Open Letter to Restaurant Servers

Dear Restaurant Servers (because apparently “waiter” and “waitress” is now offensive):

Thank you for shaking your head to the hostess when you see us coming in the door. Thank you for rolling your eyes when you see us sitting in your section. Thank you for acting like my baby doesn’t exist when talking to us even though it says “family restaurant” on all of your signage and menus. And, thank you for being annoyed when my baby snatches the pen out of your apron as you stood right next to her, pretending she didn’t exist. Thank you for making my restaurant experiences after entering mommyhood so enjoyable. I also very much want pack up half of my kitchen so that I can come eat at your restaurant, only to spend the time trying to keep my baby quiet, happy and fed so that I am not a disturbance on you or my fellow diners.

I also want to thank you for setting glasses full of water, steak knives and hot plates within reaching distance (or sometimes right in front) of my baby. Thank you for looking at me with disgust when she reaches for these things because, you’re right, she should know not to reach for these things. I mean, she is 14 months. Thank you for acting put out when I ask for some crackers for my baby to eat. I know it’s hard to grab the already packaged crackers that you serve with soup or salad from right inside the kitchen.

Thank you also for acting like my baby is the only one who makes a mess under her high chair. I know it’s especially annoying since you will most likely not be the one to clean it up, but will snatch up the tip. Thank you for taking forever to bring me the check at the end of the meal. It’s fine that my baby is now standing up in her high chair and screaming – take your time. We are enjoying a night out more than you can imagine.

I especially want to thank you for making a voo doo doll of me when you (presumably) realize I didn’t leave you a good tip. Thank you for assuming that I will leave you a good tip just because I had a baby in tow who made a mess your bus boy will have to pick up (wait, if “waiter” is offensive, then “bus boy” has got to be off the charts. What’s the PC term for “bus boy”).

-M

P.S. I know that kids aren’t your thing. If they were, you would be a nanny during your summer vacation instead of a server. Do you know how much those people make to lay by the pool every day?

Stuff You Should Have Told Me

So, I’m sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when a co-worker with a baby a couple months younger than Cambria stops by and drops a huge bomb. The convo went something like this:

Her: How did Cambria’s first trip to the dentist go?

Me: Uhhh (long, probably obvious pause). I haven’t taken her yet.

Her: Oh (disappointing look). But, you are going to do it soon right? You have a pediatric dentist, right?

Me: Of course (my face is now red and I’m searching for a deflection). Did you just take your baby?
Her: Yes, and I was going to tell you that I love my pediatric dentist, so if you need a referral… (It went on for awhile longer before I acted like I was late for a meeting and bailed.)

What the hell, moms? Why has no one told me that you take your kids to the dentist so early in life? My pediatrician has never said this to me, though I mostly hold my mom friends responsible. NEVER have I heard of a child going to the dentist before the age of 3! So I turned to the only source I can really trust (yes, that’s a slam to you, my so-called mom friend) – the Internet. According the American Academy of Pediatric Dentists, not only should Cambria have already been to the dentist, but babies are supposed to go when they get their first tooth! WTF? That was more than six months ago!!

To make matters worse, I am pretty sure that when signing up for health insurance late last year, we opted out of “family” coverage for dental and vision insurance, thinking Cambria wouldn’t need to go. So now what? I can’t pay for an out-of-pocket dentist appointment for her. Plus, what do they even do for a 14 month old? Either way, I don’t like the dentist and my dentist is kinda crotchety, so I probably do need to take her to a pediatric dentist. I am super stressed about this and I blame all of you! Can you not help a new mama out once in awhile?

Update: We do, in fact, have family dental coverage, so I made an appointment at my co-worker’s pediatric dentist. When I called, I asked what they do for a 14 month old (btw, after I told the receptionist her age, I got a little sigh). She said they look around, make sure the teeth are coming in right and even clean and polish them! Who knew!

TSIB!
-M

And I Quote

"da da da da da da da"

With love,
Jaycee

P.S. Who are you again? Yeah, you. The woman who had her midsection sliced open to remove me, and has to have that same incision re-opened and re-done since her staples were removed too early the first time? You know...the strangely familiar female who I sucked on for nearly six months, who puts me to bed practically every freaking night, and makes sure I am fed and dry? Your name is escaping me. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, but at nearly 10 months, I refuse to say it.

Grandpa Geier's Life Lessons - Thumbs Up or Down?

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I love my dad with all my heart. And I also want to kill him sometimes. And I also can't imagine what I would do without him. And I honestly can't wrap my mind around why he does the things he does.

Case in point: Grandpa Geier was put in charge of watching my angelic (note sarcasm) boys one evening. My husband and I come home with our baby girl, fling open the door and prepare to hear about the latest adventures our 7- and 5-year olds have endured with grandpa. Past adventures have included: canoeing for literally hours (note plural) on the Missouri River, hiking on trails, swimming at water parks, rough-housing in the lawn, etc. Basically, anything to get them off their TV-hypnotized butts and out of the house to explore and exercise.

