Dumpster Diving

I have a confession to make. A dirty little secret, if you will. It is really quite embarrassing, so this is going to be difficult for me:

I am a dumpster diver. 

There, I said it! My name is Surviving Mamahood and I am a dumpster diver. I am sure you're wondering "how did this happen?" Well, let me 'esplain. First, do me a favor and put down whatever it is that you are eating.  My apologies in advance. Thank you.

It all started on a rainy Spring afternoon. My then 7 year old daughter, who is a Girl Scout, had been collecting orders for the annual Cookie Sale. For those of you not familiar, each girl gets a super long order form to track their sales. You can also track on-line but that can be a pain in the ass, so most folks use these forms to write down the names of the customers as well as the type and number of boxes ordered.

Now let me be absolutely honest with you. When I say that my daughter was selling cookies, I really mean that my husband and I were selling cookies. Warning to any adults foolish enough to get mixed up in this cookie business: you will be the one stuck pimping out cookies. Because we are naturally competitive when it comes to selling we enlisted the help of family members to sell even more cookies! We were building an unstoppable cookie empire, ya'll! Before we knew it, we had collected literally hundreds of orders - all neatly documented on the cookie order form.

On that rainy afternoon, this sacred document was left behind at the local diner. To protect the innocent (me), I am not going to talk about how this form got left behind at the diner.  Suffice it to say that mistakes were made and yada, yada, yada. No, we did not keep a copy of the form as a back-up.

Anyway, as soon as we realized that the form had been left behind, we raced to the diner hoping that they had set the form aside for us. Surely they would have realized that this precious document was not junk?! Tough luck for us. The form was no where to be found. The kind waitress explained that the trash from that meal service had already been taken out back and put in the ... DUMPSTER. My husband and I locked eyes in horror. I am sure he was thinking "Gee that sucks, oh well we tried, right?" Me, being the super psycho control freak that I am thought, "I wonder if they would let us hop in the dumpster and have a look around?"

I am going to pause here for a second. I feel like I need to explain myself. Clearly, the normal adult reaction to such a thing would be to think, you know, this really sucks, but what can you do?  I'm not gonna get in a dumpster for a lousy piece of paper?  Am I right?  Bueller? Bueller?  The truth is that I am not normal, people.  I am a fixer by nature.  I don't take no for an answer and truly believe that with a little bit of hamburger elbow grease, any problem can be solved. I also routinely suffer from Hot Mess Syndrome. My brain was telling me that we had to get in the dumpster and try to find that order form.  My nose was telling me that I was going to be very sorry if I did. I should have listened to my nose.

My husband made the first valiant attempt at my urging.  He returned home in five minutes, no form in hand, with a completely disgusted look on his face.  "I lifted the lid of the dumpster and it was nasty.  I tried pushing a few bags over, but I didn't see anything.  I'm not going back there. That form is gone, babe."

Cut to me pulling into the parking lot of the diner armed with rubber gloves, my own garbage bag, a flash light (it was dusk now) and one of those flimsy face masks.  I tiptoed to where the dumpsters were located and used an empty can to stand up on so that I could peer into the dumpster.  I am 5'1 and this dumpster was big.  I couldn't really see over the edge, so I made the fateful decision to climb on in.

This was a diner dumpster.  Therefore its contents were an amalgamation of every type of diner food and artifact that you can imagine. I was adrift in a sea of half-eaten hamburgers, cooking lard, and vegetable peelings.  I stayed in this dumpster for nearly 25 minutes rooting through the trash bags like the world's saddest and largest raccoon.  At some point during those minutes, it began to drizzle. I stared up at the moon from inside that dumpster and imagined myself a tragic hero. Wouldn't everyone be surprised when I returned home victorious!  And you know what?  I didn't find the form. I had to drive home naked, shoe-less, stinky, and empty-handed.

After my husband hosed me off on our front porch, I went to bed that night feeling rather defeated and mortified.  I had climbed in a dumpster! For a stupid form! Anyway, we were ultimately able to fairly easily re-create the list, which again, adds to my mortification, but hey, it's a pretty decent war story!

What nonsense have you had to do in the name of helping your kids?

