Okay, so you’re wondering, why the Mom Sexy Moxie? Right? Or maybe you’re not, but since you’re here I’m going to tell you.
I’m going to the prom – Prom 2010, as hosted by Mary over at The Mommyologist who has a great revolution she’s starting for all moms to help them rediscover their sexy. It’s called Mom Sexy. And we are going to rock that party like it’s 1999! Oh wait, that doesn’t work anymore does it? Damn.
I went to my junior prom with a great friend of mine. Actually, it was a whole group of us that went – a group of my theater friends. We had a great no pressure kind of time.
Senior prom was different. I didn’t go. I wanted to go – with Jesus Danny, but he was in New York, and, oh yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t dating me. Oh well.
So now here’s my chance to go to my senior prom. Of course senior means something entirely different to me now. But for tonight, I’m going to forget that.
So, I’ll catch you on the flip-flop. I’m off to shimmy my jiggly Mom Sexy parts!
My bloggy friend and life coach Lori Radun has some great tips for putting a stop to the summertime boredom blues. Also be sure to check out her latest coaching program The Quick Family Makeover. I am a student of Lori’s and can promise you she knows what she’s doing. After you read the following article, be sure to take a few moments to watch the video and check out Lori’s website Momnificent!.
10 Quick Tips for Family Summertime Blues and Boredom
In most homes, school is over, and summertime has begun. On the one hand, most moms feel grateful that warm weather is here, family fun has begun, and the stress of the school year is on hold for the next three months. The kids are ecstatic because they get to run through the yard shooting water guns at their friends, sleep in and stay up later, and take a break from dreaded homework. But it doesn’t take too long before another set of emotions creep in.
“I’m bored!” “Why do I have to mow the lawn? I’m on break!” “Will you two stop fighting?” “Shut off the video games; you have been playing for two hours!” Mixed in with all that perceived fun you were going to have is a big dose of reality. It’s not so easy having everyone under the same roof day and night, not to mention the half dozen neighborhood children that have joined your family. The house is falling apart as wet feet drag in the outside dirt. You’re getting worn down by the almost constant requests for drinks, snacks, attention and chauffeuring. And your kids have suddenly realized that you had not planned on entertaining them all summer long.
Sound familiar? Having an amazing summer with your children, that also includes you enjoying your own “adult” summer, requires you to be more intentional. It might not seem possible to get any of your own down time, or put together the structure that is necessary to start working and playing together as a team. But here are 10 quick tips you can put to use immediately:
Find the perfect balance between structured activities and free time for the family.
Create a snack basket filled with healthy treats, and a small pitcher of kool-aid or juice in the refrigerator so they can help themselves.
Have the whole family join the local library summer reading club, and declare a family reading time where everyone is forced to relax and have some quiet time.
Make a list of the family fun “must haves” and schedule these events into the calendar.
Help your children learn to solve their own problems so you can substitute refereeing with something you enjoy doing.
Keep a secret box filled with surprise arts and crafts activities for rainy days.
Create a daily schedule and routine for your kids so you can maintain some structure.
Make this summer a time of learning for the whole family – what would make the new school year smoother for everyone? Work on implementing these new skills now.
Teach your older kids how to make some new, summertime lunches and dinners for the family.
10. Foster entrepreneurship in your children by helping them set up a little summer business.
For more great ideas to help you minimize family stress and put the joy back into parenting, consider a Quick Family Makeover. The ideas you learn here will help you make immediate and significant changes in your family.
There are some things you know. Some things you don’t know. Some things you should know. Some things you will know. And some things you wish you could un-know.
I entered motherhood thinking I had a pretty good store of knowledge set to unleash on my newborn. I read What to Expect When You’re Expecting, What to Expect Once You Bring It Home, What to Expect During Baby’s First Year, and What to Expect For the Rest of Your Life. In other words, I knew what to expect. Or so I thought. Some things they keep out of the books and now I know why.
1. Missile Impossible – I was aware of projectile vomiting. I had seen Linda Blair in The Exorcist spread her pea soup spigot style around a room. And I was aware that babies come with built in spew tubes and can wreak vomit havoc at any time.
