheldon to call OPG and then in a blink of an eye Breyan, Sheldon and him were out the door.  I could have screamed.

    Breyan had left all the cleanup behind.  Hubby and I had to scrub the bathroom, disinfect the couch and do the laundry.  We thought about leaving it for Breyan when he got home but I couldn't do it and neither could MM.  The smell was just overwhelming.  

    As we were cleaning, we discovered Breyan's birthday present from his friends that he had tried to show me the night before.  An electric guitar and amplifier!!!!!!!  Lord have mercy.  I was having enough problems with a teen daugher who sang and had her very own karaoke machine, the idea of a son with an electric guitar sent waves of forboding and pure panic right through me.

 I thought about disconnecting a few wires or accidently losing the cords for the amp but I couldn't do it.  Mountain Man could have!  Yet, as an urban mom, I understand that every teen boy needs his guitar phase. You can join me in my frantic prayers that he learns something other than "Stairway to Heaven."   

    The little chicken called on Saturday to leave a message that he was at Dave's for the night.  Instead of ordering him home then and there, I decided to give my temper a chance to cool down and told him I wanted him home the next day and we were going to have a "talk."  (Caitlin once begged a teacher at school not to tell on her that she wasn't doing her homework because, "My parents will talk at me!)

     When he got home yesterday, I presented him with a list of chores he would be doing, including scrubbing stains out of carpet, made it clear that he would be doing the dishes for the entire week, he was no longer allowed to have friends over without full clearance and he would be making up for this for quite a while.  I made him sit down and read a letter from his Granpa L. about responsibility and adulthood and quizzed him to make sure he didn't blow it off.  He was repentant and sorry for his actions but that didn't fool me for a minute.  It's so frustrating.

   Then his long distance girlfriend, Jessica got ahold of him.  Today, Breyan came home from school with a full course load, he had switched to university level sciences and maths, which he should have been in all along and informed me that Jessica had told him that "Unless [he] proved to her that he was willing toward working to a good future for them both, she was getting out of the relationship."  Man!  I just love that girl!!!!!!!!

   So it is now Monday, I have to make dinner and I have spent the day doing this while you have spent your afternoon reading it.  For an 18th birthday I guess from the horror stories I've heard and the recollections of my own and my friends party days we got off light but I still need recovery time. 

   We are letting Caitlin have free rein to give him a piece of her mind about the pretzels she found in her bed Saturday.  So I expect some hollering later and I'm not refereeing.  

Talk to you all soon,

Kimberley

PS:  Being my kid, Breyan's first song to learn is not the dreaded, "Stairway to Heaven."  It's the "Pink Panther" theme.  Industrial earplugs people------a necessary part of every teen parent's survival kit.   

The Nuclear Family has Exploded? Why didn't I hear the bang?

I was not that young when I had my first child.  I was twenty-two.  That may seem young today but I grew up in a generation where our mothers were married right after high school and a few right out of college.  I grew up in the 1960's in Canada. 

The world really was a different place.  In my generation, my family had a horrible secret!  It wasn't a dirty secret but there was always the whispering behind the hands from the mothers at the school, the teachers would be extra nice to me and my sister and I could probably have used our family situation as a defence in court. 

You see, I came from a "broken home."  That's what they called it in those days.  My parents were divorced.  They divorced when I was two years old. 

(There really is a sordid story behind all this but the Mothers, teachers and friends didn't know it because wife abuse was NEVER spoken of!)

It was just so shocking to the average mother of those times that there was a child in their child's class  that had divorced parents!!!! 

And it really affected me.  The teacher would always find a "special project just for me" during Mother's Day activities if we were between stepmothers or when family tree projects came around I was given special permission to either chose another project or my paper was handed back upside down.  I was quietly excused the obligatory Mother Day Assembly, etc..... 

Yes when I was growing up, not only was there the Christmas pageant, there was the Mother's Day one where we wrote poems and skits about how much we appreciated our mothers, there was the Father's Day Pancake Day.  Now my grandgirlz attend the "Holiday Assembly" and there are great savings for the schools in the white paste column of their budget since they cut down the production of Mother/Father Day's cards in today's classrooms.


