Headline: Pseudo SuperMom Implodes

**Warning - Negative Nelly rant below.

Today, this week, I cannot do it. I am going to wallow in some self pity for a moment and just go off on all the shit that Moms, 'working' Moms, basically Mom's in general have to deal with.
It's too much. Seriously. Too much to keep track of, keep clean, keep fed, 'keeping up', the whole thing.

Yes, I chose to have children and of course I enjoy them, love them, am happy I have a family blah blah blah... but dude, some times I really just want to get in my car and drive away for a long weekend, or month, or a year in Italy. But then that would mean I would have a bigger pile of laundry when I get back, so it's probably not worth it.

I choose to be a working Mom. I struggle with this choice all the time, especially when like tonight my daughter was very last kid there when I picked her up. And she was eating a chocolate rice krispy treat. And then wouldn't eat my forking 'pink pancakes' for dinner. (fortified with protein and veggies, but you totally can't even tell they taste awesome.)

I'm tired of thinking of stuff to make for dinner that is healthy and won't take me back to the big girl jeans and that my kids will eat at least one element of and of course that doesn't take more than 1/2 an hour to prepare. I'm tired of battling at bedtime and bathtime and wanting to scream at my daughter because she's using the most rude voice (because hello - can you say pot calling kettle black?) Or remembering as I'm rushing to get back on the computer (praying that we have a connection tonight - thanks a lot for making my life hell Comcast) rushing to finish the work I didn't get to because I have to run out of my office at 5:02PM so my daughter isn't the only kid left at school. Oh wait, that didn't work.

Remembering that I was going to make baked potatoes tonight so that we could have them for dinner tomorrow night. Because baked potatoes are way better from the oven than the microwave. Oh and that if there's any prayer for me to remember to put dinner in the crock pot tomorrow, I'll have to take it out tonight. And when I"m remembering all this I go back out to the kitchen that still has dishes and crumbs and toys and barrettes and muffins left out. Even though my husband was nice and did clean up the dishes from the dinner no one ate.

So then that sets off the stomping tirade (from me, not the toddlers). Why does no one else in my house (or in the male species apparently) have my same sense of cleanliness? It stresses me out to have crap lying all over the counters and I want to SMASH the stupid phone and it's cord and the keys and card keys that lay all over the counter each night. (Note to self, remember for 18th time to order that phone cord do hickey holder thing that looks like something in a Pottery Barn ad.)

So then I'll be making the lunch for school which my child will eat very little of and making sure the bookbag is by the door, complete with little notes next to each book proving we read them. And changing the laundry out. And mailing a birthday card to that relative. And responding to the invitation to that other birthday party. And finding out that I put the wrong date on the Baby Shower invites for my sister and she's not sure she can get me the phone numbers of her friends so I can call and fix it for them. And knowing I can't go to bed until I put that other huge pile of laundry away because what if I die in a car accident tomorrow and my friends and family come to my house and it's a total pig stye And packing a bag for the gym so I can try and get a work out in this week. And fall asleep reading the two different multiple page 'newsletters' from each of the girls schools after I make notes to put all the pertinent dates in my calendar so I don't miss the parent teacher conference. Like I did today.

I'm done. I quit. This Pseudo SuperMom's Powers are gone. However, I'd like to keep the cape.

Irrational Fear of the Boogey Man

I mentioned in a previous post that my husband was out of town for business for a night. I've also mentioned a ton of my idiosyncrasies, but I feel the need to share another. While getting ready for bed the night Jeff was gone, I realized (again) I'm kind of a freak.

Yes, I get sucked into those shows on A&E about children with psychic abilities etc.. and perhaps watching that on Saturday was not a good choice. I'm totally fine when Jeff is home, I don't worry about creepy stuff or envision darkly dressed large men breaking into my home..... but that all changes when it's just me.

We have these big windows in our kitchen that look out into the back yard and because I tore down the ugly window treatments from the previous owner and haven't replaced them..... there are no blinds or curtains.... So when it's dark outside and the kids are down for the night, all of a sudden there is for SURE a boogey man convention going on in my back yard. I feel like I'm seeing things out of the corner of my eye. I envision someone hiding out and watching through those windows. What they're watching apparently doesn't really seem to matter in my fear scenario. Let's face it - watching me in my sweat pants cursing while wiping down the counters for the 1 millionth time or loading the dishwasher can't be that enthralling, but that's beside the point.

