So This Is Motherhood?

Today is Halloween. It is 8pm on a Friday night and I am sitting here with a glass of red wine getting ready to watch some trashy horror movie and go to bed. As relaxing as this sounds, it is also a bit depressing. I used to love Halloween. Not so much the dressing up (I was a sexy kitten 5 years in a row) but rather going out on Halloween. Throughout my husband's residency our best friends would throw a party that would make any fraternity boy jealous. We would drink until we could barely stand and it really was something that I looked forward to every year. Last year Liam was only 8 weeks old and the holiday just passed through my sleepless haze. 

This year I watched the torch get passed to my three younger sisters. All left in equally scandalous outfits (a St. Paulie's Girl, a Nurse, and Marie Antoinette) off to their respective parties and I was surprised at how it made me long for those days when I would be doing the same. 

Luckily I can take solace in the fact that tomorrow my head won't be feeling like it is on the verge of exploding. I won't be hunched over the toilet, and for once I will be able to remember the evening in its entirety. 

Oh yea, and I have this.

Really doesn't that make anything worth it? Cutest little shark I ever saw! 

Guess there is always next year. 

I Hate Other Kids.

Actually, I don't hate all other kids. I just hate all mean kids. 

Allow me to explain. 

Today I took the little man down to the beach (again!) and in the sand they had the most awesome park. As we began playing I noticed these two cute little pigtailed girls having a tea party. Complete with kettle and tea cups. I remember thinking to myself how adorable they were (emphasis on were.) My little man and I continued to play next to them as a sweet little blond girl with ringlets in her hair approached. "Can I play with you guys," she asked in her cute little 5 year old voice. To which the other girls responded, "No, we don't want to be your friend." The little girl asked why, and of course the snotty others had no reason for her, they just didn't. "Find your own friends," one of them said. "We don't like you," said the other.

My heart was breaking for her. There was no reason for this rejection. She had the same clothes. Same cute blond hair. Same little smile. I stood there not knowing what to do. I wanted to go up to "those" girls and explain to them that one day this type of behavior would bite them in the ass. I wanted to run over to their mommies and tell them what their "adorable" little ones were saying. I really wanted to cry for the one who was now all alone after such a tragic rejection. 

The fact is I did nothing. I'm not sure of what the proper etiquette is. My little man is so little that I've never been faced with this sort of situation. So Liam and I went to the big kid part of the park where she now was playing and we asked her to help us build a sand castle. She smiled and played with us until her mommy said it was time to go home. I wanted to hug her when she left. I wanted to tell her that in the end those girls never win. That one day she will have more friends than she can imagine. 

Now I can't sleep because it finally hit me that one day someone might be mean to my little man. My perfect little baby might one day be told he is not good enough, or cool enough, or smart enough. I know, I know, such is life, these are growing experiences. This is the kind of stuff that defines who we become as adults. But THIS IS MY BABY. I wanted to kick some five year old butt today at the park and I didn't even know these kids. If my little man ever comes home in tears or god forbid with a black eye my husband better lock me in the  basement to keep me from seeking retribution. Make fun of me fine. May fun of my baby, well, I don't know what I'd do. After I got done crying and telling him how amazing he is, I can't imagine that it would be pretty. Just thinking about it, I can feel my heart literally breaking.

I really hate mean kids.

I love So Cal.

I realize today I am supposed to be discussing something that resembles "all things literary." The fact is the 82 degree weather has not only fried a few of my brain cells, but also my ability to read. 

I have, however, been able to spend my days lounging on the beach with my little man. 

Today we found this sign and I happily obliged.

Here are some more beach shots. As you can see he the trip over did not scar him too badly. I think he will forgive me. What do you think?

The little man loves to dig holes.

 Here he is kicking back with a cold one in our "creation."

Now I remember why it's so important to have relatives that live in warm places!

  

A Horror Story.

You guessed it. It really was that bad.

I mean awful. Here is the play by play.