Our Sacred Doody As Parents

As parents we are entrusted with raising our babies up to be good people and productive citizens. From potty training to job training - it's all a little daunting. In fact, if you really stopped to think about it, the enormity of that responsibility might overwhelm you.  Fear not, though! The chances of your sweet little Teddy pulling a Bundy on you are slim!

My philosophy has always been, if I can keep 'em alive long enough to make it to adulthood AND they don't experience an overwhelming urge to eat other people once they get there - I WIN! It was all worth it. Some of you might be thinking "Well, geez, that's not aiming very high is it? Don't you want your kids to be successful. Aren't you a lawyer yourself?" Yes! And I am a little bat shit crazy as a result of it! Sometimes I wonder: was I always crazy and practicing law has made things worse, or has the practice of law made me crazy?  (The people who know me, better not answer that).

I want my kids to be happy above all else. Don't get me wrong. I want them to succeed. I just don't think making big bucks is the only indicator of success.  I want them to pick a profession that will never feel like work to them. We spend far too much time in our places of business to be miserable. Luckily, my kids are still a long ways off from having to prepare resumes.  Top job contenders currently include pirate and ice cream taste tester.  As it should be.

I have to say, though, that my kids currently have a more active and fulfilling social life than I do.  I'm ok with that.  What I try to be weary of is over-scheduling them to the point where things are no longer fun.  If you are five and feel like your part-time job is to attend birthday parties, soccer practice, dance class, art class, etc., - something is wrong.  Whatever happened to playing outside?

What I like to do on a nice day is kick my kids outside of the house to play in the yard.  Once they are out there, I lock the screen door so they can't get back in. Yes, I said it. Of course, I stay within ear shot in case one of the little buggers bangs on the door (time to install a doggie door?).  It's a little old-school, but they're kids!  They need to run around outside and do kid things!  Like build a fort or dare each other to eat worms or something.  And for the love of God - have them turn off the (iPAD mini/Nook/Kindle/DS/Tablet) electronics.  

If you've managed to raise half-way normal people, my hat's off to you! Congrats! Now here's a pen and paper. Write down instruction for me showing exactly what you did.

Hot Mess Syndrome

Do you suffer from Hot Mess Syndrome (HMS)? Do you care for someone who might be suffering from HMS?  If so, this post is for you. There are distinct signs and symptoms unique to individuals suffering from HMS.  Noticing the signs and being properly diagnosed is the first step toward obtaining the right course of treatment.  Sadly, there is no cure for HMS, but sufferers have been known to experience remission from time to time.

Please take the below quiz to determine whether you may suffer from this debilitating illness:

(1) Have you ever left your home wearing one blue shoe and one black shoe? Alternatively, do you own a pair of white panty hose that you insist on matching with white pumps?

(2) Do you eat pop-tarts for breakfast?  Lunchables for lunch?

(3) Do you own a pair of pants with the word "Juicy" emblazoned on the behind, only you do not actually have a behind?  And you continue to wear them talking about some "I look good guuuurrrrl!"

(4) When you leave your home on Monday morning, are you sometimes wearing the same clothes that your neighbors, if called to testify, could confirm you were wearing all weekend?

(5) Have you allowed your eyebrow and/or mustache hair to get so out of control that small children in the mall come up to you questioning your gender?  A typical query from a small child might sound something like "Are you a boy or a girl?"

(6) Have you ever lost your keys, adamantly blamed everyone and their mama for taking them, and later found those keys in the refrigerator?

(7) Are you constantly repeating yourself?  Are you constantly repeating yourself?

(8) When you take off your shoes at the nail salon does your nail technician immediately begin chattering to her colleagues in a language you can't understand?

(9) Quick check a mirror. Is there lipstick on your teeth or under your lip? Are your penciled-in eyebrows askew? Do you have enough powder on your face to qualify as a donut? 

(10)  Do your co-workers know not to schedule meetings before 11:00 a.m., because the likelihood of you being in the office before then is about as likely as your child being REALLY sorry for whatever you sent him to time-out for.

(11) Do all your pictures on Facebook primarily feature your own face? Are you sporting massive duck face in those pictures - in a totally non-ironic way? Are you nodding your head right now? Ok, now slap yourself.

(12) Do your children have a "look" that they exchange amongst themselves in your presence to simultaneously convey confusion and pity?