What I wasn’t aware of was that there is such a thing as projectile poop. But there is. Oh believe me, there most certainly is. And it is not pretty. And it is not easily removed from walls or curtains.
One of my children ( I will not give names so as not to embarrass any specific person) had been planning such a missile attack for days as was apparent from the solidity and magnitude of the launched rocket.
Fortunately, my husband, and not myself, was on the enemy lines at the moment of attack. But I could tell from the sound of his voice as he called for reinforcements that the fortress of parental trust had been breached.
I ran upstairs and could not believe the degree of destruction. My walls were covered in shit and my curtains, and the changing table and…my life.
I mean, what the hell was that all about? No one told me about shit bombs. And if they had…maybe I would have chosen a different, less stinky path. Maybe. But probably not.
2. The pain, oh the pain – The birth of both of my boys was pretty painless thanks to some heavy-duty spine-numbing, happy drugs. I did have some discomfort after, of course, but that was expected.
I also knew that becoming a mother opens up your heart to all kinds of new hurts, that no one has developed drugs for.
However, I had no idea that there would be times that I would fight for breath because the pain in my heart was too much to bear. I had no idea there would be times that I would beg for his pain so that it might be taken from him.
No idea that the hurt that would move its way through my body bruising cell after cell when I realized that I couldn’t make his pain go away, was not nearly as bad as the hurt that came when he locked eyes with me, smiled and said, “I love you, Mommy.”
Is the pain worth it? Absolutely.
But it kills me inside a little bit every single time to realize that there is a world out there, a world that can hurt him inside and out, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
3. Wine is a mother’s birth right – The moment I gave birth I earned the right to drink. Responsibly, of course. And mostly just to prolong my life through the heart-healthy benefits of reservatrol. I owe it to my kids.
I never realized the benefits of grown-up grape juice until I had kids. There are just some nights that call for something a little stronger than Diet Coke to ease the nerves that have been wracked from a day of mothering two boys. The endless hours of don’t hit, don’t kick, don’t bite, don’t watch You Tube videos on how to make tasers – you get the drift.
Momma needs wine, to ease the whine. It’s the truth, it’s actual, give me wine and everything is satisfactual.
4. I used to be smart – Really, I did. I used to be able to answer real questions like what’s the difference between an acronym and an anachronism? Now I find myself answering questions like who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
I used to hang out with literati. Now I hang out with the little ratty kids at the mall playground.
What happened to my brain? It was sucked dry when I gave birth…TWICE! I am in negative numbers now.
5. You will eat your words – Not to mention loads and loads of LO carbs – that’s leftover, not low-fat just in case you’re wondering. LO as in cleaning your child’s plate because it’s just a little bits and pieces and you really don’t think they could possibly add up to a healthy 6 month old baby named FAT you carry around your waist now! Yeah, those LO carbs – the Pokemon mac and cheese, the PB&J triangles, the Teddy Grahams.
But back to the words. If you’ve ever uttered the words, I would never (fill in the blank) with my child, I’m saying just give it time sweetheart. The bribe fairy will hit you just as hard as she hit me.
You think you won’t bribe your child. You will. I promise. I swore that I never would. And yet on any given day you can hear me utter the words, if you can just keep it together for 5 more minutes while I finish shopping, I’ll get you a treat, or something from the dollar bin, or an elastic replica of me that you can wrap around your finger!
I used to say I would never yell at my child. That’s so horrible! Gasp! The horror! And now I have become one of those Momster mothers.
Yes, I have yelled at my child. And you will too. One day when your name becomes something you wish you could change to Esther or Lulu or anything but Mooooooom, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
Here’s a video that a friend of mine sent to me that fully illustrates my point:
What truths about motherhood have you found out since you’ve joined the club?
It’s hard to believe that 12 years ago today I gave birth to the one who would inspire me to write a book – Jacob Riley McGee, my first born.
Here is an essay I wrote shortly after Jacob was born – an account of that first meeting with the child who would forever change my life.
“The Great Ride”
It was raining that night. A loud lingering thunder mixed with the incessant buzzing of the hospital lights. At 3 in the morning there were few other sounds, the hospital seemed less awake than I did. I was waiting. Waiting to hold my son who at nearly 9 hours old had already taken up permanent residence in my heart.