So, you can imagine my surprise when my 5-year old, Austin, practically plows me over with excitement. And, before he can even get two words out of his babbling mouth, I catch a glimpse of my 7-year old, Owen, flashing his all-too-familiar devilish smile. And then there's my dad just sitting back on the couch waiting for the exhibit to begin. What exhibit you ask? Here is the sequence of comments/events that ensued.

Austin: Mommy! Mommy! Come to our room and see what we did with grandpa!

Me: Ok...ok...take a breath, settle down.

Owen looking up from iCarly: Yeah, it's cool (for the kid to take a sacred pause and utter three words to me is out of the ordinary and proves something really is up).

And, then, we open the door to find pictures drawn on construction paper and taped all over their bedroom walls. I initially thought, "How cute. They really spent quality time together and created some special memories." Then, reality sets in as I begin to look closer at the pictures. (Make sure to read the captions I inserted below every photo to truly understand my train of thought.)

Owen drew a ghost. How funny...and surprisingly proportional. I hope the ghost won't scare Austin when night time comes.

Oooo! A mummy! Good job of cutting out the arms and legs. I guess Halloween is on their minds.

Wow. This one is a classic Dan Geier drawing. Liittttttle bit creepy, dad. Can't you at least give the skeleton a smile when he is in the process of being tazed?

Hold up. Why did Owen feel the need to draw a giant getting ready to either torture or eat a small man? Did the giant snatch up a golfer? Is that a club in his esophagus?

What the...? Why are a couple of penises closing in on that tiny helpless person?! Owen tried telling me that those are actually tanks getting ready to shoot that guy and, despite the clarification, I am not feeling any better about the direction we are heading.

Another priceless offering from my 7-year old Picasso. And I quote, "That bird is taking that guy away to eat him and that other guy pushed the man yelling 'HELP!' off the cliff."

Oh heavens no! No he did not! My dad explained to them what a guillotine was? And is that a HEAD I see rolling around at the bottom? Seriously dad? Do you think that by simply inserting a smiley face severed head you will cancel out the fact that you just stole a piece of innocence from Austin's precious little mind?

Holy hell...it keeps getting worse. Austin, reading my stunned expression, looks up at me and declares, "We asked grandpa to tell us what ELSE was scary back in the olden days."

Owen, not to be outdone by grandpa, tossed this gem into the mix. His explanation: This guy is stuck in a lion's den with sausages wrapped around his neck. (I cannot make this stuff up if I tried.)

Death, death and more death. Quality time with grandpa.

Last, but certainly not least, Owen reminds us all that torture can still occur in the twenty-first century.

So, I offer up the question to all our viewers...should Grandpa Geier be left in charge of the boys again? Let's be honest. He will be. My freedom trumps the cost of future therapy sessions for the kids. So, maybe the better question is: What's your favorite piece of art from the exhibit?

Separation Anxiety

No wonder employers make you come back to work when your baby is between 6 and 12 weeks old. That's when your baby only eats, sleeps, poops, spits up on you, cries a lot and maybe throws you a smile once in awhile for good measure. If you were to go back to work when they are 6 months or older, no mom would ever go back. They get you to want to come back in the beginning and then you have no choice but to stay.

Cambria is 13 months old and separation anxiety is at its peak. For me, not for her. Oh hell, she says "buh-bye," waves and blows me kisses and I am the one kicking and screaming and holding on for dear life. "Just one more hug." "Give mama a kiss." "Are you gonna miss mama today?" "Did you dream about mama last night?" She is already looking at me like I am high during these times and then starts pushing me away, arching her back and whining to get down. I may overdue it a little. Ok, I overdue it a lot. The "just one more hug" phase lasts a good five minutes.

The problem is that she is at such a fun age right now and doing and saying something new (literally) everyday. She is such a little sponge and mimics everyone and everything. I was taking her to the store the other day (see...when in the past would I have ever taken her to the store with me if I could've avoided it?) and I said, "It's hot." I buckled her in, got in the car, started driving and she is in the back saying, "hot" over and over again. What mom doesn't eat that crap up?

I was able to put up with my separation anxiety and repress it like any good adult would do until yesterday. We met my family for dinner and Ryan picked her up after work (which is usually my job) and brought her to the restaurant. So, I'm already bumming that I missed pick up duty, missed the smile on her face when she sees me and have lost a good hour of Cambria time, when they come waltzing in and my husband announces that Cambria took several steps today. Shoot. Me. And then he twists the knife a little more and says, "And, I even had her try it while I was there and it's true! She took 6 steps, sat down, picked up the toy, stood back up (has never happened) and continued walking to me." Jerk. The only thing saving me from bursting in tears at that point was a) we're in front of all of my family and that would just be childish and b) my sister looked like she may be even more torn up about this than I was. I actually think I did see tears in her eyes. I'm not sure though, because my arms were crossed, lip was out and I was pouting like a 4 year old.

