I’m Old Enough to Know Better: The “I Told You So” Edition

Posted on May 25, 2011 by momsaidwhat

I’m thirty-four years old and really…I should know better.  But I don’t.  ‘

I just had ankle surgery on Friday.  I have a five-month old baby.

Perfect.

My original plan was to have this surgery done last summer.  Let it by said, I shouldn’t be allowed to make a plan of any kind without adult supervision.  We don’t call my mom “The Captain” for her willingness to relinquish control of the schedule.

She planned. We followed.  I’m helpless.

Needless to say, my foolproof plan was promptly blown out of the water by a little thing called childbirth.

So my rationale for having surgery on Friday was this: Get it done before Jeffrey gets mobile.  Made perfect sense–BUT HE CAN’T WALK!

Mmmmoooooooooooooooooommmmm!!!!!!!!

Of course I needed my mom.  

“The Captain” was already on it.  She had schedules mapped, responsibilities delegated, transportation coordinated, menus planned and made.  

She had entertainment booked.  I hadn’t even scheduled the surgery.

After spending five days with her, I’m thoroughly convinced mom is fully capable of launching a full-scale military operation before 5 A.M.  I can’t find my ass with both hands.

So I ask you this, WHY would I think it was a good idea to leave her house and handle these post-surgery logistics on my own?  Because I’m a damn fool.  That’s why.

I’ve traded hot meals served-bedside-in-anticipation-of-my impending-hunger for cereal in a cup.  I’ve traded fresh, fruity, protein-rich, high in calcium and healing power smoothies for overripe bananas.

I wanted to put on my big girl pants and do this all by myself???

Well here I am eating humble pie, Captain.

You told me so.

I should always listen to you because YOU ARE MY MOTHER, and I am a jackass.

***I would also like to take a moment to thank my mother-in-law for taking care of our son today.   Without her I’d still be crawling across the floor on my hands and knees, dragging Jeffrey across the floor on his changing pad.***

What a big girl I am.

Posted in Molly-isms | 5 Comments

The Golden Child Returns…

Posted on May 17, 2011 by momsaidwhat

Just got an e-mail from “The Captain.”  Apparently she has forgotten how to use spell check…again.  After a bit of decoding, it appears that my brother Matthew, aka the Golden Child, is coming in “nex” week, or next week?  I’m not quite sure.

The message from “The Captain” reveals a mere symptom of a much larger problem.  My mom is a technology flunkie.  My father–a close second.  (I’ll admit to third place.)  Hence the visit from the Golden Child.

I kid you not when I say that my brother is coming to Pittsburgh from Rhode Island to re-program their remotes.  Someone hit something, and things have gone straight to hell at the McClelland house.  They’ve been going old school for the past few weeks; they now walk up to the television and manually change the channel.  This has brought my father to his knees.  He has shed real tears.  He is a broken man, a shell of his former self.

My brother is their Geek Squad.  He is their salvation.  He is saving their remotes from being thrown out the window or at one another.  He is saving their 38-year marriage from the brink of divorce.

The Golden Child has been called upon because he is also the root of their woes.  He repeatedly convinces them to purchase technology that is well beyond their abilities, leading to pain and suffering for all.  For three years they watched the non-HD stations on their HDTV.  Hundreds of stations to choose from, yet they stuck with the basics:  ABC, NBC, and CBS.  They were safe and happy in their little three channel box.

“The Captain” curses his name regularly for the purchase of iPad, on which she can do little more than play solitaire and “Like” every single post of her Facebook friends.  (Just this week she “liked” the passing of our neighbor’s dog.  Who “likes” that?)

After the Mother’s Day coup he scored with his Facebook photo montage, I have no sympathy.  We all must pay the piper, Matty Boy.

I have walked in your shoes, Golden Child.  You remember that fateful Christmas we were all told by “The Captain” that she wanted no gifts; she wanted our time.  We begged her to allow us to buy gifts.  This was NOT going to be pretty.