The phone rang. I wondered who could be on the other line at such an ungodly hour.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey Chell,” said a familiar voice somehow changed now, somehow softer now. “I was sitting here working on a drawing of a rollercoaster full of animals, but my mind kept drifting to you and the boy. How are you?”
“I’m tired,” I said, “but I can’t sleep. I just can’t get enough of him. When they take him for me to get some rest, I just sit here waiting so I can see him again. Is all of this real?”
“I know what you mean, Chell. I think I’m going to come back up there. I just can’t stand to be away. It seems silly for me to be here while my family,” he paused here savoring this new idea, “I’ll be there in a minute. Is there anything that I can bring you?”
After a not so tasty dinner of cold, rubbery grilled chicken and leathery green beans, I could only think of one word. “Snickers!” I said almost too enthusiastically. “No, make that two, I’m starved.”
With a laugh, he agreed to bring me my well-deserved indulgent dinner.
As I sat there waiting for Warner to come back to the hospital, I realized that not only was my son newly born, so was I. Here I was 9 hours earlier just a woman, sensing the changes ahead, mostly changes like sleep patterns and social activity. But now, I felt it so much stronger. All of a sudden my focus had shifted and instead of one, I was two, mother and child, and I was now capable of loving with no reserve.
The door pushed open and I was returned to the clinical feeling room void of all that was baby.
“Did you bring me my two Snickers?” I asked hopefully, my stretched out stomach growling hungrily.
He handed them over and within minutes those candy bars were gone. I have never eaten candy bars with such relish and so little guilt. Satisfied at last I glanced over at Warner who seemed different. When he looked at me, he seemed to see something I could only feel. We both knew that things had changed between us. Overhead the ethereal sound of “Rock-a-bye Baby” drifted through the speakers announcing the arrival of yet another miracle. Tears slipped down both of our faces as we relived the birth of our family just hours earlier.
The door opened again and there he was in the nurse’s arms. “This little guy’s hungry,” she whispered. “Momma are you ready for Jacob?” Am I ready? I couldn’t put into words how very ready I was to accept this beautiful boy placed before me. I reached out for my little round-faced wide-eyed miracle wrapped so tightly in his blanket I wondered if he could even feel my touch. Once I had him, I began to peel him from his protective coverings to expose his petal soft skin, so perfectly pink. He opened his eyes and searched me. What was he looking for? Would he find it in me?
After Jacob was full and resting peacefully, I knew I could sleep knowing my family was together in one room. Warner reached over to take his son, our son and kissed me on the forehead. We were complete. As I drifted off needing no dreams because mine were all in this room, Warner held Jacob. I remember hearing the scratching of Jay’s pencil in his sketchbook. Imagining the rollercoaster that he was finishing, I wondered if we, too, were about to start our great ride.
I thought I would do something fun and create a photo essay of my life in letters – A-Z. Each letter is up for interpretation so it could be anything. I’ll post a new one every Sunday.
“A” is for Attitude
You can't always get what you want
As a child I had an attitude – at least that’s the urban myth surrounding the childhood of Ginger Michelle Collins.
In this picture, my family and I were vacationing in St. Augustine, FL – pretty much our annual vacation spot – pretty much our only vacation spot. Anyway, we were at the Catholic mission where I would spend most of my money on small, pocket-sized pictures of Jesus and a variety of other Catholic paraphernalia to add to my growing collection on my bedside table. I don’t know the particulars of the picture but I do know that it involved me not being able to get something I wanted probably a cool decoupaged picture of Mary or something. And I was mad. And so I pouted. And I still didn’t get what I wanted.
Fast forward years later when I was pregnant with my first son. In a conversation with my mother she casually dropped the curse on me, “I hope you have a child just like you.” Oh no she didn’t!
Fast forward approximately 3 years after that conversation and the answer is oh yes, she did! Both of my lovely children carry the attitude gene, and it fits like a pair of well-worn Levis.
And so it goes that in my house attitude is served up daily!