Some mothers would not let me play with their kids and there were few and far between mothers who would let their kids come play at my house. 

What made it worse is that my FATHER had custody of us.  There were always two camps.  The people who sympathized with my sister and I or the ones that were convinced we were in for a life of degradation and crime~with the latter being the most popular opinion.  Whatever side you were on, my sister and I were the freaks in our class.

Well the world grew up and changed.  Divorce became the popular sport and by the time I got out of high school, it wasn't usual but it wasn't a scandal anymore.  I didn't mention it unless someone asked and I really didn't pay that much attention to the fact that the Nuclear Family was becoming a thing of the past.   Until.....


One day my seven year old daughter came home crying her eyes out.  I poked and pried and finally found out what it was that she was upset about.

"Why are you and Daddy still married???"  she wailed.  "It's just not fair!  I am just such a freak!"

Well after I got over my shock and blew her nose I got the real story. 

It was just after Christmas and the kids in the class were doing the "How I spent my holidays" report.

"Everybody in my class has two Christmas Days, two rooms, two bikes and two houses.  I only have one," she snivelled.  "My teacher told me it's because the other kids parents are divorced and their Mummy and Daddy live in seperate houses.  Some of them have two mommies and two daddies and they get lots and lots of presents."  she sniffed. 

"  [Teacher] said I was lucky 'cause I only have one Mummy and one Daddy."  she started crying again.  "All the kids were teasing me that they had two bikes and stuff."

She looked up with those teary big, blue eyes and asked again, "Why are you and Daddy still married?" 

I almost apologized to my daughter for being a normal nuclear family. 

I almost felt bad for the fact that she was so different from the rest of the kids in her class. 

Then I started roaring laughing and I thought about it and said, "You poor thing.  Your mummy and your daddy love each other and we will never be divorced.  You are just going to have to live with that.  I'm sorry if it means that you aren't going to get more stuff.  If any of the other kids tease you about this again, you just tell them that it doesn't matter what they say, you only need one mummy and daddy."

Curious I went to talk to the teacher the next day and I asked her, "Is there really that many children of divorced parents in your class?" 

She told me about 50% of the class were from divorced or single parent homes.

I was remembering this  and I was remembering that we used to have this saying,  "Of course it's quiet, it's the Father's weekend."   This was when the neighbourhood would get really quiet and you had to call the other parents if you wanted to plan something for the weekend like a birthday party. 

I wondered what it was like now, so I went and asked my daughter in law how many kids in my granddaughters class are from divorced or single parent homes.  

"I don't know the exact number Mum but about 75% I'd guess. "

75 percent??!  Even accounting for the fact that my granddaughters school is in the middle of the low-income housing district and we live in the city, I didn't think that number could be correct.  But it is!!!

This was news to me.

So if I was in school today, I would be the norm? 

I always knew I was ahead of my time!

How can I feel sexy with peanut butter down my bra?

Warning, this post walks a thin line between PG and R.


I don't know if you guys know this but this blog is made up of letters to my friends and Gramma. I found one from when the kids were little and with a little updating, nothing has actually changed.  My daughter in law who is expecting in February will understand this one.


May 1994

I have always believed that if you feel sexy, other people will see you as sexy.  I've seen 6' 2" women who weigh in close to a small rhinos be considered sexy because they feel they are, they know they are and they will let you know it too girlfriend!

If you really look at the sex symbols of history you will notice that some of them can in no way be described as a traditional beauty but they were the greatest sex symbols of their time.  They didn't have to wear camel toe jeans or low cut tops.  They didn't wear nine pounds of make up.  They had class!  Name a few? Mae West, Ethel Merman, Lily Langtry. These women could be called pretty, handsome or nice looking today but they were the Hot Mama's in their own time!  What made them sex symbols is that they had no shame, they made an effort, they had class, had a sense of humour about how they looked but most of all, Because they made you believe it!!!!