Matthew, Mindy, and I were all assigned a class and time slot in which we were to teach “The Captain” some tidbit of technology that she just couldn’t quite get her head around.  Matthew would be teaching a course on how to turn on the new flat screen.  Mindy would be her PlayStation instructor, so that she could work out to Dance Dance Revolution.  My responsibility was of a much higher order than my siblings; I was to teach “The Captain” how to cut and paste text.

I can assure you, dear readers, that we are back to square one.  “The Captain” is none the wiser for our gifts of time, blood, sweat, and tears.  No Dance Dance Revolution going on here.  These valuable lessons have been forgotten.

And so big brother Golden Child I have one thing to say…Good luck with that.  See you “nex”week.

Posted in Molly-isms | 5 Comments

The Sanctity of the Babysitter’s Toilet

Posted on May 12, 2011 by momsaidwhat

I’m sure it’s not an official rule and, most likely, there has been no law penned against it; yet I am not so sure that it is acceptable to use the bathroom at your babysitter’s house.

Three days a week, my Jeffrey heads to Ms. Patty’s house.  Did I mention how much I love Ms. Patty?  I love her.

Ms. Patty is the most kind, loving woman with the most immaculate little house you can imagine.  I hate to even step on her carpet.  I literally walk in and stand on her welcome mat like I’m on a tiny island surrounded by shark infested waters.  I’m too much of a trainwreck to touch anything of hers.

I did have to use her bathroom once.  It was an extreme emergency.  There was no way I could make it all the way to work.  She warned me of what a mess it might be; she hadn’t been in there to clean it since her husband used it that morning.  Let me tell you, not one hair in her sink.  No splashes of shaving cream on the mirror.  Clearly her husband knows better or has been properly trained.

Because of the coffee necessary to launch me into the day ahead, I’m faced with the dilemma, “To pee or not to pee,” nearly every morning.  I need to put it out there that I have not always made the correct call.  Consider this my confession.

I rolled the dice a few weeks back and was burned.  I felt like I kind of had to go, but not too bad.  Thought I could make it.  Convinced myself  that I wasn’t the same weak-bladdered pregnant lady that couldn’t hold her urine for more than 15  minutes at a time.  Gave myself a little pep talk.  Told myself I was a big girl now.

In my defense, traffic was a little heavier that morning.  I was delayed a few minutes longer than usual.  It was the longest fre-e-e-e-aking commute of my life.

I had continuously scanned the landscape for an escape route.  Nothing.  Not a gas station or a fast food restaurant.  No convenience store.  Not even a wooded area.

Panic ensues.

I begin to weigh my options, having conversations in my head about how late I will be if I just wet my pants and have to go home to change.  I think about how to keep from soaking my upholstery.  I scan the car for an empty bottle, and wonder how the hell I’m going to relieve myself without making the evening news.

Then it comes to me.  If I just make it to the other side of the tunnels, there is a parking lot.  I have a container of wipes that will make the perfect port-a-potty.  Hell, I’ll even have wipes to tidy up a bit.

And so I did.

(…and I would do it again before stepping on Ms. Patty’s white carpets.  Hell yes.)

Posted in Molly-isms, Moms at Work | Tagged , | 5 Comments

My Brother is my Mom’s Favorite Child

Posted on May 9, 2011 by momsaidwhat

Mom thought the Golden Child would want to attend Dad's birthday party.

It’s official.  My brother is my mom’s favorite child.  He sealed the deal and took the crown with this year’s Mother’s Day gestures.  My sister and I were left in the dust.  Lost by a landslide.

We hate him and his photo montage.

I think it’s important to note that last year Matthew’s card was late, forcing “The Captain” to declare an end to the Mother’s Day holiday forever.  She wrote her congressman, and the CEO’s of Hallmark and American Greetings, in a one woman effort to strike down this painful event once and for all.

She burned her bra in the front yard in an act of silent protest.