When it's time to hit the hay I of course lock all the doors and windows. But then I also make sure the porch light is on, my message to would be boogey man being yes, there are people here, lots of people here and we're expecting more! AND when you come to chop me up in pieces, people will be able to see you doing it!

When I go upstairs I make sure I have my cell phone, in case the phone lines are cut and I need to call 911. And of course I also bring my car keys so I can grab the kids and make a quick get away, instead of like in the movies where they can't get out of the house. So that also means that I have a pair of shoes and a jacket by the bed so that in the cold of the night I am not running down the street in no shoes..... Under my bed is the pre-requisite Louisville Slugger and mag lite. I ramp myself up that if anyone came into my house and tried to mess with me and ultimately my baby girls that the whole superhero strength that mothers are known to get in a flight or flight situation would help me beat the living crap out of this mysterious intruder.

I also make sure to know which of my neighbors is home that night. I sleep with the door to slider in our room cracked so I can hear anything going on outside. I usually have to watch some bad cable show until I pass out.... or every little creak and noise or set of headlights sets my heart racing. And forget it if the cat decides tonight is the night to be hyper and race around and act all twitchy. Because then that means I have to worry about the whole supernatural intruder thing... and then no baseball bat or flashlight is going to help me out with that one. (That's a whole other post...)

Yes, I'm a freak. There is no plausible reason why anyone would try to break into my house. So they can steal the 200 pack of diapers that arrived today? To rifle through the piles of laundry that are in que for the washer? To take the monstrous pile of 'art' that my kids produce weekly at school and out of guilt I have to bring home for a while before I can purge it? It's ridiculous and I know it.... but I am prepared.

My theory? If I am prepared I won't need it. (Don't ask my husband about my multiple earthquake emergency kits or that internet order for freeze dried food...)

Toddler Food Critics

My daughter is picky, I've mentioned it before. However, I did not know that her palate was so refined! You'd think the hot dog, salami, cracker, pancake diet would have dulled the senses at this point. Au contra ire.

My husband is out of town on business (any boogie men reading, I have four large dogs, a baseball bat and a secret desire to be a sniper...... only two of those are true, but I wouldn't suggest figuring out which one.) So when you're playing the single parent card you feel kinda sorry for yourself (maybe that's just me, but whatever). It's like finishing the 2nd job of the day (getting out the door on time in the morning is the first job and it sucks) and getting ready for the third.

I had planned to have the house favorite 'green pasta' for dinner. A winner every time. It's a packet of Knorr Creamy Pesto Sauce and penne in which I hide, I mean add, as much chopped up spinach as I can. I'd been telling the kids all day 'it's green pasta night!'.

Well that filing cabinet I call my brain where I shove all the stuff I'm supposed to remember, yeah, that didn't work. As the noodles are boiling and the very end of the olive oil is in the pan I open the cupboard and you guessed it - no green pasta. I cannot panic. I can do this. I DO have some Alfredo sauce mix.....so I add this and that and put the spinach in it so it turns green and I'm feeling good about how awesome I am. Crisis averted. Pasta made.. no problem.

I ding the bell and call order up for the waitress (yes, I have a bell and yes I really do that....). Immediately my daughter says suspiciously "this isn't very green". Damn. I'm caught. How they hell do they do that? Since when did the judges from Iron Chef start living at my house? I know she won't fall for some line about how it is too green pasta.. so I sort of tell her the truth. "Well I tried another brand of green pasta.. it's the same thing, just a little different." And then throw in the desperate silly story approach, hoping one of the two will work "That or I think maybe the guy at the Green Pasta factory forgot to put the green part in." She gives me a look and she's not buying what I'm selling.

At least she tried a bite before she told me "it doesn't taste good". Meanwhile her younger sister is on round two of sort of green pasta.

Fine, this chef quits. A round of hot dogs for everyone.

