A Documentary About... Motherhood

I'm a huge documentary film fan.  So when my friend Valerie told me that she knew of someone who was making a documentary film about motherhood, and who was looking for mothers to interview, I jumped at the opportunity.

Truth be told, I didn't know much about the documentary when they showed up at my door with the camera crew a few weeks back, but I did know what it was called:  Mom is a Dirty Word.  I also had watched a fundraising trailer, which was intriguing in and of itself.



The tag line for the short stated:  "Mom is a Dirty Word" feature-documentary explores how damaging public policy and media depictions impact Mothers and their families.  

Sure, I can talk about that!

I used a hair dryer and put on make up and cleaned like crazy and got rid of the kids and the dog so that we could have a calm, peaceful ambiance for the interview.  I think I was so busy getting prepared for the interview that I actually never thought about what I was actually going to say in the interview.

I kind of choked.

Not completely.  I mean, the conversation was casual and covered a wide range of issues, many of which I've written about in this blog - the sad state of maternity leave in this country, the reasons why mothers are leaving professional careers in droves, the difficulties women face when trying to reenter the workforce, the adjustment to being a stay at home mom, the regrets we face, the things we gain, and learning to let it all go, among other things.

It was nice and informal and the conversation flowed naturally.

But at the end, the interviewer asked me if I had one thing to say about motherhood, what would it be?  And could I please look in the camera and say it?

Um.... my mind raced.  Surely, I needed to come up with something really deep, really poignant, really meaningful here.  But the pressure, my God, the pressure!  How to narrow it down?  How to word it?  What was it, anyway?

I rambled a few things, and I honestly can't remember what exactly is I said.  But I do know I said the following:

Being a mother is the best job in the world.  

REALLY?  THAT'S THE BEST I COULD COME UP WITH?  THE MOST RIDICULOUS CLICHE EVER THAT EVERYONE SAYS AND EVERYONE'S HEARD BEFORE AND REALLY CONVEYS NOTHING DEEP OR EMOTIONAL OR REAL ABOUT MOTHERHOOD?

Yup, I choked.  (And this isn't the first time this has happened to me on television - see my interview on the British version of candid camera where I absolutely BOMBED by clicking here).

Hence, there is a very real chance I won't appear in the documentary, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't support the documentary!  Because it is timely and poignant and generally needed.  There's simply not enough out there by mothers, about mothers, for mothers.

There is currently a fundraising effort underway - please support the documentary by donating here.

There's also a new trailer (featuring my dear friend and mentor, Valerie Young - there are no words to describe how awesome she is).




You can like the documentary on Facebook by clicking here.

You can follow the documentary on Twitter by clicking here.

You can find more information on the documentary's website here.

And you can tell all your friends about it.  (There's no click for that).

The director hopes to get the film finished by election season.  I for one can't wait to see it (whether I am in it or not!).

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Explosive Poops on Planes (and Related Netflix Entertainment)

I feel like I could write a novel about diaper mishaps, but I don't.  Because it's disgusting and boring and who really wants to read that?

And yet, here I am about to write a blog post about an explosive poopy diaper.  But I must. Because my story must be told.

Our family went to the Cayman Islands last week - our fourth visit there.  It was awesome and beautiful and perhaps in the near future I will post pictures.  But the trip down there with three kids was a bit brutal.

In order to save a bit of money, we opted to take connecting flights from DC to the Caymans.  It sounded like a great idea a few months before whilst searching for the best fare, but I was cursing myself when we arrived late to the Miami airport and had to book it across the terminal to make it to our next flight.  We barely had time to do anything, but I told my husband we HAD to change my son Colin's diaper before we boarded the next plane.  Because really, where does one change a diaper on the plane?  In the minuscule, disgusting airplane bathroom?  I'm not quite sure logistically how that would work, and I didn't want to learn.

I took the older boys to grab a quick snack, while my husband changed Colin's diaper, in our reclined stroller.  We reunited in the boarding line, where my husband said to me:  You know in the Crocodile Hunter where the crocodiles would roll all over violently when threatened?  That's what Colin just did while I was changing his diaper.  

I had to laugh.  Better him than me.  At least it was done.

We boarded the plane, and I hunkered in with Colin on my lap, who was flying as a lap child.  Just as the plane was about to take off, I smelled something.  I reached at the back of his pants to look in his diaper, and there it was.  Explosive and yellow and mushy and about to go up his back.  And a bit of it got on my forefinger.