Last week I took my two simians to a house of bounce called Monkey Joe’s. If you don’t have kids and you aren’t familiar with these Tiggerific jumping stations, just call to mind the moon jumps that you can usually find at any state fair multiply that by eleventy-one, add a few money-sucking games of chance (as in there’s no chance you’ll win), and a nice sugar bar complete with tongue-dye ICEEs, and sugar-comas on a stick (cotton candy), and you’ll have an idea of what it’s like.
Someone got smart – obviously a mother in need of a break – and turned the world onto indoor bouncing playgrounds. And since babies gotta bounce, the idea took off. It’s sort of like watching a life-size pinball game with added danger – kids ricochet off inflatables at the speed of sugar while parents practice collision management.
While we were there I noticed a sign in the bathroom that was a bit disturbing.
Wash your hands after touching bare human body parts other than clean hands and clean exposed arms.
Umm….EWWW! I’m not exactly sure what goes on in the bathrooms at Monkey Joe’s – I mean I know monkeys are nasty and kids are a close second, but…really?
First, just the fact that it specifies human body parts is bothersome. What else would be in MJ’s – maybe real monkeys are allowed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I just don’t know.
Running a close second – they are sure to point out that at times one might encounter in the MJ toilet area bare body parts that aren’t in fact hands, or ex posed arms. Well, we are all aware that some, ahem, parts are exposed as one goes about one’s monkey business but I’m hoping like all get out here that not much touching is going on – this is a kid’s place for heaven’s sake.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this whole thing. But for the record, I saw no exposed parts while in the bathroom. I did, however, feel like going home to take a shower after reading that sign. NAS-TEE!
Guns. Not a big fan of them. The only guns I grew up with were the water kind and those were a necessity in our Georgia sweatfest summer days.
Now I find myself the mother of two boys – two boys who love guns. I remember my brother not allowing his oldest to have any type of gun when he was little. Tyler, the unstoppable, resorted to bananas and sticks as his weapons of choice.
I’ve tried never to make a huge deal out of the gun thing but lately I find myself with a bit of a problem on my hands. My 11 year old has a small arsenal of Nerf guns stashed in a laundry basket in his room. He also has a BB Gun that I am not too terribly fond of. I totally understand the mother in the movie Christmas Story and her fear of having to raise a one-eyed boy. Thankfully, Jacob has no interest in popping holes in the local small woodland creature population. He likes to shoot at targets. Never mind the fact that his little brother Nicholas is often the “target” of his aggressions.
And Nicholas thinks Jacob’s guns are the coolest thing since that skinny dude with the orange Russian hat on Yo Gabba Gabba. I try to discourage Nicholas from the world of guns but he’s sold on them. Woody from Toy Story has a gun. Elmer Fudd has a gun. So why shouldn’t Nick have a gun?
However, in our neighborhood, I feel like the outlaw. The other kids on the street are not allowed to play with guns. I respect that and actually envy it on some levels. When the peace gang kids come over to our house it must be like walking into a war zone.
At Jacob’s last birthday, one of the ungunners from the neighborhood came with his grandmother. The grandmother smiled at Nicholas and he proudly responded by shooting her with both of his fingers while making the appropriate gun popping sounds. She played along by reacting to the finger fire and clutching her newly wounded shoulder. I ran over to Nicholas, horrified by his brash display of violence and he turned and shot me too.
I worry about reactions when we go to the local indoor playground. Little girls flit about in their pinked up outfits as they twirl on tiptoes. And there’s my little bandit on top of the softplay sandpile rapid firing with his loaded pointer finger and trigger happy thumb. Some moms simply steer their pinkies away from my little would be gunslinger their eyes searching for the offending parent. I smile and shrug my shoulders in a what-can-you-do kind of way.
Every now and then though another gunfinger strolls into softplay and I realize that I’m not the only outlaw parent. The way I see it, after 11 years of parenting, is that it’s true boys will be boys whether you give them a gun or a crayon somehow, someway they will turn it into some sort of weapon.
I’ve tried to tell Nick it’s not nice to play that way – that guns are bad and it’s not nice to shoot at people. Yet still he chooses to greet people with a face full of gunfinger and a small shower of spittle as he mimics the sounds of rapid fire. So it seems that no matter what I do, or what I say Nick’s sticking to his guns.
Michelle, flashbacks | Moxie Momma | 
June 21, 2010 10:24 pm | 
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