"Rules For the World" By Kate

I love when kids say stuff and you think ahhh... you're so innocent and not jet jaded. Sometimes if these moments don't happen while I'm racing to get somewhere, or I can actually hear the comment over the singing or screaming from the sibling, it's nice to kind and stop and think about them. Here's one of those that came from totally out of the blue:

"Mommy - here are the rules for the world" (in which she just means 'everyone'.)
1.) Be Happy
2.) Smile for pictures
3.) Don't tell people they can't laugh. (Unless you're saying it in a silly voice.)

I like it. I think it's a good start for the week.

Didn't You Get the Memo? It's Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Quick post. My co worker just came back from running next door to the Danish bakery to pick up treats for her friend's birthday. And... apparently it's Talk Like A Pirate Day.

I knew talk like a pirate day existed, I just didn't know the folks at Neilsen's were such huge fans and that it was today. But the best part is that this co worker is really, really nice and kind of conservative and they made her make her order in pirate talk. The visual right there still has me cracking up.

I asked her if she ran back out the door and she said no she tried to talk like a pirate.(I can't stop laughing at this, I WISH I could have been there.) Apparently bakery folk dressed up like pirates are serious about pirate talk, because they told her that her attempt was WRONG! The man at the counter was correcting her and the woman in the back with chiming in with Arghhh ARgghhh..... and they were all dressed up with eye patches and earrings.

Arghhh Matey, me thinks me might need to go get a kringle.

What Constitutes Too Old to Shop At a Teeny Bopper Store?

I love to shop. Window shop, shop online, shop for house furnishings, cat toys, a salad bowl, just shop. If one of my friends or family members tells me they're looking for something in particular, I'm like a hound dog on a scent. I'm going to find the best quality and the best deal in the perfect color. Recent score, 10x15 pop up canopies for $91 and free shipping. I rock.

My whole approach to clothes shopping is to find the highest quality (or highest quality looking) garments for a steal. One of my secret pipe dreams is to be a personal shopper.

It's apparent that my family thinks I'm some city slicker fancy pants with crazy fashion tastes. Outside of a few 'classic' splurges, I'll have a story about almost every item of clothing I own and how great a deal it was.

As an example, I willingly offered to drive the stack of half full paint cans to the dump on my (alone) day off because it meant that I would be close enough to the outlet mall to justify the drive. Oh yes.

My husband thinks I'm a freak because at pretty much every event we attend, I'll point out what someone is wearing and whisper to him where it's from and how much it cost and know what small village their fair trade bracelet was made in. It's probably a disease, but whatever.

So given the economic times, I'm trying to cut back on the little shopping allowance that I allocate myself. That means I'm looking to the ahem, 'less expensive' stores for my seasonal pieces. So yeah, I'll admit that I stop in at a Forever 21 and shop Brass Plum at Nordies. Of course I try to make sure that the jeans I choose do not highlight the muffin top and don't even try on the too short skirt... but there are basics to be had at good prices friends! And I'm not the only 35 year old in there either! Granted many of them are there with their teenage daughters..but that's beside the point.

I don't know why I didn't do this before..but today I realized shopping Forever 21 online is so much better than wading thru the stacks of clothes and standing in line like a child molester behind the 12 year olds to try on clothes at the store! Anything that doesn't work, I can just return and pretend they were for my niece!

So why did I feel guilty and WRONG when I was registering my account and it asked for my age..... I'm not the only one, right? I'm just buying basics like cheap layering t shirts and fun costume jewelry. And okay maybe a sweater not made of acrylic, and then a skirt that one time.... but that's allowed, right? Then why do I feel like Stacy and Clinton would not approve...

The 'Web Ex': Cheap AND Annoying

I'm writing my blog today WHILE doing a mandatory web ex training. Yes really!

I like my company, my bosses and particularly my local office. Great place, great people. But what is with not allowing us to have a real live person come out and train us on the program we use EVERYDAY of our work lives. To manage millions of dollars. I don't get that?

So today we log in and call into this web ex training. (Did I mention this is day two of four days of scheduled training). They put us on the same web ex as our sister company (and competitor) which makes it awkward for asking any questions. A.) because I don't know the two Linda's in Denver and Debbie in Portland B.) because no one wants to admit out loud that they may not know how to do something in front of their competitor. But that's not even the point of my rant.

