School Daze (Yeah, I know that's not an original title. Shut it.)

She was nervous.  

(It didn't help that family was in her face asking if she was okay? scared? upset? and sending her subconscious signals that school is something to get all in a tizzy about.  So.  There's that.)

Every kid climbing on the bus had to pause and pose in the door for Mom, which gave me a bit of Suburban Nausea.  But then again, I'm not one to wring my hands with sentiment and ooze weak tears.  I'm Jaci.  But since I'm also Jaci, the Suburban Middle Class Mom at the Bus Stop, I jumped on board the Peer Pressure Bus and snapped the picture.  

We both felt awkward about it.

Kevin and I followed the bus to school because we're Helicopter Parents and What! If! 

Then, rather than going home and weeping over baby books and allowing ourselves to wallow in "She's growing up!" idiocy...

I am making Debbie Brown's Dotty Dog cake for a friend's 2nd Birthday party tonight.  I ran out of fondant before I could make the face, nose, or ears and now I'm procrastinating by writing this blog post instead of making more fondant.

That whole Cake Business idea got shelved when my Mom had to move in with my grandparents this summer and take care of them and their "I'm not going to a nursing home!!!!" fussiness.  I'm no where near ready to actually sell these cakes anyway.  If you look close at that dog, it's totally screaming "HOME MADE!!!"

*sigh*  I don't think his nose is going to fit on the plate...watch it break off in transport.

*shaking fists at sky*

This whole post is a classic example of DON'T SQUEEZE TOO MUCH CRAP IN ONE DAY.  I will never, ever learn.

Okay, bag o' marshmallows.  Let's rock this.

(For updates on the cake and final pics, follow my Facebook Page.)

Photoshopped Portrait of a Mom

This weekend, I downloaded our pictures and worked on Elodie's baby book.  While I was re-sizing and removing red eye, my hand hovered over the extra special buttons...teeth whitening...thinning...blemish corrector...   

I was sooo tempted to photoshop the pictures of me.

If I thin myself by 38%, whiten my teeth, and buff out the evil 11's between my eyebrows I look like me!!!  Er, the idea of me that lives in my head anyway; the Jaci that's 24, gorgeous, and modeled at a bridal show.

Runways and crippling insecurity DON'T MIX.  (1st AND LAST time I modeled.)

The real Jaci is 31, overweight and has coffee-stained teeth.

*sigh*

Don't get me wrong, I'm alllll about cropping large chunks off my hips (or trimming a slab o' arm flab) and turning a craptastic picture into one I wouldn't mind putting in a frame.  And okay, I have used the teeth whitening button.  *cough* MY HEADER *cough*  But altering all of our everyday, family pictures?

I can't do it.

I have daughters!  Girls who are growing up in this horrible culture of BE FLAWLESS.  What am I saying by photoshopping all of our family pictures behind the scenes?  How can I hand them albums full of glowing, weirdly buffed images of something resembling their mother filmed only from the waist up?

This picture really made my decision.  I love it because I have no makeup on, the TV is in the background, and the room is darkened like a cave.  It captured the crazy/wonderful/chaotic period of Newborn. 

I should crop out the TV, mess around with the exposure, cover my red cheeks with air-brushing/shine remover, zap the moles from my arm, thin myself by 30%, and whiten my teeth.  But that would edit out the truth--and the beauty--of the whole picture.  It's a moment in time as New Mom, not a Glamor Shot for my vanity.

There's a picture of my great-grandma standing with her young kids in the 1930's.  She has my legs!  Those meaty, thick, irritating peasant legs.  If she had my technology she might have "touched up" that photo--but I'm glad she didn't.  That picture is meaningful to me because of her flaws.  

I hope my girls can find the same comfort in pictures of me someday.

I'm still cringing at shots of me with double chins, stomach rolls, and meaty cankles, but I'm quietly tucking them in our albums.  It's more than just a bad picture of me--it's a picture of Mom. 

Join the Dark Side: Become a Clearance Whore

I didn't do any back-to-school shopping.

(I realize I've committed retail heresy.  I shall flog myself with Children's Place ads and Mom Guilt.) 

Elizabeth has a complete wardrobe thanks to my insane squirreling away of 90% off clearance racks and Consignment Shop End of Season Sales. 

$1 jeans?!?  Hells yes!  I'll take every size you got.  She'll wear them when she's 10.

I realized I have a problem when I dug in a clearance rack and snorted, "Five bucks?!?  I don't pay more than $2.50.  I shall take my business elsewhere!" and stormed out of T.J. Max with a hair toss. 

I have giant tupperware containers (the kind that hold Christmas decorations) filled with Future Sizes jammed in my attic.  And?  They are ORGANIZED like a mofo.  I've never lost an outfit or pulled out a misplaced, now-too-small tank top.  It's a gift, people.