• 4:20- We get to airport and smoothly check in. We make it to the gate with more than enough time to spare.
• 5:15- We are having an impromptu picnic at the gate with a Starbucks fruit cup and Cheerios. Smiles all around.
• 5:30- We are on board reading books, watching cartoons in the back of the seat.
• 6:30- We split a turkey sandwich, get in are jammies and have a big bottle. Time for night night right? Wrong!
• 7:00- 20 minutes of screaming. Blood curling screaming. Red faced, OMG I can't believe this is my child screaming.
• 7:01- Projectile vomit. Everywhere. 10 ounces of bottle up. Turkey sandwich up. Fruit cup and Cheerios, you get the picture.
• 7:10- Quite the scene. Me tearing apart the car seat and cleaning vomit from every corner of the airplane with some paper towels and antibacterial wipes. Liam being held naked by angel/mother of a 3 year old who is thanking god she is not me. Man sitting next to me having disappeared into thin air to a "special" no baby seat.
• 7:30- Liam changed back into his clothes, and having another bottle. Screaming has subsided.
• 8:00- Crying again. Man in front of me comments on what I horrible mother I am to subject my child to such torture. Me biting my tongue so not to get arrested after I verbally and physically assault the asshole who clearly does not have children.
• 9:00- Still crying, both of us. Luckily his is not that loud.
• 9:30- He finally passes out.
• 9:31- Push call button and ask attendant to sit with sleeping child while I "pee."
• 9:32- Lock bathroom door. Sit on seat and cry. Loudly.
• 9:36- Back to seat = order strong drink.
• 10:00- Drink in hand watch the Hills.
• 10:30- Holy shit he's awake and crying. Pick him up and hold him like a baby.
• 10:31- He's out again.
• 11:30- We land, he wakes up smiling. Begins to smile and clap and flirt with everyone around. I continue to give stink eye to the asshole in the row in front of me.
• 1am- Arrive home. Liam is smiling and acting like nothing ever happened.
• 2am- We are both passed out. Me trying to forget the horror that had just taken place.
• 7am- Liam wakes up, smiling. Damn these kids are resilient I think to myself.

I think traveling with an infant is like labor. It really really really sucks, and a week later it is a distant memory. The only difference? In a week we have to do this all over again. On a red eye.

I'm going to need a Valium and a big bottle of vodka for that one.

Pray For Me.

Never one to take my own advice Yummy Mummy is again traveling with the little man. Across the Country. The entire Country. Alone. Oh dear god, please help me! We are off to California, to show the little guy off to my side of the family. Let's be real. It's 82 degrees and sunny all week. How could we pass up such an opportunity?

So we are packed and ready to go. Having learned from my past misadventures, here are the things I am doing differently this time.

1. The man has his own seat. $400 is a small price to pay to lock him down.
2. I packed lightly. 1 week, I bag...for both of us! (never mind it is a huge bag)
3. I bought some of those nifty wheels for the car seat. That way I can check the stroller and wheel him through the airport, rather than carry his 24lb tush.
4. 2 carry ons. 1 for the Mac, one for everything else.
5. Our flight is 5:30pm, and lasts 6 hours. If all goes according to plan he should be sleeping for the entire way (yes, I realize I am in complete denial and am really just fooling myself.)

Here is what I have working against me.

1. Taxi is 15 minutes late.
2. Little man is still sleeping.
3. Pilates class yesterday was more of an ab boot camp. Not only can I not laugh, or lift anything, breathing is also extremely difficult bordering on impossible.

Pray for me. Seriously. Pray for me.

Our Dream House.

We have officially been living in our dream house for 2 months now. While there are a number of touch ups that are left (lighting, art, tapestries) and pictures to be hung, we consider ourselves to be pretty much settled. We finally have a home and it feels just like that. We love living here, more than we could ever have imagined. We are a 5 minute drive to downtown Boston yet our neighborhood has such a residential feel. My husband is always commenting about how great it is to finally live in a place and space where we are so comfortable. It really is like a dream.

 A few months ago I had some requests for some pictures and now that the MacBook is up and running I am happy to oblige.

Here is our living room (aka my office)

Another view

The real reason we moved here, the view from our living room. Don't think we don't know how lucky we are to live this close to a park!

The Kitchen (with my husband's previously mentioned paddle board)

The Little Man's room

His crib

His huge closet (I am so jealous!)

Liam's bathroom

My room (minus the pictures that have yet to be hung)

More of my room

Our Bathroom

Mommy's Closet

Of course the shoes and bags have thier own space!