While the trainer I'm sure is a very lovely woman, why does every web oriented training begin with the trainer fumbling with their computer and their system and having to move to a different desk top for the first 15 minutes of the meeting. In the case this morning, she moved to some workstation that is apparently below a loud AC vent. So I swear to god, she is yelling. In a thick Long Island accent. Classic.

The training begins and it's very clear that she has not been given any indication as to our current experience level with the program. We begin with the very basics. Dear god, someone just shoot me now. This is how I"m going to spend my morning? Two and a half hours of training that I do not need. If I do math on an 'hourly rate' for each of our department members this just cannot make sense. We're going to bill our collective time against 'training' instead of doing work for our clients. There is NO way that the hours we are wasting on this web ex are going to be less than flying Ms. Long Island out here on a cheap airline with 2 lay overs, putting her up at the Homewood Suites down the street and sending her to Taco Del Mar for lunch after a few hours of RELEVANT training. Really.

The best part is that after her rambling on about things that I did the 2nd day on the job six years ago, she'll yell out. "Is everyone okay?". NO ONE answers. Crickets. I'll say it again, awkward.... Alright then, moving on.


The Web Ex. What a joke. For me it was just the chance to do some online shopping (don't read that part Jeff) under the guise of working. Are belted sweaters still in??

"I Do It".

I swear I am undergoing some sort of 'test' being put on me by someone somewhere otherworldly, worldly, cosmic or whatever. You catch my drift.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am probably the LEAST patient person ever. Ever. I do not sit still. I do not have patience for stupid people, wrong opinions, slow drivers or indecision. Yes I miss sunsets, beautiful moments in nature and am not good at letting folks get a word in edgewise. Amazingly I still have friends.

I am desperately trying to have patience with this new found independence that BOTH my daughters are exercising. This week. This independence shows up either in the 10 minutes we should be heading for the car in the morning or at pick up when I am late getting home (which means late making dinner, which then means late baths and late bedtimes... vicious circle I try to avoid.)

My almost 2 year old is coming into her own and asserting her independence. I know this is a good part of her development and all that, but it's really messing with my schedule. 'I do it!' She yells when we get near the car. She wants to get in the car, get up on the seat and get settled into her car seat. I try to let her do this. Mostly I'm successful, but strangers driving past the scene will see me laying with my head against the side of the car taking very deep calming breathes as I wait the 10 minutes it takes for Riley to finally 'do it'. You can't help. Don't give her a boost, don't move her foot, don't touch her. Couldn't she have waited for this phase til her legs were longer? It's like she's climbing K2 to get into this freaking seat and it's killing me.

Yesterday she didn't say 'I do it' when we neared the car, so I whisked her into her seat, buckled her in and took off all before it dawned on her. She then proceeded to sob for the 12 minutes it takes me to get to Kate's school. IIIII ddddooooooo Itttt..... I ddooooo itttt. I felt rotten for that whole time, but I was on time. Do they cancel each other out?? I'm still debating.

Couple the new "I Do It" mantra with my four year old who I swear purposely takes her sweet time at everything and I'm going crazy. Her newest thing is to be the 'waiter/waitress' at all meals at our house. But apparently she is NOT the busser. She informed me that she does NOT put down placemats, but does do everything else. God forbid you accidentally lay out a couple of forks and napkins on the table and it's major meltdown. The problem is, the service at this diner is sooooo slow! I mean dinner is on plates ready to go and the waitress is still picking what color fork she wants to eat with. If you go for some excuse like "These adult plates are too hot for kids to handle" she doesn't buy it and then it's a battle. I have a nightly choice, am I that mean nagging Mom who sucks the fun from life? Or do we have baths on time.

The deep breathing thing isn't really working for me... and contrary to what the recycle bin says, wine isn't helping that much either.

Cinnamon: She Better Not Leave Any Spices In the House

When I told my sister in law that I was doing a blog she said "guess I better watch what I say!". My best friend however, did not.... and I have to share the funniest story from this morning.

