Momming Around

The Subtext of Playdate Arrangements

Posted on by Beth Hull

Now that Z’s making friends and influencing people (and getting beaned in the nose with the tetherball) at preschool in the morning, I’ve been filling afternoons with either a) trying to clean house and slowly going insane, or, b) the library, Target, or playdates with Z’s friends.

Here are some common phrases I’ve used and noticed, and what I read between the lines.

“How about we go to your house? Z’s getting cabin fever over here. She could use a change of scenery.”

Translation: We’re living like pig people, and I’d be embarrassed to show this place to an infant, even less to a full-grown adult capable of making judgments.

“Yeah, four o’clock sounds good. But if naps end early, feel free to come on over!”

Translation: I’m going batty alone with my child(ren). Bring yours over to distract mine ASAP. I don’t care if they’re grumpy, rude, crying, snotty. I need them, and I need you!

“Or, we could always meet at the park.”

Translation: The park is a neutral zone, and my child, who hates to share, won’t have any prior claim to the park structures. Also, nobody has to clean up afterward. Also, my house is a disaster area and this way you don’t have to see it, and I don’t have to be embarrassed.

“Do you want to bring a snack, too? Maybe we could have a little picnic?”

Translation: I haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks and we have nothing fit to serve others. Unless, that is, you think stale goldfish crackers and Cheerios make a meal.

“We’re having a rough day. Z could sure use some company.”

Translation: I’m having a rough day and I am about ready to have a mental breakdown. If I don’t talk to someone who can speak without whining this afternoon, you might see me screaming and riding Z’s Power Wheels up and down the sidewalk outside my house.

Those are just a few. Are there any that I missed?

Are We There Yet? I Want to Go Home!

Posted on by Beth Hull

We’re back from the cabins, weren’t hauled away by Outlaw Red Spiders of Doom, and we even survived the Incessant Whining of We’re-Never-Going-on-Another-Car-Trip-with-This-Child-Again.

One thing I’ve noticed is that Z wants to stay home more, now that she’s going to preschool. It isn’t just the drop-off tears (I think we’re done with that short phase, thank heavens). But when we’re here, she wants to stay put. It’s like she needs to be with her toys. She’s so much more absorbed. Yeah, she’s a lot more clingy, too, which is why I thought a long weekend with us and the grandparents would be a good thing.

So it wasn’t the idyllic Walden scene. Unless Thoreau had a cranky toddler to contend with, mixed in with the guilt of hiding in his cabin while his husband and grandparents dealt with her? I haven’t read Walden, but I can make a pretty good guess this wasn’t the case.

Oh yeah, and we forgot her cot. So it was Z, Husband, and me all squeezed onto a full-size futon. I’ve never felt closer to my family.

Housewife Couture Don’ts

Posted on by Beth Hull

As a homebody stay-at-homie, I’ve found that tasteful dress can go far in making me feel better and in positioning me to expect a better day. And even if the day is doomed to be crap (hello feverish whiny toddler), wearing ill-fitting clothes that make me look like Hagrid cannot possibly help. Below are some Don’ts I have compiled for myself.

Don’t…

  • wear a tight camisole and boxer shorts. While such an outfit might be comfortable in hot weather, I don’t want to have to rush to my bedroom to change if someone knocks on the door.
  • wear the same ratty pair of sweatpants every single day. It’s just bad for morale. (Yet I do it day after day after day.)
  • wear clothes that are tight. Life is too short; I shouldn’t squeeze myself into anything.
  • wear clothes that need safety pins to stay together. A certain pair of Husband’s hand-me-down boxers comes to mind here. Granted, I was pregnant when I wore that particular garment, but still. No more.
  • try to wear t-shirts in summer. Tank tops were made for a reason. Personally, I find the sleeves on t-shirts irritating when it is hot. I guess I’m a California girl through & through.
  • wear stained clothes. The one exception is to have some dirty-work clothes. Only wear them when doing things like painting or having food fights.
  • flash too much flesh. I am not guilty of this one (I don’t think?) but there was a particular young mother at the zoo one day, wearing a belly-baring halter top. It is not my place to judge…okay, fine. I judged. If I wear a belly-baring halter top, please judge me. But only after giving me a sweater to hide in.

Do…wear comfortable clothes that make me feel glorious. Do embrace color. Do clothe my body in soft fabrics. Do find things that fit and are flattering for my current body (not the one I had when I was twenty, not the one I had when I was twenty-five, not the one I had when I was pregnant with Z).

Do…plaster feel-good positive affirmations over every mirrored surface.

In Ancient Egypt

Posted on by Beth Hull

Sometimes Z asks for a tried and true favorite for her nighttime lullaby. “Loch Lomond,” “All the Pretty Little Horses,” and “Ally Bally” are popular right now. For awhile it had to be “O Holy Night,” sung about four or five times. But occasionally she’ll throw me a loop, and request a song about a hawk, or, in this case, ancient Egypt.

So if there are any “real” musicians out there, just stop now. I don’t know what the heck I’m doing with this. Eleven years of piano lessons taught me how to read and play music, not write it. I took major liberties with putting the measures together, and wasn’t sure a treble clef was needed at all. There’re, what, two measures that actually need that extra range, but, whatever. It’s a home-grown lullaby, plunked out on my ancient, out-of-tune piano.

Except, I might have unconsciously stolen the tune, so if anyone recognizes it, please let me know. I know the lyrics are for sure my own (and so proud of them I am! Notice the “you’ll be happy if you go to sleep” subtext. Lullabies: my favorite form of propaganda, after cautionary tales of my own invention).

Oh, also, assume that if you don’t see a note there, it’s a “rest.” Because, frankly, after scribbling and erasing and erasing again, I can’t be freakin’ bothered. And I just realized I misspelled “lullabies” on the music. That’s it. No more apologies.

And finally, if you’ve written a lullaby for your kid/niece/nephew/small friend/whoever, I’d love to hear it/read it/play it/sing it to my Z. So let me know!

Z Goes to School

Posted on by Beth Hull

“I don’t want to tell you about that right now.”

That’s what she tells me when I pick her up at school and ask what she did. That and, “Later. I’ll tell you a tiny little bit later.”

If preschool’s going to make her secretive and controlling, then I’m taking her out right now. But I’m certain this is just part of the adjustment, her way of coping and exerting what little control she has over the situation.

Plus, not one hour after she informed me she would tell me about it after her “nap” because at the moment she was too tired to talk, she regaled me with stories of the chickens in the school’s yard and which kids fell down and which ones stayed for lunch and naptime.

Today she cried when I dropped her off, and that was hard. It makes me really glad we’re starting with half days.

The adjustment’s been much smoother for me. I have my little routine (the one I dreamed up before school even started, with a few adjustments), and I’m sticking to it. Each day so far I’ve exercised and followed it up with a (quiet!) shower and two hours of uninterrupted writing time. I’ve gotten a lot of work done on le manuscript…plus another fun story I started over the weekend.

The weirdest part is now I feel like I’ve started a real job, or something. Like, we have to get up and leave every day. At night, I make sure I get to sleep on time so that I’m rested enough to get us out the door the next day. And even though we live in a smallish town, the school-morning traffic is a fierce sight to behold.

Overall, it’s going as well as I’d hoped. Even better, when I hear Z talking about her “close friends at school.”