I calmly wiped my finger with a napkin and turned to my husband across the aisle and told him that Colin needed his diaper changed asap.  But of course, we had to wait for the plane to take off and for the fasten seat belt sign to be turned off which took, all in, around 20 minutes, all of which were spent with me delicately holding Colin in awkward positions so the poop would not squeeze out of his diaper and up his shirt.  I used this fact as leverage in convincing my husband to be the one to do the dirty deed.

The plane reached cruising altitude, my husband took Colin to the bathroom, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  As I did so, I must have wiped my brow with my hand, because I noticed that my finger had left something wet on my head.

Yes, it's what you are thinking.  Poop.  On my forehead.

I scrambled to find another napkin, a bit confused as to how poop got back on my finger, and thus, on my head.  As I did so, I saw it.

Three Things I Don't Get

I try not to get too political/controversial/contentious on this blog.

But I am coming from a sincere place when I wonder the following:

1) Why is this new Ray Rice video so explosive?

A caveat - I don't follow or care at all about football.  I had never heard of Ray Rice.  But I do follow the news, and from what I understand, on February 15, 2014, Ray Rice was arrested on simple assault charges for assaulting his wife.  A few days later, we all got a glimpse of what happened, as a video surfaced of Ray Rice dragging his unconscious fiancé from an elevator.  She entered the elevator standing.  She left unconscious.

Um, do you really wonder what happened to her inside that elevator?

The next month Ray Rice was indicted, and on July 24, 2014, instead of losing his job, he received a two game suspension.  Apparently, sitting out two games is an adequate punishment for knocking your wife unconscious.

On September 8, 2014, the new Ray Rice video surfaced, and we got to see what happened inside the elevator.  Here it is:



Disgusting.

The same day this video was released, Ray Rice was terminated from his Ravens contract and suspended by the NFL.  All of a sudden, a two game suspension wasn't enough.

So let me get this straight....

You can knock your wife unconscious.  You can be videotaped dragging your wife's unconscious body.  You can be indicted for assault.

And that doesn't merit a termination or suspension.  No, that's not enough.

But if, by some miracle, you happen to be caught on camera doing what everyone already knows you did, then you lose your job.

Lesson - if you choose to abuse your wife, be sure not to do it on camera.  Keep it behind closed doors, and at worse, you'll get a slap on the wrist.  And then everyone will forget about it.

I mean, just look at Chris Brown.  He beat up his girlfriend.  He did this:

And a year after he did this he released a fourth album.  It debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts.

Do we need to see actual video footage of his physical attack to be disgusted and horrified enough to boycott his music?  Just like we need to see the video of what happened inside the elevator, despite the fact that it's glaringly obvious?

I guess I just don't get it.

2) If I hear someone in the bathroom in the middle of the night, I'm going to assume it's my husband or kids or dog before I take a shot gun and kill someone through a closed door.  

I remember seeing Oscar Pistorius at the 2012 Olympics and being impressed and inspired.  A double amputee who makes it to the Olympics?  Who wouldn't be inspired?

But then he shot and killed his girlfriend while she was going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.  He claims he woke up, heard a noise in the bathroom, and thought it was an intruder.  He fired four shots through a locked bathroom door, killing her instantly.

Not so inspiring.

Last week, he was found not guilty of murder.  Instead, he was convicted of culpable homicide, which in U.S terms is equivalent to manslaughter - meaning that the Judge found that he did not intentionally kill his girlfriend; he was merely negligent.  The Judge held that there was a reasonable possibility that Pistorius thought his girlfriend was an intruder when fired shots through the locked door.

I'm not going to pretend to know the intricate details of this case.  In fact, I really got the majority of my information from watching snippets of the Today Show whilst breastfeeding my son.  But let me say this:

If I hear someone in the bathroom in the middle of the night, I'm not going to assume it's an intruder. In all likelihood, I would just go back to sleep.  But if I was curious for some reason as to who was occupying the bathroom, I would do the following:

1) Look and see if my husband was in bed with me.  If yes, then go to #2
2) Look and see if my kids are in bed.  If yes, then go to #3
3) Check and see if the bathroom door was locked.  If yes, then go to #4
4) Say something like "Who goes there?"

Apparently Oscar didn't even get to #1.

Not guilty of murder?

Don't get it.

3) I never knew that taking a stance on transvaginal ultrasound was a thing.

Do you know what a transvaginal ultrasound is?  I do!  I do!  Three pregnancies, and I am an expert on them.