We don't see each other as often as we wish we could, but we chat on the phone numerous times a week. This morning's check in was a recap of the weekend. Her hubby is gone for 10 days on a sales conference to someplace tropical. We're lamenting how husbands literally pack up their suitcase, give out some kisses and hit the road. When WE try to go away for two nights on some well deserved get away, we have to make sure all of the following: House is stocked with food. Soccer gear, gymnastics clothing, brownie sashes are all clean and accessible. Babysitter lined up so husband can do that thing he had planned. Car pools are arranged. Snacks are packed. Emergency note and insurance card copies are in the color coded folder on the counter. And they wonder why sometimes we aren't in the mood.

This particular trip coincides with the completion of her older daughter's bedroom being spotlessly clean for 30 days. In a row. And as my best friend says, I quote "I never thought there was a chance in hell that would happen". Apparently a promise was made that if said bedroom were indeed clean for 30 days, older daughter would get a hamster. So you don't know my friend, but this in and of itself is pretty funny.

So she drags the kids to the pet store and gets the ball, the toys, the cage all the crap you need to make a new hamster happy. $100+ later they're back home setting up the new hamster kingdom. The hamster however is not digging this new set up and won't come out of the little cardboard box it got sent home in. She gives me the visual of how she just turned the box upside down, gave it a good tap and welcomed Cinnamon to her new home. I'm dying.

The pet place says the hamster needs some time to acclimate because it's scared to death. So there is a parade of a 15 little neighborhood girls with their noses pressed up against hamster kingdom...but at least they're not trying to take her out of her cage and play dress up yet.

Then my bf tells me that she laid the following ground rule on her 8 year old daughter. "If that hamster gets loose, be very clear, I'm setting traps". And she is dead serious. Apparently her daughter just stood there and looked at her like 'my Mom is insane'. She tells me "I don't want that thing getting lose and mating with the mice from outside or something." I seriously am dying. This is killing me. Because I can totally envision her putting traps throughout her immaculate, enormous, very awesomely decorated house and feeling NO remorse when she finds Cinnamon's lifeless body in a trap behind the couch.

We trade a few stories about friends we know who's kids have had hamsters. I warn her about wet tail and I'm thinking she'd be worried about losing a hamster so soon. Instead she asks, "does that happen pretty soon after getting them? Because that would be perfect." I think I'm hearing wrong, but I'm not. She then tells me that one of the neighbor's hamsters ate a piece of plastic and bit the dust. She said she's thinking that in a month or two maybe somehow a sandwich bag will accidentally get into hamster kingdom. She's only kidding of course. I think. But I'm still laughing out loud.

There's no way that tropical sales conference is any better than this. No way.

The Wide Wide World of Sports

This past weekend we entered into the right of passage known as Saturday sports. As I've said before, we're newbies to alot of these kid things. Only as Kate is growing up are we navigating the road of all the social interaction that comes with your kids having a life.

My college friend hooked me up with the soccer thing and we got our kids on the same team. Then she says they need someone to coach (I can totally envision her laughing a bit evilly and knowingly while recounting this conversation to her other friends with older kids). Me, new parent with innocent fresh naivete to the world of kid's sports says - Jeff will do it! I did imagine beautiful moments as Jeff passes on his love of soccer to his daughter and other young eager proteges on early crisp fall mornings. Little ones in their tiny cleats and shin guards running with the ball at their feet.

Here is the reality: We're down one man from the get go because of flu. (We are the only ones without an older child interestingly.) One doesn't make it into his t shirt or out of his Dad's arms. There is much indecision as to what the team name should be. The boys like the Tigers, the girls do not. The girls are okay however if they are 'spotted' tigers (maybe they are envisioning pink polka dotted tigers?) Spotted Tigers it is.

They have a few minutes of practice. Mostly they look at Jeff in bewilderment as he tries to explain a throw in or the concept of passing the ball to a teammate (I am mentally trying to will him advice to just let the kids run around kicking the ball instead of all this rule stuff.)

Then comes the scrimmage against the other little team. 4 on 4, no goalies. Right off the bat we find out that if you are thirsty, apparently you just leave the field. And that when the ball goes out of bounds and down the hill your team and the other team will find it more fun to roll down the hill again and again as opposed to returning to the soccer field. (This was really funny to watch however. ) Also, if you are the really fast kid who has been groomed to play soccer since you were 6 months old, you already know how to throw in the ball towards the goal then run to it and score before any of your own team or the Spotted Tiger team has even looked up from the field. His shirt number was very fittingly Number 1.

