Not Me Monday- Returns!

Its been a while since I've done a "Not Me Monday", heck, its been awhile since I've written much of anything. Really, there hasn't been much of a need to write a NMM. The Child has been fairly normal lately, besides the odd meltdown, and driving me crazy with 100 questions every minute (does that EVER end?!?!). But the other day included some moments that I just knew I would be writing about come Monday.

While rushing to get The Child strapped into his carseat (we of course are never late, never needing to rush), we were discussing the difference between Mommy's "angry" voice and "firm" voice, complete with examples. Mommy's "angry" voice sounds like this..... Mommy's "firm" voice sounds like this.... can you tell the difference? Just because I'm firm with you, doesn't mean I'm angry (It just means to get your little bottom over here!!). As we are in the middle of this slightly intense discussion, I did not go to tighten his carseat straps (the ones down his front) and my hand did not totally slip. This did not result in me completely punching The Child in the nose. This is what Mommy's angry voice sounds like.... complete with facial bruises. Nope, not me.

The very same day, after we came home from wherever we were (not Mcdonald's with a PlayPlace, I would never feed my child Mcdonald's), I was determined to have some quiet time. Yes, me. I needed quiet time. Which means, The Child would also be confined to his room. Quiet time is slowly dissipating from my house, which is so sad to me. On a good day, I can get about 20mins out of the kid. This specific day, I needed much longer. After not yelling a string of threats to get him to stay in his room, it was finally quiet. Slowly, I dozed off into dreamland, oh glorious nap time.

Only to be woken a few minutes later with, "Mom! I can't open the door! My hands are dirty!"

Awesome.

My first thought was that there is really nothing in his room that he could get into, so I had no idea what he was talking about. Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of my deep slumber, my beautiful nap, my glorious bed, to see what the deal was. Upon opening his door, I was not hit with the overpowering scent of "Vick's Vapor Rub".

"What did you do?" I did not ask very very firmly.

"I was just trying to put the medicine in the cup" he replied

And try to put the "medicine" in the cup he did. Of course, I would never be so irresponsible to leave a jar of "Vick's Vapor Rub" in my child's room. He did not have it smeared all over his shirt, pants, a few books, bed, door and walls. Its hard enough trying to get that stuff off your hands, let alone every other known surface to man. You think I would have given up on my chance at a nap by this point. Of course I am the kind of Mother that would understand my child's need for some interaction at this point. A good Mother would paint, dance, sing, or go for a walk with her child, having a lively discussion about their day so far. Maybe even practicing the alphabet for good measure. A good Mother would never put her child in front of the TV so she could complete her chance at a nap. I of course, am a good Mother, never using TV as a babysitter. Nope, not me!

While we were away and The Husband cleaned, organized and Christmas decorated, he moved our small, ancient TV from the main living room to our bedroom. Yes, I know what they say about a TV in a couple's bedroom.

But do those people have toddlers that wake up at the crack of dawn, only to snuggle kick, poke, bounce in bed with them? Do they know the magic that early cartoons (in bed) have for SAHM's?

I didn't think so.

Having the TV in our bedroom is a new thing, one that The Child has quickly grown to love.

Maybe a bit too much.

The other night we put him to sleep in his bed. Listened at the door for a few minutes, and then made our way downstairs, positive that he was fast asleep, dreaming of sugar plums. Retreating to our "Cave" (the basement which holds the very very large TV... and maybe a futon on the floor), we were confident in settling in for a cozy night of quality television.

About an hour and a half later, The Husband decides that its his bedtime and begins to make his way upstairs.

Only to not come back down again and say:

"Did you put The Child in our bed? With the TV on?"

(Hellooooo? Who is he talking to???)

Me: "No. Of course not!"

TH: "Huh. Well, maybe you should come upstairs"

We did not make our way upstairs to find a very clever child, zoned out in front of cartoons, not relaxing in Mommy & Daddy's bed, at 9:30pm.

Somehow, the little smarty pants did not find the remote, or the cartoon station, or think that it was an ok thing to do. The Husband and I did not have a hard time keeping a straight face while disciplining him. Nope, not us!

I was not crazy, frazzled Mom on Thursday morning, rushing around, trying to get The Child out the door in time for pre-school. We were not almost 15mins late, only to find the doors locked. The Child did not proceed to have a melt down (he was seriously looking forward to some time away from crazy Mommy) and I did not begin to create a fabulous story in my head as to all the possibilities as why the school was closed.

Did they close down and not call me? Do they not like my child? Did they have a field trip planned and forget us? Do they not love me?

Oh yes, I had a fabulous time on my little concocted pity trip.

Once home, I called the administrator only to discover that the teachers had not called in sick the week before. And one of the kids Mommy's had not called to inform the school that her child was not being treated for H1N1.

My insecurities did not instantly turn into a pat on the back for my impeccable timing of missing the 2 weeks of school that everyone was sharing extra special germs. Nope, not me!

Classy like that

Today was a bizarre day. A very busy, bizarre day.

I say bizarre because I did a few things that were completely out of the norm for me.