I will complain about it but I have to admit it's a boost to my self esteem that even after three kids, my hubby still tells me I make his motor run.  It's annoying sometimes and I often want to lend him out to my single friends so I can get some sleep but really, when I look around at the other mothers I see the challenges we have to face. It's a thin line between sexy and trashy.  The mother wearing the mini-skirt, five inch heels and shirt cut down to her navel is not sexy. 

(You are still not allowed not allowed to snub her or whisper with the other mothers about her because if you are going to that, then you are a Bi--h.  If you haven't been in her bedroom while she's doing the football team, you have no right to call her anything.  If it bugs you that much, make friends and then offer a makeover.  I've gotten my best babysitters this way.)

 I don't see very many women at the playground that would be considered "Foxes."  Most of the moms are usually wearing sweats, running shoes, they have no make up on and they couldn't attract flies. 

Then I see the mothers that you would consider "sexy."   Not the kind that men consider sexy because they show skin, the classy sexy ones. They are wearing skirts, have perfect makeup, hair and nails and men are turning heads, opening doors and whistling.  These are the women that are considered sexy. 

Don't they know that Mother Nature herself is standing behind them, just waiting to pull down their butts and boobs and counting the ticks on the biological clock wrinkle bomb? Why do they seem know that the guy who just whistled is whistling at them? 

Yeah they know all that stuff.  They just don't care. That  is part of their secret of being "sexy?" 

They have the same amount of kids as I have and at the same age yet they look ten years younger and I wish I could say, "Because they have an au pair" but I look in the mirror and wail, "It's because I've given up."  I just don't have time to fiddle around with nail polish and hairspray.  I can't keep my clothes free of kid sticky, or baby barf.

How can I possibly feel sexy when there is peanut butter down my bra?


Once you become a mother, time inevitably takes it's toll and admit it, we get lazy.  We figure we are moms and we don't need to be sexy anymore. It's a lot of work. 

My friend told me about a guy who had a sex change.  She met him/her a few months after at the grocery store, wearing sweats, no make up, hair in a bun.  He sighed and told her, "Looking good is so much work!"

 I have nightmares that I will end up being one of those woman who wear hair curlers to the store. 


It all starts in pregnancy.  How can a woman even imagine she looks Farrah Fawcett [or in today's world Megan Fox] in the first trimester when you've been throwing up all afternoon, * your hair is tied back with a rubber band to keep it out of the way when you puke and you may still be riding high on the news but in the back of your mind you're like, "Oh my God I'm going to be huge!" 

Putting on makeup is just too much of a challenge in the morning and yes your skin has either decided to be the best it's ever been or, more commonly, you get acne all over again.


Then you get to the second trimester, where--- if this is your first child--- nothing is showing but you can't wait to wear those maternity clothes and if it's the end of your pregnancy or your second or third~ you can't wait to burn them. 

 Who came up with one piece jumpers as maternity wear?  The label should say Marquis de Sade.  Didn't this designer realize pregnant women have to pee three times an hour?  At one point, you finish going pee and by the time you get to the bathroom door you have to go again!  Worse, the baby starts kicking and for the first few weeks it's a miracle of Nature; after that it's "I think I'm harbouring the next Judo Kickboxing Champ."  You are so tired that, while you won't admit it to anyone, you privately think of the baby as "The Leech."


Oh and here's the sexy part, you're butt is now growing at the same rate as your belly, you get rashes under your arms and between your cheeks and if you are as stupid as I was you will be dying from heat rashes ~that you can't take any medication for because who's stupid idea was it to have a baby in September?  That's it honey, from now on, no sex in January!!


You trade in your "four inch heels" for "four inch wide" shoes to accommodate the swelling.


When people describe you as a "Madonna" they are not talking about the one on MTV, see that big 'ol statue at the front of the church?  They had to make that out of marble!    Men who admit that a six month pregnant woman turns them on are considered pervs.  And baby....there ain't nothing sexy about hemorrhoids.


The last trimester, that is one that really puts you over the edge.  If someone offered to make you a thong bikini at that point?  You would strangle them with it.  "Sex???  That's what got me into this mess in the first place.  I feel like an elephant, I think your son/daughter to be has just kicked a rib out and if you even think of touching me I swear I will tear your manhood off buddy. " were common rants in my pregnancy's.