Look, there's Steven Colbert holding one!  It looks like a skinny dildo.  The doctor puts a condom over it (seriously), and then they put it up you, and voila, you see all sorts of things!  In my case, an embryo (hello, Baby Braden!).

Here's the thing - when you are very early in your pregnancy (like 4-10 weeks), doctors can't see the baby with an abdominal ultrasound - it's too low.   Instead, they stick the dildo thing up you and see the baby that way.

It never occurred to me to have a problem with this.

But then a few days ago, whilst breastfeeding and watching the Today Show (see above), a campaign commercial for Democratic Congressional candidate John Foust came on.  Here it is, for your viewing pleasures:



In it, Foust accuses the Republican candidate, Barbara Comstock, of supporting the following:

1) Making abortion illegal in cases of rape and incest (BAD!)
2) Overturning Roe v. Wade (BAD!)
3) Requiring women seeking abortion to undergo transvaginal ultrasound  (HUH?)

I have no idea why transvaginal ultrasounds would be controversial, because really, it's no big thing. Perhaps there are valid reasons, though the campaign commercial didn't expand on them. Ostensibly, just the term "transvaginal ultrasound" is enough for you to know that it is bad, bad, bad.

So apparently now this is a buzzword.  We can't live in a world with terrorism!  Climate change! Racism!  Abortion restrictions!  Transvaginal ultrasounds!

Don't get.

End rant.

ADDENDUM ON 9/23: I have been schooled.  I am now firmly against mandatory transvaginal ultrasounds. [But for those that see the campaign commercial and are freaked out about their upcoming OB appointment, I swear, they really aren't that bad.]

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A Kid

When I look back at pictures of my son, Braden, I can almost pinpoint the time when he stopped looking like a baby.  It was when his hair grew long and he started standing up tall and running like a maniac.

As he has gotten older, his transitions have been more subtle and harder to pinpoint.  But three days ago, on his 6th birthday, when I took his annual birthday picture, he looked like a kid.

A real, life kid.

He has big feet - not abnormally big (and only a half size bigger than his younger brother), but they are kid feet.  He has fuzzy blond hair on his legs now, and the last of his baby fat is gone.  He is skinny.  This may not seem alarming, but consider the fact that he once looked like this:

He walked late - around 15 months - and also endured three years of OT for gross and fine motor delays.  Now, he writes his name like a champ.  He jumps off the diving board and swims across the pool, and was on the mini swim team this summer.  He plays soccer.  And t-ball.

And when I told him I was signing him up for all of these sports, his response was:  But when do I get to do music class?  

So I signed him up for his school choir too.

He is emotional and shy.  He is full of energy and charm.  He loves to play games on the I-pad and he sticks his tongue out when he concentrates, just like his dad.  He is a complete momma's boy still, thank God, and professes his love for me on a daily basis.  But when he doesn't get his way, he hates me just as fast and tells me so, in great detail.

He is the sweetest brother ever.  He is in a constant state of anxiety over his younger, daredevil brother Casey, getting hurt.  He shares a room with him now, and says that he wants to forever, even if we someday get a big house with more bedrooms.   He loves his baby brother Colin a bit too much and knocks him over at times in his excitement.  But he goes in with me every morning to wake him up, and screams his nickname at the top of his lungs - "Ishy Collie Bee."  Braden gave him that nickname (?!?!), and it has stuck.  We all call him that now.

He is silly and crazy and sweet and complicated.  He is unique, that's for sure.

I don't usually post videos on here of my kids.  I don't know why - I guess because it gives me the slightest semblance of privacy.  But for Braden's sixth birthday party, I just have to post this video of our recent family dance party, to the tune of Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off."  This was filmed on Braden's first day of school, and as you can see, he was not the least bit fatigued.

This is Braden.  To a T. (With a few cameos from the other men in my life).

I could not love this boy kid more.

[I would be remiss not to acknowledge that it's my husband and my 8th anniversary today - happy anniversary, sweetie!  I am writing this here in lieu of a Facebook announcement (as I am somewhat morally opposed to such things).]

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Deep Thoughts on a (Bizarre) Solo Car Trip

Long car trips by myself used to make me anxious.  I would do them, but I would dread them.  They were boring and monotonous and stressful and every once in a while I would have a really bad one, where I would get lost (Mapquest, anyone?) or run out of gas (just once, pre-cell phone), or have to pull over on the side of a highway during a blinding rain storm.  

In a former life, having a companion for a long car trip was definitely preferable.  