Kate did really great. Much better than I thought. I was prepared for her to be messing around in the back field. Or crying because someone stepped on her foot or need a "fix" for her band aid addiction. None of that happened. Instead she was out there in the middle of the pack that follows the ball. Made a steal. Even created a play for our team to score (thanks Cody!) I was impressed! Maybe some of our good genes did get passed on. Even though Daddy says Mommy doesn't even know how to kick a soccer ball. Whatever Daddy.

Go Spotted Tigers!

Mommas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up. Period.

I love the age between 18 mos and 2 years. I love seeing your little ones totally explode with language, grow a mouthful of teeth (okay so maybe that's not that much fun) and show their personality. It's watching who your child is going to become and it's crazy.

Riley is beginning to assert her independence and it cracks me up. I love how everything is no. But then not really. Especially at the dinner table. The other day she told me that 'I do' for getting into the car and her car seat. She did NOT want me to help. I had to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment reminding myself that her sister will not die if I am 2 minutes later to pick her up.

It cracks me up that she likes to practice sitting on the potty and at school sits for so long that they have to ask her to get up so other kids can use it. Even funnier is when Kate sings the crocodile song and at the part where it says 'Don't forget to Scream' that Riley pipes in with the mandatory scream. Love it.

My favorite part of the day is when it's my bedtime with Riley and after reading books and snuggling in the chair, the lights are out and I go to put her in her crib and catch myself in the mirror. She is not the tiny little baby that she was 22 months ago, her legs hang down out of my arms. But she still smells so good and I whisper that I love her and give her kisses and wish this part would never end.

Heavyweight Matchup: Toddler VS Mommy's Patience

If patience were a bank account I would be severely over drafted this month. Seriously. In this match up toddler is winning and it's no fun for anyone.

A while ago, I got one of those chain emails from a Mom in my parents group. Something like 'The Toddler's Creed' (probably written by some Grandma lady who just wanted to make Mom's feel like crap because she was so far removed from being in the MIDST of holding her sh*t together that she forgot how hard it is!) But I digress. So this big lengthy poem thing is basically saying that parents hurry their toddlers from here to there, to brush teeth, to get out the door etc.. and toddlers just want to enjoy their surroundings and take it all in, just be. Great thanks for the fabulous chain email, that sure makes me feel like an even BETTER Mom.

At our house we get the girls up (or Kate has been up since 6:15 watching some horrible Barney type show that she put on herself) and get breakfast going. Thankfully most mornings eating is not a problem. The SPEED at which these things happen however is.

I think about this poem when I'm trying in a fun sing songy voice to get Kate to hurry up and put her shoes on so we can get to the car because we're late for the crazy drop the car at the carpool/drop the child at school with Daddy who then walks to bus/drop the other child at daycare/mommy tries to get to work early enough that leaving at 5 doesn't make me look like a slacker morning routine. Thanks a lot stupid chain email poem, now I'm late AND I feel like I'm ruining my daughter's childhood.

But seriously, I swear that toddlers have this innate sense to know when you NEED to be in the car 5 minutes ago and take that time to dance naked in their room pretending to look for underwear or can ONLY have that one headband that you haven't seen in a month and then completely freak out and melt down when you say 'please, I cant' ask again, we need to get going.' So then there's that whole screaming, crying, refusing to walk to the car unless if only in a straight line with three hops in the middle. Then throw in some sympathy wailing from little sister. I can't take it. I CANNOT TAKE IT. I see why parents swatted their kids rears when we were little. I need to perfect the arched eyebrow like my Mom or the deep one word utterance from my Dad that still makes me get get all shaky. It's called fear, um I mean, respect and my kids don't have it.

So when will this battle end? Ever? All I can see is teenager years looming and I'm really scared because I can barely handle this! I think I need to find some class on psychological warfare for mornings with small children. Do you think they offer that? Because the patience thing? It's just not working for me.

Dino-Nugget Salad

My oldest daughter is one of those super picky eaters (read: hot dogs, salami, crackers and pancake diet. Maybe a banana if she's feeling a bit of rickets coming on.) It drives me nuts and makes meal planning hard.