You can keep yourself up when  your pregnant but it's hard to shave your legs when you haven't seen them in six months.


A few weeks before the birth, during the "gain a pound a week" phase, there is no more wiggling, there is only the waddling.

  There are thousands of written words about how you feel during the birth but 'horny' has never been included in any of them that I've read.


After the birth.  See this is when they really crank up the propaganda machine to young mothers.  First of all; the girls think "once the baby comes out at least my stomach will be a little smaller right away." Gotcha!  It doesn't, you still have the swelling, the lumps and it takes time for the muscle and skin to recover and each baby takes longer and longer until the belly skin just gives up and lies there like a deflated balloon.  Yes Virginia, you will have to wear your maternity clothes home from the hospital.


New mothers marvel, "Man my boobs are HUGE.  Hubby's will sit enviously watching the child breastfeed.  Then those sexy sisters start leaking on you and you have to wear loose shirts to cover the breastpad outlines and leak marks.  After breastfeeding for two days you will have callus's on your nipples, after six months you will have teeth marks.  Oh did I forget to tell you about the acne that erupts all over your chest? 


Oh and don't just think you're nipples will be the only extra leaking going on.  Post-natal menstrual bleeding can last up to six weeks.  This is just Mother Natures way of making you pay up for the nine months you didn't have to buy tampons.


Wow isn't that sexy?  I also think this is Mother Nature's way of making you think before you have another one.

No matter what, at this point you may not be considered a sexy woman but put that newborn little baby in your arms and you really won't give a damn how you look. 

So back to sexy.  You are now a new mother with a two or three month old baby.  You don't have time to be sexy.  You don't have time to sleep.  You have bags under your eyes that are bigger than your old purse.  (Not bigger than your new purse which is a diaper bag but close.)  Get rid of them by cutting up extra cucumber when you make your toddlers snack or cold teabags or --if you really want them gone-- Preperation H.  You will have a tube honey.  I've always wondered why they don't put it in the Welcome Wagon baby basket.

You can't put on your makeup because you are so tired, you can't draw a straight line and how can you be sexy when you have baby puke dripping down your back?  You won't have to turn down hubby for sex because even if you two do manage to run off to a small B & B for a romantic weekend while the Gramma's are looking after the baby, you still will have to haul out the breast pump every three hours and in all reality, five minutes after you check in you will both be asleep.

This is where the crux is.  When you're kids are toddlers.  This is where you will become the attractive, nice looking soccer mom or the Foxy Momma!  The choices you make in the here and now will define you for the rest of your life.

You don't have wear tight clothes to be sexy.  You just have to buy clothes that show off the best of your features.  Any man will tell you that sometimes it's not what you see that gets them going, it's what they imagine they can see.  Simply choosing a skirt over jeans, choosing a nice sweater over a sweatshirt, these choices lead to "classy sexy."

  You can wear jeans --but not the type that give you camel toe for goodness sake-- when you find a pair of well fitting jeans that make your butt look like it spends it's days on a stairmaster--buy six pair.

Choose colours and patterns that hide stains well and keep an extra shirt in the car along with the baby wipes, spare tire or emergency road kit.

One other thing I've noticed on the clothes front, tailored clothes make a woman look much more together and sensual than cheap or loose clothes.  You don't have to spend hundreds of dollars to do this or know how to design and sew your own clothes.  Buy the best you can afford and get it fitted by a seamstress.

Choose colours that compliment you and don't be afraid to ask any woman in a store if this shirt is a good colour for you, (not the sales associates.)  Most women cannot get out to go shopping with friends very often due to playdate conflicts but I've met many women who would be complimented by you asking their advice.  They will stop and give you an answer.  A lot of women enjoy giving advice to each other on clothes and anything else they can think of.  Try to pick someone who's style you want to emulate.

This often leads to friendships or at least you got to talk to someone over three feet tall.

(But don't stop me because you will be in for a two hour makeover.  I have a friend that is always afraid I'm going to whip out my eyelash curler and tweezers at lunch.)