Then I had kids.  And my car trip companions tend to make the car journeys rather difficult.  There are vomiting incidents, multiple bathroom breaks, malfunctioning DVD players, thrown food, breastfeeding stops, tantrums, yelling, crying, and just generally noise.  Really, really loud noise.  

All of a sudden, the idea of a solo car trip became enticing.  And lucky for me, I took one such solo trip last weekend, to New York City for a bachelorette party.

I was really looking forward to this trip for a number of reasons.  I was able to see my sister.  I was able to celebrate my good friend (the bachelorette herself).  I was able to get my nails done. I was able to order a bloody mary at a bar at 1pm and then order another one after that.  I was able (by the grace of God) to stay out until 2am dancing.  At a real life bar!

But I also was able to get a little over of 7 hours to myself in the car.   SEVEN HOURS with no one to bother me!  SEVEN HOURS of me and my own thoughts!  

This rarely happens.  The thinking that is.  I am generally always doing.  Feeding, cleaning, carpooling, refereeing, cooking, talking, yelling, organizing, internet surfing, planning, going, going, going, and then when that's all done, I usually watch some crappy reality television just so I don't have to think.  And then I sleep.  For as long as I possibly can.  

But in a car, all you can do is think.  And I thought a lot.  For example, I decided that: 

A Solo Date

I've never been one to be self conscious about doing things alone.  I have no problem dining alone, and in fact, I actually relish the rare opportunity I get to sit at a bar with a book, an appetizer and a glass of wine.  I also really enjoy going to movies solo, if not for any other reason than my husband hates going, and I am a hard core lover of buttered popcorn.

As you can imagine, solo dates don't come often for me anymore.  And of course, that makes them all the more appealing.  The fact is, I am generally constantly in the company of someone (my kids, predominantly).  And while I'd hardly call myself a loner, the idea of some time to myself - just by myself, for just a little bit - is somewhat of a luxury.

For the past week I have been with my kids in Wilmington, North Carolina, visiting the grandparents.  It's fun and great, but also exhausting and stressful to be out of our fully childproofed environment.  My parents are always offering to give me some time to get out by myself, but I usually decline.  To be honest, I'm usually just so exhausted I don't have the energy to venture out of the house when I have the opportunity.

But last night I mustered the energy, and I indulged.

A few days ago I had read a movie review on CNN of the movie, This is the End.  I had never heard of the movie, but the review was stellar.  I mean, in the I can't remember the last time I've read such a good review of a movie stellar.  It stars Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, and James Franco. Given the great review and the weird connection I have with James Franco, I had a sudden urge to see it.  (I should clarify - I don't directly have a weird connection with James Franco, but my sister does, so close enough.  See picture from TMZ below).

Mission Statement

I have never actually written down a formal list of New Year's resolutions, and I am declining to do so once again this year.  It seems so quantitative -  X amount of pounds, X amount of dollars saved, X number of drinks per week... It seems a huge set up for failure.  It's all a bit too cut and dry.

Instead, I woke up this morning with Jerry Maguire on my mind.  Remember how he did a mission statement?  Not a memo, a mission statement.

 

Instead of formulaic resolutions, how about a mission statement for me?

2012 was a hard year.  Damn, was it a hard year.  But it was also a year of immense growth.  And in keeping with that theme, how can I make myself a better person in 2013?  What can I do to bring serenity to my world?

I am no longer kidding myself - there's a lot out of my control.  2013 could bring challenge, bliss, and surprises of all kinds.  Who knows?

But, on this 2013 journey, my mission is this:

House Arrest

There's this hurricane coming through town today, you may have heard of it. 

Photo from George Takei/Facebook

It's FRANKENSTORM!!!!

Which, by the way, is the dumbest name ever.  Who comes up with this crap???

Of course, before the storm even arrived, school had already been cancelled for two days, Federal Government workers were ordered to stay home, mass transit shut down, and most shockingly, my husband's office is closed.  If corporate lawyers aren't showing up for work, you know it's serious. 

Conquering the Pool

We are lucky enough to have our community pool about four houses down from us.  Super convenient, right?  A luxury!  But to be honest, this summer I was dreading it.

I was SCARED.  No other way to put it.  I knew we would have to go to the pool because, come on, it's right there, and what kind of parent would I be if I denied my children of their summer of leisure?  But I had major doubts about my ability to watch both kids simultaneously by myself.

Casey is a runner.  He has no fear and will basically run face first into the pool if left to his own devices. And Braden?  At 3.5 he has a healthy dose of fear, but that doesn't seem to stop him from jumping, running, and drinking pool water.  Between the two of them, it seemed I would be facing a constant game of Sophie's choice.

