FINALLY! The world is coming around to my side.

umbrellaWell, maybe not THE WORLD per-se, just the British. Ok, maybe not all of the U.K, but definitely this guy. (Hat tip: Parent Hacks)

I think it's pretty well documented (like here and here) that I'm not exactly a Type A person. More like a Type A-drink-preferably-with-a-little- umbrella-on-it-will-be-lovely- now-thank-you person. Nor am I a Type A mom: not the pusher, not the over-achiever, not the stressful kind. Nope, I don't do stress, it really messes up my nap schedule.

And finally, FINALLY, I have a support group. And a manifesto. And a dry-humored English guy who thinks it's not just okay to get out of bed around 10 on the weekends, but that it's to be encouraged. Well, he says it so much better than me so let me just quote him for a second here: "A lot can be achieved by lying in bed. Simply by doing nothing, you can train children to do useful things." YES! I love this guy. I would gladly come over to his house on a Saturday and cook him breakfast if, you know, he wasn't living so far away from me and it wasn't a Saturday and I could actually cook.

Seriously though, the guy might have a great sense of humor, and you should totally read this piece with the realization that he is using it liberally, but he also has some very thoughtful ideas about parenting, and some ideas that might actually make a positive difference in the way we are with our kids.

Photo Credit: Adam

Blame it on the MIL

crutches.jpg

Last time we spoke, I had a husband with a broken femur. This week, my friends, what I have is a mama's boy.

One week. One short week is all it took to undo 10 years of hard work.

Maybe I should explain in more details.

Among other things, a broken femur impairs your ability to climb stairs effectively, and that is a problem when 58 stairs stand between the ground level and the entrance to your home. What is a broken-femured person to do?

So A. went straight from the hospital to live at his parents' house for a week, until his physiotherapist thought him how to handle the stairs things so he could return home. And, oh, what a joyful homecoming it was. Odysseus coming back from his sojourning, fully armed with a pair of crutches.

His second night back home, we had the following conversation:

Me, bringing him a plate with some strawberries: "Here you go honey"

A: "Thanks." (looking down on the plate) "Hmm… Did you sprinkle sugar on top?"

Me: "No."

A: "Well, can you sprinkle sugar on top of my strawberries?"

Me: "No."

A, murmuring to himself: "My mom always sprinkles sugar on my strawberries."

And like that, 10 long years of patient labor has vanished in one week of unstoppable pampering. Any suggestions on how to reprogram husbands?

Photo credit: Anthony Easton

Videos for the masses

Well, maybe masses is not quite right, but for the few of you who still read me faithfully.

This one I love for two reasons: one, it's really truly amazing and inspiring, and two, it demonstrates how a commercial can really give you something of value, and not just annoy you. (Via Mighty Girl)

Have you all seen Michel Gondry's newest film "Be Kind, Rewind" yet? Well I did. In a movie theater no less. (No biggie, only happens once a year or so that we actually go out to watch a movie.) I loved it, and it's no surprise. I mean, dude – Jack Black. Need I say more? Ok well, Mos Def. Anyways, "Be Kind, Rewind" has sparked a slew of "sweded" videos, and this one is one the funnier ones:

And finally, it's a video of a little dude playing Hey Jude. Trust me, you need nothing more. (Via my dedicated reader Ronnie – her second appearance in two days. Respect.)

Why I Love Other Moms.

Because they get it.

Case in point #1:

Restroom conversation with a mom/co-worker

Me: So my husband had a serious femur fracture. We're looking at at least a few months of some degree of disability.

Co-Worker: God, that's horrible. So you're left with all the mornings and all the showers and everything?

Me: Yup. Exactly.

Co-Worker: Wow. Now that REALLY sucks.

Case in point #2:

Meeting a mom/friend of mine in the street this afternoon.

Me: So A. has a serious yada yada yada

Friend: OMG. That's terrible.

Me: Yeah…

Friend: So now drinks are at your place. I'll come tonight with a cold six-pack.

Me: Yeah!

Femur

femur

Have you ever noticed how raising children is not an easy task? Oh, you haven't? Well, take yourself a few minutes, pick any random post at this blog, or any other mommyblog for that matter, and you'll get the cold hard truth: raising kids is not an easy task.

In a way, this whole mommyblogging thing is rooted in reporting about the difficulties of parenthood. We don't want to read about how easy it is, or how great. Well, we do, but it's more comforting to learn that others share your own problems, that you're not the only one who is facing these challenges. I want to know that your kids are also making scenes at the supermarket. I want to know that your baby is also having rough nights. I want to be assured I'm not the only one who's 4yo won't eat nothing but pasta.

So raising children is hard. Then your husband crushes his femur and suddenly "hard" gets many new dimensions to it. [EDITED TO ADD: My devoted reader Ronnie wanted me to add, for the sake of context, that he did so by falling off his skateboard. A. is grateful to you now, Ronnie.]

Suddenly there's no one to take turns with you in doing the showers routine. Suddenly the morning drop-offs at school are all yours. Suddenly you are reminded that the kitchen does not clean itself after dinner. Suddenly there's no one to turn to when you. just. need. 5. minutes.

The whole division of powers you had going on, where you do the routines and he brings his super-human patience to crisis times is being put on hold for a few good weeks. Bad Cop/Good Cop? No can do solo. Go – ask – your – daddy – i f- you – can – whatever? Well, no. More like Please – don't – be – power – rangers -near – daddy's – leg.

You know what the bright side is though? So much writing material. Blog posting galore. I hope.

B-to-da-aby, S-to-da-itter

The stars are aligned. The prophets have prophesied good omens. The spirits of the north and of the south have given us their blessings. Or in short – tonight, for the first time ever, we're employing an out-of-family babysitter.

It took a rare combination of occurrences to finally force us into taking this quantum leap, but now, at T-minus-four-hours, it looks like this is actually going to happen. And I'm a complete nervous wreck over it.

Why, you ask? Well, I could say it is because I am worried about leaving my precious darlings with someone who isn't blood-related to them and therefore is more likely to save her own skin in case of, I dunno, Alien Invasion or something, but that wouldn't be quite right. Truth is, I'm more worried about her and what my little band of bandits might do to her…

Want to know what really stresses me out? I'm really stressed about her coming into my house and it not being up to par in terms of cleanliness and organization and snacks. I'm sitting at work, and all I can think about is – are the toilets clean enough? Do I need to change the sheets? Oh god, have I organized the closets lately??? Rational. No doubt.

No, but really, I'm imagining her coming to the Dandelion's preschool (oh, have I forgot to mention? She's one of the teachers at the Dandelion's preschool. Does it all make better sense now?) and telling all the other teachers there "My God, can you imagine Shiri's house? No wonder The Dandelion came out the way he did, poor child, he had no chance with a mother that has no fresh towels in the restroom. I mean really, THE HORROR."

So I'm planning a complete overhaul of the house in the next few hours. Toilets will be scrubbed, laundry will be folded and taken off the couch (finally), snacks will be bought aplenty. So what if I will end up with no will to leave and/or energy to go to the event I need to go to and that triggered this whole babysitter fiasco? At least I will go down in one little preschool's history books as the mom who had a clean and well-stocked house. Yeah.