Guest room (aka baby number 2's nursery)

Guest Bathroom

I have a feeling we are going to be living here for quite a long time. For the first time I couldn't be happier about that prospect!

*PS yummy mummy is having a very yummy visitor, 2 actually. My BFF from law school R.L. and her very yummy baby D.A. are coming to visit so I won't be posting tomorrow. Have a great weekend and see you monday!

An American Wife

On the recommendation of my fried K.D. I have begun reading American Wife, by Curtis Sittenfeld. You may recognize the author from the best seller Prep, which is another novel I highly recommend. 

Without giving anything away, American Wife traces the life of a woman that eventually becomes First Lady. She marries an Ivy League boy with a penchant for partying, who eventually becomes a president with a penchant for war. Did I mention he is from Texas? Yes, this story is the fictional account of the life of Laura Bush, who I must admit I have always been intrigued by. 

Throughout her journey the "character" in the novel adapts a considerable amount of her beliefs into her husband's beliefs. For example, did you know Laura was previously a Democrat, and was Pro Choice? It's hard to even consider that given the "conservative" values her husband stands for. All the while she quietly stands beside him, supporting him while he speaks (spews) some things that would rock any person with a conscience to the core, especially someone who hasn't always shared such values. It's amazing what a girl will do or put up with for love.

This made me consider my own marriage, and marriage in general. It is completely normal and accepted for someone to abandon the religion that they were raised with to that of the person they are betrothed. Or to abandon a political party in honor of marital harmony.  I am someone who has adapted to my husbands beliefs and values. I can definitively say that I have changed who I am much more that he has. I always figured this was because I was 22 when we met, and he considerably more intelligent than I will ever be. The things that are important to him never were at odds with what I believed, so I suppose I just adopted those beliefs as my own. Perhaps because it was right, or perhaps it was because it was just easier. Those same values and ideas are now being passed on to our son. Things like our passion for the environment, distrust of religion, liberal values, and an overall desire to make the world a bit of a better place, no matter the cost. I wonder if someday he will meet a girl who will then adapt her ideas to his, or vice versa. 

I doesn't bother me that I have somewhat changed who I am. In fact it seems that over the normal course of a relationship that is generally what happens. In the end, I'm just glad that I'm not married to George Bush! 

A Musical Interlude.

With all the shopping backlash this week (whether real or imaginary; the shopping that is, not the backlash) that yummy mummy has been facing, I'm opting out of this week's fashion post. I think its time we all take a few minutes to take a deep breath and listen to what has become my absolute favorite song. Who knew Mr. Stefani was so unbelievably hot (I did actually.) I seriously cannot listen to this song enough. Enjoy!

ps. I'm not really sure what soccer has to do with the song, but either way the song rocks!

What's mine is mine? Not in this house.

It's officially over. Yep, Madonna and Guy are not so surprisingly officially splitsville. Now the gloves are off and it looks as though Guy is going to walk away with 60 million. Given that Madge is worth about a half a billion, I'm thinking she will be OK. After putting up with the material girl for 8 years he may need a vacation.

This story coupled with some nasty comments that I got on the YM blog this weekend has me thinking about how money is divided amongst couples. Actually obsessing a bit. Everyone does it differently. In our house the philosophy has always been. What's mine is yours and vice versa. In fact, long before we were engaged and strictly living in sin, my husband and I have always combined our finances. I was in law school and he was a poorly paid resident and it was pretty easy to divide the next to nothing that we have always made until last year. Now that we are better off the same holds true. My husband has a job he loves. A job he would do for 10 dollars or 10 million dollars. We are fortunate enough that it provides a lifestyle that allows us to save and spend in a way that we have never been able to in the past. Maybe this is why comments, like the one from Anonymous really get to me. Just like with Madge and Guy the gloves are off here too.

I am sorry to say I erased Mr. Anonymous' comment (I was a bit ticked off at the time.) I do not believe in censorship as he pointed out; I'm just not a fan of criticism from someone who is too cowardly to leave their name when they are openly judging me. Now I'm wishing I had taken the time to reply. Luckily it is my blog so Mr. Anonymous here is what I should have said to you.