If you answered "Yes" to any of these questions, you have a strong risk factor for HMS.  Note that your risk factor increases with each subsequent child.

Please call 1-800-TAKEANAPDAMMIT for more information on combating this disease. You are not alone. 

Readers, are you currently suffering from HMS? 

Parenting Laws of Nature

In this life there are few absolutes. Death. Taxes. Broccoli - that was stuck in your teeth during an important business meeting only you discover said broccoli AFTER the meeting is over and realize that not one darn person had the decency to tell you.  Dear readers, please believe that if I ever see you walking around with something in your teeth, or your fly open, or your skirt tucked into the back of your panty hose - I will not hesitate to tell you. 'Cause that's just how I roll.

Now, there are certain absolute laws of parenting. These are laws that cannot be bypassed or circumvented. If you are a parent, you WILL experience these laws in action. Let's take a closer look at the top five:

(1) Your need to take an important phone call will always coincide with your off-spring's need to tell you something so absolutely-freaking-positively-critical that he or she will surely die without your undivided attention. NOW. (Usually the crisis involves something like a broken cracker or a lint ball on his or her's shirt, but I digress).

(2) A child's need to use the bathroom is inversely related to whatever you can imagine as the most inopportune time/place to use the bathroom. Like after you've already smooshed your butt in the faces of a thousand people you've had to climb over to reach your seats on a crowded (bus, train, plane, etc.) or anywhere that only has porta-potties available within a 5 mile radius. Have you ever had to explain to a child what in God's name a porta-potty is and why it looks like THAT? Of course you have. 

(3) If you have two or more children, all will get sick either simultaneously or in rapid succession leaving you a ragged, sleepless mess. The illness will usually involve projectile vomit (which will always end up on a carpet, if one is anywhere in your home).  Kid vomit will find carpet or other hard to clean surfaces like a heat seeking missile, so don't even bother trying to protect them. Note: If you are a woman, you will not catch what the kids have. However, your husband will, so be prepared for double doody <<<<<see what I did there.

(4) Your kid's most god-awful, cringe inducing temper tantrums will always occur on cue right at the moment you are either (a) bragging about what a well behaved kid you have or (b) ragging on someone else's bad ass kids. Your kid will probably also take that moment to hit or steal something from the child of whomever you were just speaking to.  At this point you will likely blame the whole thing on the lack of a nap. Stop yourself. You're lying and it's embarrassing.

(5) A kid's ability to hurry decreases in response to your need to do anything quickly. Need to leave the house at 8:00 a.m. so you have a decent shot of dropping the kids off at school and making it to work on time? Sike! Should've left at 5:00 a.m. sucker. Suddenly, shoes have disappeared, tooth brushes are MIA, a "surprise" piece of homework materializes at the last minute, and you are LATE. Again.

Did I miss any laws? Let me know in the comments.

Into the Mamahood

My oldest child will be turning 8 in just a week.  As I think back on the beginning of my journey into The Mamahood, I am frankly amazed that I was able to keep the child alive in the early days.  My daughter was a screamer crier. She cried sun up to sun down.  Sometimes I cried right along with her. I cried in only the way a post-partum woman can cry - dry heaving and snots running down the face and all.  I think most of our crying finally stopped when she was able to speak.  Sadly, the learning to communicate phase coincides with the terrible twos (also threes, fours, and if you were a truly evil person in a past life - fives).  Note: I was clearly a serial killer in my past life.

So, we muddled along during those early years just trying to figure stuff out: how to transition from bottle to cup, how to get her out of our bed (we co-slept), how to give an appropriate "time out" (of which there were many!).  I firmly believe that a child's innate personality is evident at a very early age. You can spot a strong willed personality right away.  My "mimi girl" is without a doubt my strongest willed child.  I don't think I appreciated that personality trait as much when she was a toddler, but I think that it has truly served her well as she has gotten older.  My girl is not a quitter.  She speaks up for what she feels is right.  She defends and protects her younger brothers.  She is my wing girl and right-hand lady.  She makes me proud each and every day.

My point is, if you find yourself awake in the wee hours of the night with a crying baby, or chasing a naked, enraged toddler who insists on picking her own clothes, fear not!  That sassy baby will get older and when she does, you'll be thanking your lucky stars for her spirited nature.  Happy early birthday to my mimi!