Imagine my surprise when “The Captain” called in tears, barely able to speak with emotion.  She had just received my brother’s card in the mail, three days BEFORE the- holiday-formerly-known-as Mother’s Day.  The card portrayed a young, tow-headed boy riding away on his bicycle with some sappy-assed saying about how she was always there for him, and how she still is there for him. Wamph wamph waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamph.

She wept as she read his well-crafted words:

Dear Mom,

To the most incredible woman I know.  I couldn’t have asked for a better mother or grandmother for my children.  I know that distance separates us, but always know that you are close in my heart.  Happy Mother’s Day.

Love, Matthew

Seriously???!!!!

He didn’t stop there.  All day my Facebook account is blowing up, people commenting on photos my brother had tagged me in.  I log on to find a photo montage paying tribute to “The Captain,” celebrating years of childhood memories, God-awful fashion, and some of the greatest moments of bad hair history.

Suddenly and without warning my gift to “The Captain” faded into obscurity, and with it my hopes of winning the title of favorite child. (In my humble opinion, nothing says “I love you” like IPad for Dummies for Seniors.)

Atta boy, Matty.  You are the favorite.  You are the star, her prize, her baby boy.  You win the battle, but not the war.  I’m banking on your procrastinating ways rearing their ugly head just in time for mom’s birthday.  I’m working on a custom macaroni necklace that will bring “The Captain” to her knees.  You’re done, Matthew.  D-O-N-E!

Posted in Molly-isms | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Anne Geddes, Your Photography Gig is Safe

Posted on May 2, 2011 by momsaidwhat

 

 

My Dearest Jeffrey,

I have to admit to you that I have yet to print a single picture of you, my first-born, the light of my life, my baby boy.  Yes, Jeffrey, if love is measure in pictures, your mom is unfit.  I apologize.

I don’t want you to think that you are unloved.  No, this could not be further from the truth.  It’s not that I haven’t taken any pictures, just haven’t gotten around to getting them printed and sent to adoring relatives and friends.

To be honest, the whole capturing and documenting of your young life is a daunting and serious task, one which has me completely paralyzed with anxiety under its hulking weight.  Missing a milestone has become my greatest fear, lest you believe one day that I did not care enough to bring a camera.  (Your Aunt Mindy has required years of therapy related to the absence of any documentation of her earliest years.)

No, my son, I have the camera and,  as of today, I have hundreds of photos saved in the digital realm, just waiting for me to send them out to be printed.

Herein lies my dilemma…

You are now four months old.  I’m way past the expiration date for sending a birth announcement as I had originally planned.  At this point, I might as well wait a bit longer and send out a card with your driver’s license photo with the caption,  “Time just goes by so fast.”

I’ve now become obsessed with taking the “perfect” shot; like you in a cabbage suit, or dressed up like a bumblebee, or your face in a pea pod.  Hell, I’d even settle for a shot where you’re not crying, or moving, or flipping your bib over your head so I can’t see an inch of your sweet face.

I think often of your Uncle Matt in my moments of ineptitude. He comes strapped to every function like he’s about to set out on a safari for National Geographic.  He’d surely  mock me and my feeble attempts at capturing you with the camera on my phone.  He’s got a telephoto lens.  Clearly he loves his children more.

Jeffrey, last night was the breaking point.  You had just gotten out of the tub, your hair like the down on a fuzzy, little duckling; your dimple on full display, so big I could eat cereal out of it.  I mean, you were wearing a shirt that said “HAPPY” on the front for God’s sake.  The moment was NOW!

I grab the camera and suddenly the mood changes, a black cloud rolls over my belly laughing, baby boy.  I put the camera down, and out comes the sunshine.  You spite me.  You make me your fool.  You say to me, “Mom, put down that G-D camera and love me.”  Point taken.

Jeffrey, you may not have the Anne Geddes coffee table book of your firsts.  You’re more likely to have albums full of shaking images or pictures of my feet, but know this–  Every blurry photo represents a moment in time where we were both too happy to stand still.