So after a bit, my sister throws her chair back, stomps around the table, grabs Cambria, puts her on the ground and barks at me, "Put your arms out." Cambria stands there, pretends to take a step, then gets to the ground and crawls to me. This happened a few times before we gave up. So, not only did my baby walk all day yesterday and also walk when my husband (not me) picked her up, but she's probably walking right now while I’m at work. We got home too late last night for anything but pajamas, books and bed and this morning I woke her up from a dead sleep so I could see, kiss and hug her before heading off to work. And ask her if she dreamed about me, of course.

TSIB
-M

Austin-isms

I am afraid that if I don't start writing these down, my horrible memory will erase them from my mind forever. Here is just a random sampling of things that have been uttered out of my five-year old's mouth over the years.

Anatomy
"Boys have penises and girls have chinas."

Sickness
After watching Austin helplessly become incapable of holding in diarrhea before he made it from the kids' bathtub to the pot and seeing it literally spew out onto the bathroom floor, I had scooped him up and rushed him into my shower (older brother Owen was still in the bath dry-heaving at what he just witnessed). Post floor clean-up, I poked my head into my shower to check up on him. He was kicking more liquid poop down the drain when he looked up at me and declared, "My butt won't stop pooping!"

Intervention
My precious Austin informed my dad awhile ago that "You (grandpa) are addicted to cigarettes." And then he added without a beat, "Just like Lydia (a preschool classmate) is addicted to lying." I am happy to say my dad quit smoking after that confrontation.

Drinking
He also informed my husband's grandmother that "Alcohol makes you crazy. Mommy doesn't drink too many adult drinks or she could drive into the creek (behind our house)."

Politics
He also bragged to the same ultra-conservative grandmother that "Mommy voted for Obama and daddy didn't."

Punishment
In one of their nightly bedtime debates, I overheard big brother Owen say that he wanted Austin to stop talking or he would tell on him and Austin would get a spanking. Austin fessed up "Mommy's spankings don't even hurt."

Sibling Love
I had asked both boys to go through their shared bedroom and pick up anything they wanted to give away...basically all of the things they didn't play with anymore. I thought this would keep them occupied while I tried picking up around the house too. Jaycee had to have been only 3 months old at the time. Things got mysteriously quiet and, next thing I know, Austin is giggling and waddling down the hall holding Jaycee's dangling noodle body underneath her arm pits in front of him. I say "Austin, put her down! Give her to me!" And he replies, "We can give this to Goodwill!"

Should I Be Proud or Ashamed of Myself?

I do not keep my house as clean as my mom keeps her house. I do not keep my house as clean as my mother-in-law keeps her house. I do keep my house picked up; however, I rarely deep clean. Ryan and I have an understanding. Neither of us want to be embarrassed if friends or relatives happen to pop in. So, we hide our clutter in closets and corners and force ourselves to deep clean about once a year...you know, the kind of cleaning that makes a person sweat. Moving furniture, wiping down floors and walls, doing 13 tons of laundry and actually folding and putting it away. And every time I succumb to this kind of personal torture, I wonder: How on earth can people do this crap regularly?

Tomorrow is our big third of July party. This is the fourth year we've hosted this shin-dig and our family looks forward to it every year. This is the first time I've been smart enough to take a week off from work to spend some quality time with the kiddos and fit in some pre-party cleaning.

I was actually wiping down our wood floors today (after my mid-morning nap of course!) and I couldn't believe the amount of dirt and grime I collected. My routine went like this: vacuum, clorox wipes, disgusted look, gag reflux, wet rag, repeat. I kept thinking about all of my mom friends who will be visiting our house tomorrow with their little cruiser babies. Every time I felt like throwing in the towel, I would imagine one of their little darlings pulling my hair out of their mouth...a rare treat that they found in a special spot on my floor.

I was pretty proud of the work I had done when something dawned on me: Jaycee, my almost nine-month old, has been crawling and scooting on this same floor for the past two months. My pride turned to shame. Why is it that I am obsessed with cleaning floors for my friends' children but am perfectly OK with letting my own brood swiffer up the same surfaces with their tongues, bellies, and backsides?

No matter what the motivation, I am still glad this place is clean now. On a side note, I asked Austin, my five-year old, to help vacuum and all I could hear from the other room were these sounds: vvrrrroooom, ffuuttt, giggle giggle, tiny wimper, repeat. When I turned around the corner, I saw this scene. Jaycee, the human swiffer, is now as shiny as our wood floors.