The Child and I were up at at reasonable time to get fed, watered, dressed and out the door for him to be at Summer Camp by 9am.

(Summer Camp you ask? For a 3yr old? Why yes! When it means three whole, child-free hours, sign me up! Its at our local Y and he LOVES it. You should see the adorable 'dinonoculars' he made today. Anyways...)

As I was rushing out the door, The Child and his stuff in tow, along with my own work-out gear, I was internally patting myself on the back for my impeccable timing.

If you know me, you know (and hopefully love) my chronic tardiness. It has gotten better over the years, but it is a daily struggle.

So when I make it out to the car, with The Child, on time, I'm thinking its going to be a great, stress-free day. My own personal ego boost.

The Child is strapped in, ready to go, I get in the drivers seat, and wham it hits me.

I'm not wearing any make-up.

Ok. So its not life or death or anything. And I am definitely not one of those girls who wears an entire MAC store to hit the gym, but I do at least give myself some eyelashes. I'm fair and blonde, no mascara means I have no eyelashes. None. Have you ever seen someone without eyelashes? It's disturbing.

As I freeze in my seat, key almost inserted in the ignition, my internal decision making process goes on over-drive.

I could just run in quickly, brush brush, swipe swipe, and be done. 7 minutes top.

Ugh, but then I'll be late and I would have to leave The Child in the car... I was doing so well!

I can't believe I forgot to at least put on mascara? Bah! Ok, so I'm just going to the gym, not a big deal. Women go to the gym all the time without eyelashes, right?

Dang, I have 3 hours to kill and I was going to hit Starbucks after the gym to read.

Can one hang in a suburban Starbucks, eyelash free?

How much more time am I going to waste trying to decide what to do?

Quickly, I check my reflection in the mirror, thank my lucky hormonal stars that last weeks craters have cleared and decide to embrace the hippie, granola way.... bare faced to the world!

I may be eyelash free, but at least I smell good.

Wait.

Uh oh.

I do the double sniff check and realize I totally forgot deodorant, too! UGH!

There's no turning back now, as I've left the drive way, determined to maintain my rare punctuality.

So now I'm going to be the stinky, smelly, pimply, no-eyelash girl at the gym.

Awesome.

No-eyelashes I can deal with. Smelly, not so much.

As I sweat it out during the Bootcamp class, I keep a fair distance from the other gym rats. Hoping and praying that they don't clue in that I'm the one with the bad B.O.

Stay down-wind, stay down-wind!

This day does not smell like roses at all.

After my class is over, I head into the locker room to change my shoes, trying to think of a creative solution to resolve the stench that has become me. I am completely unwilling to give up my extra hour of child-free time to drive home and then back to Starbucks.

Every free minute counts.

I find myself at the nearest sink, waiting for the moment that the locker room clears.

I know I will only have a split second.

The charade of washing my hands begins.

Working up a good, bubbly, clean scrub...

No ones looking? Go!

I quickly wash the origin of my stench, those nasty pits of arms, rinse, grab a paper towel and dry before the next gym rat walks by.

Yes, I, no-eyelash girl, is now squeaky clean and daisy fresh thanks to washing my armpits in an open, public, locker room.

Because, well, I'm classy like that.

Wordless Wednesday- Adventures with Grandpa!

Not Me Monday

I was totally going to post this week's NMM last Monday, but unfortunately I decided to take a very long pity trip that day, and nothing got done. Usually, blogging is great for pity trips, but I didn't even have the creative ability to write, that's how amazing my trip was. The only thing I did have the ability to do was to not stuff delicious, large, double chocolate chip cookies into my mouth, one after another.

So here is my NMM... a week late, but amazing nonetheless!

Regularly, my son is mistaken for a girl. Very regularly. Even though I dress him in the most masculine of clothes (plaid shorts, blue shoes, brown/green shirts), people still say "Oh, she's so sweet!". Sometimes The Child notices, and retorts, and other days... he could careless. I've just come to the conclusion that majority of people are either just ignorant, or blinded by the stunning cuteness of my son, therefore they don't think before they speak. I'm hoping its the latter.

The main ingredient to his mistaken gender would be his beautiful, long, curly hair. I have cut it many times, but I don't have the heart to chop it. It has become his 'signature look'... and I love it. All this to say, that I would never, no not ever, take advantage of the fact that he has long hair to fulfill my hairdressing girly dreams. I would not spend a half-hour with The Child in the bathroom after his bath, convincing him of all the fun things we could do to his hair. Of course, I would never actually do said things, nor would I ever take pictures.

Nope, not me!

Nope, those are definitely not pig-tails in my sons hair.

At this point, he did not exclaim "I'm a dirrrrl!!!"

(aka 'girl' when all all your 'g's sound like 'd's)

He seems pretty pleased with himself, doesn't he?!

Ps. Did you notice the new "Not Me Monday" Logo?

Pretty cool beans if I do say so myself.

I am not the maker of such brilliance, but rather a copy & paster (imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!).

It is courtesy of another wonderful blogger and Mom of 4 over at

My Charming Kids, take a moment and have a read!