In case you would rather spend next August hanging out at the pool with a trashy (and yet hilarious) smut novel instead of OUTLET SHOPPING HELL--here's what I do:

• Shop for next summer NOW.  "But Jaci, I don't know what size to get!"  Neither do I.  I guesstimate, and when in doubt, go bigger.  I also remind myself that I'm "gambling" about as much money as two large pizzas.  It's not going to break the bank if it doesn't fit next year.  (Tip: Don't try this with shoes--buy those as needed.)
• Make outfits in the store.  Bit o' wisdom I learned the hard way.  That adorable, moss green corduroy skirt with the silky ribbon bow isn't such a deal when it sits in the closet because you never found anything to match it.  (I hate that damn skirt.)  If you have no idea what will go with it--PASS. 
• Rock Consignment Sales.  $12 used Gymboree?  No thanks.  Gymboree for $3?  That's better.  My experience with consignment is that it's overpriced garage sale stuff every day except end of season sales.  I go two or three times a year with my Big Ass Box (see below) and kill two birds with one stone.  (Note:  I'm not a big enough whore to do yard sales.  That's a whole culture I just don't get.)
• Get a Big Ass Box!  Cardboard or some fancy pants homemade craft project--just get a box.  (Me?  I went for "liquor store brown".)  Take said Big Ass Box and shove it beside your dryer for a handy place to dump too small/end of season outfits that you want to donate/sell.  A couple times a year, drag Big Ass Box to a consignment shop or Goodwill and purge.  
• Tupperware is your friend.  The back of the closet isn't such a great spot for storage.  For one thing, the kid sees it and screams for the Dora hoodie in July.  That's always fun.  But mostly it's too easy to lose stuff in there.  I toss new clothes in a container, label the outside, et viola.  Jam it in the attic until needed.

Here's to avoiding long lines in Justice next August.

Introducing Miss OMG! (or, A Kindergarten Orientation Recap)

Kindergarten Orientation Recap

 

1. Elizabeth is the prettiest girl.*  She also has Morning Kindergarten, because PA is a state that believes in screwing over working mothers while pouring money into outside after-school-care programs.

 *I'm not prefacing that opinion with polite demurs.  She's stunning.  

2.  I'm supposed to send Elizabeth to school with "a small, healthy snack".  She's there for 2 1/2 hours.  I wanted to bang my head off the wall and howl, "My God!  STOP WITH THE SNACK INSANITY!  CHILDREN CAN GO A FEW HOURS WITHOUT JAMMING LUNCHABLES IN THEIR FACE HOLES!!!!" 

3.  The principal impressed me by laying on the floor beside a difficult boy who decided to face plant and refused to get up.  This guy impressed me before with lightening fast e-mail responses and a reputation for being hands on--but laying on the floor to talk to a kid?  Whoa.

4.  Elizabeth did not cling, cry, or freak out.  In fact, I was a little late getting to her after the Orientation Bus Ride, and instead of finding her in traumatized tears (like the others) she was leaning against the school wall like a Pink Lady.

5.  A clump of moms near me got to know each other by describing their recent 30th Birthday Bar Hops, which then progressed to a scathing review of "obvious 21 year olds" and their trying-too-hard dresses.  Because after all, what mom's mind DOESN'T turn to inappropriate clubbin' outfits beside the PTA sign up sheet?    

6.  All of the Kindergarten teachers are 23, blond, perky, tiny...and help coach Varsity Cheerleading.  I wish I were joking.  To deal with my rampant 30-something, post-baby-body jealousy, I hereby codename Elizabeth's teacher Miss OMG!

Get used to this picture.  I love it so much, I'll probably flash it every time I mention Miss OMG!  OG TEAM!!!

Actually, the girl professional teacher deserves to be held in awe.  She's got 34 Kindergarten students between her two classes.  So...Miss OMG! is like, a totally awesome fit.

Mom Requirement #108: Theme Park Buddy

At 5?  Theme parks are AWESOME!!!!!

At 31?  Theme parks kind of suck.

Motherhood is a Calling (Just Like Every Other Calling)

WARNING: This will only be slightly interesting to Christians, and not at all interesting to anyone else.  Turn back.  Unpopular theological blatherings ahead. 

I came to grip with the Mommy Wars a few months ago and I've shrugged my shoulders at the whole SAHM/WAHM debate ever since.  I look at it like choosing a major: it's a personal choice, there are a hundred different paths to choose from, and in the end we all graduate with similar $50,000 resume fillers.

Math. English Literature. Chemical Engineering.  As long as you land a job afterward, who cares?  The same logic applies to the Mommy Wars.  

I'm pretty content to let people figure out their own way of handling their family.  Stay home?  Fabulous!  Work 50 hours per week? Good on you!  Seriously people, I don't care.  