Our doc recommended a book called 'How To Get Your Kids To Eat, But Not Too Much' by Ellyn Satter. I read it and I'm on board. She hasn't really eaten any more, but we don't have mealtime battles or reverse psychology mind melts over vegetables. My approach is to make kid friendly versions of the stuff that my husband and I eat for dinner. It's not really working, but I'm beyond trying. Riley however will eat pretty much anything you put in front of her so we did something right with the second one.

I had the hankering for a big salad for dinner. The kind you get at one of those chain restaurants but without the bacon, avocado, cheese and ranch dressing. WITH however, the yummy breaded chicken. All Moms have to keep a running tally in their very full filing cabinet of a brain, what is in the freezer, fridge and cupboards that will feed my family a healthy balanced meal. I was imagining a nice breaded chicken breast sliced length ways over a big salad of mixed greens, tomatoes, cucumber etc.. The kids would have dino nuggets, some ranch dressing with a bit of salad in it and something else that I would find in the cupboard.

After a crazy day of running around and obligations, meal time and bath time are looming closer and it's time to get dinner started. Confidently I stride to the garage to get the dino nuggets and chicken breasts. Um... only dino nuggets. Okaaayyy- I headed to the kitchen to wrestle with the very full freezer of mystery zip locks. After being attacked by an open bag of shelled edamame, it's apparent that Jeff and I will not be having diagonally sliced breaded chicken breast salad, but instead the oh so gourmet - dino nugget salad. Oh yeah, nothing but the best at our house.

As I arrange Kate's plate so that the dinosaurs are attacking each other and put enough ketchup on the neck of the downed dinosaur to represent a mauling, I tell my husband the news. We are having dino nugget salad. (In the tone of course that says Don't Fork With Me, Just Eat the Salad and Say Thanks.) He says nothing because he is a smart man.

I'm still waiting for Food Network to call.

The 'Mom'fia - It's A Real Thing. Without the Horse Head Of Course.

There are things that happen in my crazy life as a working Mom - attempting to be SuperMom that you just KNOW are happening to other ladies out there. Right?Right??

As my 4 year old daughter begins to navigate a new Pre K -I'm finding all the things that accompany your toddler entering toddler social world I was clearly not prepared for. Seriously. Are there books out there for this kind of thing? (and when would I read it?)

Kate began a new Pre K program at this great school (I think they might spike the coffee hour here - EVERYONE I've spoken to sings the school's praises - so that's a good thing. Right?) I was so worried about her transition from our previous daycare pre school program (with some serious kick arse teachers) to this new school. I thought about her concerns, her stress, what she would choose to wear the first day, will she actually eat lunch that we've packed with her approval.... All those things. I was NOT prepared for the cocktail party without cocktails that is being the 'new parent' in a small private school.

I didn't have the witty commentary, cute outfit, uber 'good morning strangers' confidence - that is necessary for being the new Mom on the block. I was blindsided! I was not prepared! Where was the warning? The syllabus for Moms?

Throw in that I'm a full time working Mom who has to drop her kid off at the crack of dawn before school begins (yes - I'll admit to doing some guilt crying in the car because she was the first kid there all three days) and it's good times all around. Then add in my younger daughter sobbing plaintively from the back seat for 'sissie' as she points to the empty booster seat as I drive her to her own daycare. Hell0 - did NOT see that one coming!

So I've made it through the first 3 days, the 1st of the month coffee hour and the Sunday afternoon back to school pot luck. Not quite sure I can track how many times I stuck my foot in my mouth or came off as the loud mouthed, fast talking Mom who can't be there for story hour twice a week... but I just hope my little peanut of a daughter makes a better showing for our family and they don't hold me against her. I do have to do a huge shout out for the cool Mom Anne - who looks at me the first day and says "You look new - Welcome! I'm Anne!" Bless her. She rocks. I want to be that Mom next year. She has no clue - but she made my day. Oh yeah and um... when I sort of cried a little at the coffee hour (that I snuck out of work to attend) to that other Mom Jen - and she emailed to check up on me. She rocks too.



Here we go.