Remember, you are loved.

You can always ask your Uncle Matt for the photos of your youth, and….

Aunt Mindy will pay for therapy.

XOXO

Mommy

Posted in Molly-isms | Tagged | 3 Comments

Breastfeeding at Work: The Dairy Behind the Office Door

Posted on March 3, 2011 by momsaidwhat

Let me begin by stating that my stance on the whole breastfeeding versus formula feeding debate is quite simply–To each her own.   I just believe that it’s a personal choice, and the common denominator of both options is that you love your baby enough to remember to feed them.  Moms trust me, feeding your baby is a biggie in the eyes of child protective services.  I’d also feel torn advocating one way or the other as I self-identify as healthy, well-adjusted, formula raised breast feeder.  Who am I to judge?

Nonetheless I have chosen to suckle my young in the ways of our ancestors, a novel experience in my family.  Not a whole lot of advice being thrown my way on this front; therefore, breastfeeding has no doubt been my greatest learning curve as a new mom, and the most humorous.  “The Captain” wasn’t letting her kids anywhere near “the girls” when supper time came around; not because she loved us any less than the more “earthy” moms, probably just because her mom, didn’t even acknowledge that she had breasts at all.

Thus “The Captain” has tried in all her tactful wonderment to support my choice, as foreign as it is to her.  She’s finally stopped gasping in horror at my exposed nipple–like she’s never seen my nipple before; like my nipple is growing out of my forehead; like my nipple is one of three nipples on my body.  To avoid the shock of nipple exposure, I now announce to her and the rest of the audience (my family), that the boob is coming out.  Everyone is okay with the nipple now, even me.

Because I am now a working, breastfeeding mom, a whole new wrinkle exists—pumping in the office.  Let it be said that the breast pump, had to be the brainchild of a medieval man who ran operations of torture for the monarchy.  I MEAN!  If we can put a man on the moon can we not, as a civilized world, come up with something a bit more humane, or at least just a little bit quieter?  For the love of God!

Two to three times a day I stow away in the privacy of my office, behind the thinnest of drywall imaginable, to pump the sweet nectar of life for my darling Jeffrey.  I convince myself that my light rock selections on online radio will somehow drown out the sound of an army of large men in galoshes, marching in a foot of mud.  Let me remind you that I don’t work in a convent, so there are plenty o’ men in earshot.  To them, the sound of pumping means that there is a boob exposed, kind of like a mating call of sorts.

I turn the light rock hits up just a swig louder.  Thank you Pandora!  God bless you Aol music!

Many a fear stems from pumping in the office, similar to my fear of walking out of the bathroom with my skirt tucked into my drawers.  Did I drip milk on my pants?  Am I leaking milk from either, or both, of my breasts?  Is there a breast pad peeking out of my blouse?  “The Captain’s” advice, “Don’t wear khaki pants.”  She’s got a point.

I also realize that I need to remain focused on the whole pumping process and all its requisite equipment, of which there is A LOT of, so that I may save myself from great embarrassment in the future.  I use that wonderful bra that holds the funnels on the nips while leaving my hands free–kind of like Bluetooth for breast feeders.  Today I left my Bluetooth bra strewn over some piles on my desk like I‘m in the comfort and privacy of my living room.  Oops.  Thank God I turned around.

Nonetheless, I’m taking it all in stride, learning as I go, pushing all my khakis to the back of the closet and

Slooosh, slooosh, slooosh, slooosh……

Posted in Moms at Work | Tagged , | 6 Comments

Mom Guilt: My First Day Back on the Job; Jeffrey’s First Day as an Orphan

Posted on February 28, 2011 by momsaidwhat

I have a beef, a bone to pick with all the moms who shared willingly and openly the horrors of labor, the agony of squeezing a bowling ball (or, if you prefer a watermelon) through a MUCH smaller orifice of your choosing.  Answer me this:

Why didn’t you share, with similar gusto, the pain of a new mom’s first day back to work?