I do care when someone drags Christianity into the equation and states that they are Called To Be a Mother--which is usually interpreted as Called to be a Stay-At-Home-Full-Time-Mother.  It makes me feel slightly stabby. 

For one thing, self-righteous back-patting and rounds of "Huzzah! We're doing the RIGHT thing by our children!" implies that ALL mothers should live exactly as they live (at home) or they aren't fulfilling their Calling.  As I have yet to find a verse that says, "All mothers shall stay home after bearing children," I wonder where they are pulling this stuff from.  I see lots of verses that children are a blessing and the Proverbs 31 woman (who worked in lots of ways) but nothing about who should watch a toddler from the hours of 9-5.  (And the Old Testament wasn't exactly lax on details--they even had rules about wearing cotton/poly blends.)

But more than that, by stating that their Calling is high and special and extra-super-dooper important, they are saying God ranks Callings--that He finds some people better than others and therefore gives them the really big work.  The rest of the people?  Eh...they can go shlep around in a box factory or something.   

Here's a mind blowing concept:  whatever work you are doing right now?  THAT'S YOUR CALLING.  Law?  Data entry?  Nursing?  Taking care of your baby?  All callings.  And next year?  You might get a different calling.  (I know. MIND BLOWING.)  Because when we talk about calling, we're talking about work.  Normal, everyday, work.

When God talks about calling?  He's talking about HIS WORK.  He's talking about adopting someone as His child and then working through them.  His Calling is all about calling you to Him.  It's not about being a pastor...or a mother...or a janitor.  It's about being a Christian. 

Is a Mother doing God's work?  Yes.  Has God given her a major responsibility to protect and cherish and raise a child?  Absolutely.  Has God made her work more important than other work?  No.  Is being a Mother the only calling in her life?  No. 

Is it wrong for a Christian mother to find encouragement in a SAHM life by thinking of herself as doing God's work?  NOT AT ALL.  Is it wrong for her to think she's doing work more important than that of any other Christian?  EMPHATICALLY YES. 

Playdates 101

Top 5 Reasons Playdates Rock 

They sell cards for this?!?  BWAHAHAHAHA!

1. I clean my house.

Knowing someone is coming over inspires me to swish around some toilet bowl cleaner and chisel dried Cheerios off the kitchen table.  Otherwise?  Meh.

2. The kids get out of my face.

No one moans for snacks.  No one pulls at my pants.  No one begs to watch all 200 episodes of She-Ra on NetFlix.  For a couple hours, my kids are OFF ME.  Bliss.

3. I'm happy.

Instead of listlessly clicking through Twitter links and counting down until 6:00, I'm talking to another mom who can relate to everything that's going on in the room--IN REAL TIME--and we can laugh it off.  And when 6:00 does come around, I'm surprised.  The day flew by.

4. I get to know another Mom.

I usually leave with a Girl Crush.  I'm either starved for friendships or I'm incredibly adaptable (or I'm just a loser) but I've never come away thinking, "Ew. Hate Her."  Even with Moms who are the complete opposite of me--I admire something about them (militantly organic? awe-inspiring patience? joie de vivre?) and want to hang out with them MORE.

5. Loooooong naps.

Everyone leaves and the kids crash.  Meanwhile, I'm energized from all that adult contact!  I bounce around the house getting all kinds of stuff done, like scrubbing out the crisper.

Top 5 Reasons Playdates FAIL   

1. Playing matchy-matchy with the kids.

  

Elizabeth is a 5 year old girl who plays with everyone from 8 year old boys to babies.  There is no rule that says we can only invite other 5 year old girls to play Pretty Pretty Princess--or that I can only hang out with another mom who happened to breed the same month I did.  

2. Comparing the kids.

Unless they have a disability, they will all walk/talk/crap in a toilet/choose someone you hate for their spouse.  It's the circle of life.  Stop tweaking out about it.

3. Feeling insecure about yourself.

This one might hurt, but...  Okay.  If you're majorly insecure about being a mom, or gaining 30 pounds, or extra bills, or screaming "SHUT UP!" at your children, then you're going to feel that 1,000 FOLD on a playdate.  You'll be with another mom who has her game face on and she's going to look like everything you're not.  So check your issues at the door, or reschedule for a day you're on a Manic High fueled by three cups of coffee.  (Works for me.) 

4. Letting your kid embarrass you.

Kids are annoying little farts.  Once they can roll away from you and form an independent thought?  It all goes to pot.  Remember: they are a separate entity from you.  

5. Hoping she'll be your new BFF and you'll hang out EVERY DAY!!!

I'm a weirdo who thinks Best Friends are rare--like once in a lifetime rare--so I don't go into new friendships thinking we're going to swap clothes and play with each others' hair.  And at the age of Mom?  We're all busy and stretched too thin.  If she stays in touch with you every month, you ARE one of her good friends.  Don't get weird about it.