Next go to the local make up counter and ask them to show you how to put on your daily make-up in seven minutes.   Once an esthetician has given you her advice, find your local Avon lady.  She will come to the house.  

You say you can't afford seven minutes in the morning and that you haven't seen your bathroom since your daughter or son discovered their reflection? 
No woman needs makeup to look sexy!!.  She just needs to have good, moisturized skin, her eyebrows should suit her, she should curl her lashes with an eyelash curler so she won't need mascara, her teeth should be white.  Choose a moisturizer with a tint or bronzer.  Use the baby petroleum on your lips, heck use the baby's lotion on you.  When you finish oiling up baby, rub the rest into your own skin.

Tanned women are considered sexy but not the leather looking ones, they look hard.  You have an opportunity every day to keep your tan; take your kids outside.  Be reasonable about it, skin cancer is never sexy but instead of sitting on the park bench and watching your kids there is a million opportunities for a workout when you take your kids outside.  You can play the, "One more time please, just five minutes" game for your cardio.  You can play, "Spin me around till I puke Mommy," game for your strength training.  You can get all the yoga you need just getting the Lego out from under the couch.

Get yourself one of those bikes with a trailer and take them an extra mile or two.  Both of you will be so happy and healthy and yes you will be tired and exhausted when you get home but the more you do, the more you can.  Sooner or later you will have earned the right to wear lycra biking shorts and you will be hauling out your "skinny time of the month" jeans and you will be smoking!

(Smoking hot I mean, not smoking cigarettes because even though I smoke, even I have to agree that there is really isn't much sexy about smelling like an ashtray, yellow teeth and extra wrinkles.)

Now this is where young mothers need to take notes.  Take time for yourself at least two hours a week!  You can do it.  Don't tell me you have no time for yourself.  If you are married then you make a deal with Hubby.  "If you put the kids to bed, take them out to the park etc...you will then have a happy, hot wife who feels sexy and may be more inclined to practice making new babies."  Most men will agree in a shot! 

(If Hubby comes back with, "What are you dressing up for?  Who are you trying to impress?  Either get him into therapy for his low self esteem or pack your bags that minute.  Men who give their women a hard time about wanting to look good have major self-esteem issues and it never ends well.  If he only asks once answer him honestly,  "Me and you.  Me so I will feel sexy and gorgeous and you because as a woman if I feel sexy, sex follows."

Here's another crux in the road.  When you feel sexy and are comfortable with your body, you won't be afraid to tell Hubby all the places he should rub, massage or vibrate to get your motor going.  You will enjoy the submarine race much more when you know your bikini line isn't at your knees.  Speak up~!  The man has seen you push something the size of a football out of a hole the size of a grape and he's still back for more!  You put the work into making it look good, reap the reward!.  A sexually satisfied woman is sexy!

If you are a single mom, you will have to break up the two hours into ten minute nightly intervals but honey you do have the time, whether you have the energy or not is another story.

You take ten minutes for a shower and shave, you take another ten to pluck your eyebrows, the next ten for conditioning or colouring your hair and spend the next hour and half just relaxing with a face mask, you do you your nails in front of the TV, you moisturize any part of your skin that you can reach.  Better yet, get hubby to moisturize the parts you can't when he comes home. 

You will have to get your selective blindness out for this.  You will not see the piles of dishes or laundry, you will not notice the five milion toys on the living room floor that need to be picked up.  You will see only the box under the bed where you keep your secret extra towels (because no one with kids can keep up with clean towels no matter how many you buy. I've bought enough towels in my lifetime to blanket Cuba and still, when I want to take a shower I find that the kids have used every towel in the house and they are all on the bedroom floors.) 

In this box under the bed you will keep the expensive shampoo, the perfume, the bath bubbles, the make up.  A locked fishing box is best because once your daughter turns twelve, kiss the make up goodbye.

There are tons of 'just got out of bed' sexy hair looks for women that don't take a lot of time or products to keep up. Find the best hairdresser you can afford and get a simple but attractive cut.  Never get a bob.  Many women are beautiful with a bob but let's face it, men like long hair.  If you really do look better with short hair then great but never get shoulder length hair.  That is the soccer mom badge.