I just want to throw this out there for the moms-to-be in the audience.  The pain of labor doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart ripped out via your womb when you drop that baby off at the daycare/sitter/nanny/grandma’s house for the first time.  Honestly, I’d go another few rounds with labor (granted I’m taking the epidural) to avoid the moment the sweet-faced lady who will now be raising the fruit of my loins closes the door.  She is his mother now, or so it feels.

While I have long fancied myself a hip, modern career woman, ripe with ambition and ready to claw my way to the top of the payscale…I’m not.  I’ll forever personally refer to the time before childbirth as Molly BC and the women who emerged after delivery as Molly AD, because there needs to be a clear distinction between the two.  Apples and oranges.

Molly BC may have been chomping at the bit to work, work, work, but Molly AD is having a much rougher time of it.  Molly AD looks a hell of a lot more like Donna Reed, replete with apron and holding a piping hot tray of chocolate chip cookies.

Molly BC thought maternity leave was for punks; that 6 weeks was an eternity that would not only afford me ample time to bond with my sweet angel, Jeffrey AND plenty of time to spare to catch up on personal, pet projects Molly BC just couldn’t find the time for. BWAAAHHHHH!!!  Not even close.

Molly AD didn’t manage to get a damn thing done between nourishing my young and gazing lovingly into his eyes; well, not much more than making sure the bills were paid and that Target hadn’t been the victim of any act of international terrorism.  Just doing my job as an American.

My guilt and grief countdown began weeks in advance of my return to the University.  Admittedly it was pathetic, but it was real.  I did NOT want to go back. Uh uh.  No way.  I’d win the lottery.  My parents would win the lottery.  SOMEONE would win the lottery and relieve me from the yoke of my guilt.

Didn’t happen.

So I wept.

I wept when I read to him, as though I would neer read another word to my soon-to-be-orphan boy.  I wept when he slept, like the little orphan baby would never sleep or dream in such peace again.  I wept when he smiled; surely the orphan babe would never feel joy in his dear little heart again.  His mother is an awful failure.  Clearly.

Enter “The Captain”

I spent the entire day before my return from maternity leave with “The Captain,” hoping that she would lavish me with pity and reveal to me that my biological parents are the Kennedy’s, and that there is a huge trust fund with my name on it.

Didn’t happen.

She told me to suck it up.  She told me that someday my little prince would fall in love with some girl named Audrey from Rhode Island, and would leave me forever.  She told me to go to work and get a pension.  Then “The Captain” polished me off in her signature style, “If I had to do it all again, I’d NEVER have quit my job to stay home with you kids.  I’d be retired with a big, fat pension.”

Where’s the pity, Captain?

Herein lies the moral of the story from the wise lips of “The Captain.”  As a young mother, she could never have conceived of giving up the precious time she had with her kids.  The tough as nails Captain called my dad 16 times on her first day back to work until he refused to answer.  She quit her job two weeks later to start her own business.  That was then.

The Captain’s reality is harsh but true–Kids grow up.  Parents get old.  Life isn’t free.  Jeffrey won’t live in my basement like some weirdo for the rest of his life, even if I want him to at this moment.

Then my mom, “The Captain,” told me how much she expected of me.  That her sacrifice damn well better pay off in the currency of my achievements.  She’s right.  (God I hate when she’s right).  I owe her big time, and I owe my son the greatest lesson I can give him–Chase your dreams little man and never stop learning.

So, I sucked it up.  I dropped him off with the most wonderful caregiver in the world, next to “The Captain,” of course.  I cried the entire drive in like a complete jackass, wondering if I was somehow failing him for choosing to go back.  I pulled myself together and gave it as much hell as I could muster for the first day, and I survived.

Jeffrey survived too, and he still knew I was his mother even after 9 long hours apart from me.

Posted in Moms at Work | Tagged , , | 8 Comments