Thank you for thinking that I am some pampered house wife who is working my husband to the bone while I do nothing but shop us into the poor house. After reading your post my husband also thanks you for looking out for him. However, we have decided not to take your opinion of us or our marriage to heart. I'm sorry that it bothers you do much that I am able to afford nice things, and that my husband is happy to provide said things to me. He assures me that a sweater here and there is not going to keep our son from going to college and we will not be foreclosing on our house any time soon. 

I am particularly impressed with your modern views that because my husband makes the money then it is his money. I guess since I raise the children they are then mine, and only mine. I know it is very hard for my loving husband to go to a job he loves from 7-5, 5 days a week. When he comes home he has his favorite vegetarian meal in the oven, his dry cleaning hung in the closet, his clothes clean and folded in his drawers, not to mention his spotless and organized home. The fridge is not only stocked with all of his organic favorites, but also his favorite beer. His bills are paid, and his savings is secure. His son home and happy, fed, waiting with open arms to go to the park for an hour with his mommy and daddy. I can only imagine how frustrating it can be then to know that his wife, god forbid, bought something that day. Something that we would have previously been discussed, and agreed upon, because Mr. Anonymous there are no secrets about spending in this marriage. No hidden credit cards. We agree on a set amount that I can spend for the month, and I do not exceed that amount. It's called a healthy marriage, and sensible financial planning Mr. Anonymous. Something that may be foreign to you.

We truly thank you for taking the time to compare me to a trophy wife who simply married their husband for their money. But we assure you Mr. Anonymous, in the seven years we have been together, money hasn't been a part of it. The years we spent in a 300 sq ft apartment driving our hand me down car are not lost on us. We are proud to be where we are at. Yes, while my husband makes the money, he does it with the support of his wife. A wife he is proud to be able to buy nice things for. If  he ever does get frustrated I'm sure he can find comfort in his newly tricked out carbon fiber bike, his 4 surfboards, 2 snowboards, his paddle board, or during one of the surf trips that he takes by himself while I am home with his son. Spending in our home is a two way street. And is never done before the savings is in tact. So Mr. Anonymous I think we will be just fine. But again I truly thank you for your interest and I'm so glad you are my number one fan.

Besties.

They say that wrapping yourself in that perfect cashmere sweater is like getting a hug from you best friend. If that is the case I would like to introduce you to my five new BFFs (4 actually, one was purchased last spring on sale; but has yet to be worn.) Having made the upgrade from wool to cashmere can only be compared to when we upgraded our old hand me down Mazda with 160,000 miles to a super comfy new Prius (with a warranty). Yea, it's been that good.

 I have a feeling we are going to get more than a few miles out of this friendship. 

My Favorite!

Jamison "Cashmere Hooded Throw Cardigan"

Qi Cashmere "Cowl Neck Kimono Top"

French Connection "Lofty Knit Wrap"

C&C Cashmere "Jolie Cardigan"

Nola & Scout "Wool/Cashmere Shrug"

I'll be paring these with my favorite fall purchase my new J Brand 912 skinny jeans.

Seriously, staying so warm never looked or felt so good.

When I Grow Up.

Recently I was out on a play date with a very good friend of mine who I used to work with in my former life. My former lawyer life. The one where I worked 60 plus hours a week. The one where I was constantly exhausted, constantly stressed out, constantly checking my blackberry waiting to hear from my terror of a boss about how she would have done everything differently. 

You get the idea, work in general sucks. The worst part, I had to wear suits and pantyhose, yes pantyhose. Clearly not hot. Now I spend my days in my casual fabulousness, drinking lattes, playing at the park, working out, hosting play dates, generally loving every minute of my life.

I thought that everyone around me knew how incredibly fulfilled I feel. How much I love being a stay at home mom. How I never want to go back to my former life. Clearly I was wrong.

So I was at said play date commenting to my friend about how much fun it was to be able to go to the park everyday with my little man. This is when my friend turned to her daughter and said, "you know how we always talk about what you want to be when you grow up?" "Yes Mommy," she innocently replied. To which my girlfriend responded, "well if you work really hard, and go to law school, then one day you too can spend you days lunching, working out, and sitting in the grass just like Yum." Punch to the gut.