The most important thing is for you to feel sexy at the end of it all.  For you to look in the mirror and not see the stretch marks or the saggy boobs.  In fact, never look in the mirror naked.  Put on the sexiest underwear you have, always wear at least a one inch heel (Avoid the kitten heel, go for the jazz dance shoe heel, lots of support)  or if you are a curvy girl, put on the "suck it in and up and put it where it will look good" girdle.  Tilt the mirror so you look taller in the mirror.  Like my Gramma always says, "I ain't overweight, I'm undertall."

Oh and if you are a generously curved woman, do not tell me you can't be sexy.  You've got a few things that smaller woman don't usually have.  Boobs!!  If you get a good bra with good support and nice necklines, if you use the "suck the tummy fat into the cups" slimmers then you have a weapon in your arsenal that we "fried-egg" girls pay plastic surgeons thousands of dollars for.  Believe you me, women who have a good upstanding set of girls never have men looking at their tummy rolls.  Buy empire waist tops and sweaters.  (Those are the ones with seams under the boobs.)  Do NOT buy sweaters that have elastics at the bottom.  Do not buy any top that is a-line.  You want to have as many seams and darts on the bust as you can and not too much bulk on the waist.  Wear a skirt if you can but if you must wear pants when you get to the weight where your thighs rub together; consider yoga pants instead of poly-stretchy.  Lycra is for wearing under your clothes to keep things from falling out, rubbing together or jiggling. 

Do not wear any pair of pants that have writing across the butt.  Even Shakira and Jay Lo look like hookers with 'Hot Stuff' written across their butt.  You are not a billboard. 

Speaking of perfume; due to the fact that there are people out there with major allergies, please do not load on the perfume.  Suffocating people to death is not sexy.  Choose an oil that smells like food.  I'm not kidding.  I wear this vannila body oil from the Body Shop and men have stopped me in elevators to compliment me on it and ask what it is so they can buy it for their wives.  Mind you, that's how I found out about it.  My hubby was working with a girl who wore it and came home and told me, "Hilary smelled so good today.  You should buy this perfume."

  I'm not sure why but men are really attracted to food smelling women?  My Gramma told me during the Depression the women would put a bit of vannila extract behind their ears instead of perfume.  And here I've been buying $100.00/ounce stuff when I could just go to the kitchen.  Go figure?


(Of course then I hit him for smelling other women and promptly went out and bought six bottles.  If my redneck, mountain man is noticing perfume and asking about it???? )

The best thing you can wear to be sexy~ Confidence and a smile. 

When you feel confident, you look sexy.  It doesn't matter if there is peanut butter down your bra, if you weigh in with the small elephants, if you have fried eggs for boobs, if you believe: they will.

My hubby once told me that there was this moment when I was pregnant with my daughter that he still remembers thinking, "My God I won the lottery."  We were at a wedding and I was wearing a dress that needed a slip.  I only had a strapless slip.  While the service was going I could feel it rolling down.  I had two choices, I could get red and embarrassed and grab it through my dress and run for the bathroom to pull it up or I could let it slide down to the floor and kick it under the bench.  There were a few people who couldn't get out of the pew until we moved so outwaiting everyone wasn't an option.

So that's what I did, I stood up, gave a wiggle, let it drop and kicked it under the pew.  An older man was behind me and I was really worried he was going to pick it up and offer it back like a knight with a handkercheif but he just gave me a nod with a twinkle in his eye and a charming smile.  I put my chin up, winked back and walked out of the church.  Then sent Hubby back to get it. 

Remember the picture of Princess Diana in the skirt?  You can't tell me that she didn't look sexy.  She is considered one of the classiest, sexy women of all time.  Bet you she had peanut butter down her bra a time or two!

Now that is sexy!


PS when you and hubby are enjoying that well earned submarine race, get one of those doorbells with bells like they have in old fashioned stores for your door--an the early warning of kids about to enter the room.
  
PSS  Since you take so much time and effort with how you look you can blackmail Hubby into making an effort on his part for you!


*(morning sickness is misnamed.  I was sick every afternoon at three like clockwork.)