It wasn't so much what she said, but rather how she said it. Insinuating that I was some kind of failure, or maybe some papered housewife. What about the fact that I worked really hard to get here, and that maybe some things are more important that my career. Like I don't know, watching my kid grow up. Wasn't the whole point of the women's movement that we wanted a choice, if we are lucky enough to have one? 

I am confident in my choice, and in the end that's all that matters. I just wish I could let it stop bothering me what other people think I should be doing with my life.

Wait, Writing The Damn Thing Isn't The Hard Part?

I just spent the weekend "researching" how hard it is going to be to get my book published (assuming I move past chapter  2.) Apparently I was thinking way too big. Forget getting published, I need to get an agent. Not such an easy task i soon found out. Not at all. Here is how the conversation with myself went. I think the 5 stages of grief sum it up pretty well. 

1. Denial- OK, this website is wrong. I really don't have to query (whatever the hell that is) this many agents waiting months before I hear back. What? All these websites say the same thing? Well they are all wrong.
2. Anger-Are you effing kidding me. I have dreamt of this book from years. my blood (not really) sweat (well sort of) and tears (you got me there) will have gone into this thing, and all I get is to send a one page cover letter to some "person" who is going to decide whether my book (baby) is good enough? I don't think so!
3. Bargaining- What if I write the book really fast and give up all online shopping (gasp) then can a get an agent? Please, Please, Please? Honey, why can't you fix this??????
4. Depression- Why even write the stupid thing. It's not like anyone is ever going to read it. I mean, really, what's the point?
5. Acceptance- Fine. If this is how the game is played, I show them. I'll write the best query they have ever seen and they will all want exclusive rights to my book. Then I'll pit them all against each other and see you can come up with the best book deal plus an advance for the next two novels! I'll show you who's in charge.
   

I think I am currently looming between stage 3 and 4. With all those crappy books out there who knew this could be so hard. Worst case scenario you can download yummy mummy's book right here for 99 cents sometime next year. Maybe I'll be able to get those new Louboutins after all. Who needs "the man"? Not me (unless of course he wants my book, and then me, me, me).

Rock The Vote!

I am officially undecided. Not about the election, I have never been more sure of anything (Go Obama!) But rather, what length of trench to purchase! This is serious people. There I was yesterday, standing in Burberry with option A and option B and I was utterly and completely at a loss. Completely. 

The first option is the IvyBridge. It hits just below the knee, is double breasted, and is completely traditional.

Option B is the Littlemore. This is a more modern take on the trench. Single breasted, with a dressier silhouette, hitting below mid thigh. 

You can clearly see the positives and negatives in both. I am so torn, and since I can't get both (sadly) I have to make a tough decision. 

I want this coat to last forever, to be my staple item, to be associated with my identity. This idea has me leaning towards the IvyBridge. I do, however, recognize that I am only 29 and the shorter Trench has a much more modern youthful feel. Again, totally at a loss.

I need your help. I am going to post a poll at the top of my blog. Please vote and vote often. At the end of the month (before it gets too cold) I hope to have a better idea of which direction I should go. So put your fashion hats on and help a yummy mummy out!

The Scoop From Goop.

I have to share this with you! I believe it is my duty as a fashion lover! Last week I wrote about my mild (now major) obsession with Gwyneth Paltrow. One of my favorite readers, That Girl, then turned me on to what has become my favorite website. Actually, the website is not fully up and running yet, but their newsletter is, and OMG it is amazing. This is my key to becoming my most fashionable self! I can't believe it only took me thirty years to get here.

I was so unbelievably excited when I got this email, that I immediately forwarded it to every yummmy mummy I knew. I also sent it to a few of my single gal friends, and you know what? They already knew about it! Damn I thought, I really am living in a bomb shelter! At least I have you fab mommies out there in the blogosphere to keep me in line.

Below is the best email ever to hit my inbox. I am now on my way to Newbury Street to scoop up every piece mentioned (take a deep breath, honey, I am just kidding; sort of...)

A girl can dream can't she?

At 10PM I realized I had some major technical difficulties uploading the email. Here are some of the pics. The idea is what you can do with just a plain gray tank to get you through your busy "mom" day....getting the kids to school, heading out to run errands, meetings, etc. All doing it looking fabulous just like Gwyn.Go to www.GOOP.com to sign up for the newsletter, you won't be disappointed!