At the beginning of the summer, I only went to the pool when I had someone else with me - my husband, a friend, a visiting relative.  But then I realized that was ridiculous.  I saw other women alone with two plus children - if they could do it, why not me?  I resolved to tackle the pool solo.

Pretty Bird

Assuming the weather isn't treacherous, I try to take the kids on a walk every night after dinner.  It breaks up the final "witching hours" of the day, and it's good to get outside.

Last week we were doing our general routine, and I was outside trying to get Casey strapped into his stroller.  He wasn't being cooperative and the straps were all tangled and in the midst of all this, I hear Braden: 

Mommy, look at this!

Hold on Braden, Mommy's busy trying to get Casey in his stroller.  

But Mommy, look now!

Braden, please be patient!

And so on and so forth until finally, after about 90 seconds or so, I could look at Braden.  

And then I screamed.  Loudly.

My Anthem

It's no secret I've been having a rough time lately.

I have had some bad days.

I have had some people in my life not treat me so great.

And not be so nice to me.  

I have had people who read this blog leave some pretty nasty anonymous comments (seriously, if you're going to leave a nasty comment, at least have the balls to leave your name).

And the random stranger who shushes my child for crying at a public park (a park, people!) is getting to me more than normal.

But you know what always seems to lift my spirits?

Ms. Kelly Clarkson.



I'm normally a country girl, but how can you not want to kick some ass after listening to this song?

So take that, world!

It's not everyday that you pound on your bladder for 20 minutes

In general, I consider myself to be an up for anything, open-minded kind of person.  In particular, since leaving my career, I have been committed to trying new things, meeting new people, and being receptive for whatever comes my way.  As part of this whole self renewal thing, I have been wanting to start doing yoga again.

Right before I got pregnant with Braden, I was going through a really stressful period in my life (during which time my jaw was locked shut for two months, but that's a whole other story!).  I took up yoga, and actually really enjoyed it.  After a few months, I ended up on pregnancy bedrest, and my yoga mat has been collecting dust in my closet ever since.

But now?  There really is no reason I can't do a yoga class here and there.  I've been trying out a couple of different yoga centers in the area, and this weekend, I cashed in a Groupon I had purchased for 10 yoga classes at Dahn Yoga.

As I approached the studio, I noticed that it said on the sign "Yoga and Healing Center."  Hmmm, healing center.  This should have been my first red flag that this was not going to be your typical cafe latte drinking, Colorado exile yoga crowd, but hey, whatever.  I walked into the main reception area, with yoga mat and Groupon coupon in hand.

TV Debut

So remember that crazy celebrity wedding I wrote about a few months ago?  The one with the nine foot wedding cake?  The one that is actually going to be televised on the TLC series, DC Cupcakes, this Friday at 10pm?  You may remember, I went a bit crazy preparing for that wedding.  Weight loss.  New dress.  Spray tan.  Hair and makeup.  The whole spiel.

A few weeks ago my husband got a consent form in the mail requesting consent for his appearance on the reality show.  It was addressed to him and his guest.  Ooooo, how exciting!  I knew all my preparation was worth it!

But it wasn't to be.  My husband's colleague, who actually married the celebrity bride, quashed all my dreams last week when he informed us that though my husband will make a split second appearance on the show, I will not.

WTF!  Did my husband stand naked spread eagle for some random stranger to spray his innards with a can of brown paint?  No he did not.

Whatever.  I am over it.  Because you know what?  I've already had my time in spotlight.

You probably don't know this about me, but back in 1999, I was a celebrity in my own right.  For like, a whole minute.  While studying abroad in London, I was featured on the BBC show "World of the Secret Camera," which is Britain's version of "Candid Camera."

How?  Why?  Where?  I was in London walking through a Pottery Barn type store, when I passed a shelf of glassware and heard it all crash to the ground.  Convinced I caused the demolition (because I had an enormous "I am an American backpack" on my back), I freaked and offered to pay for the damage.  Little did I know it was all a big joke and I was being filmed.  Apparently, my reaction was unique, and I was invited to be a guest on the show itself.

I wasn't nervous at all for the taping.  I was over-confident in fact.  And then I totally choked.  CHOKED.

You want to see for yourself?  Here you go (I come in after 8 seconds):



A few notes on this:

1) The reason I had a big fat backpack on was because I was on my way to the airport to go to Paris.  I met my ex boyfriend at the airport and was like, "Um, a crazy thing happened to me today."
2) Oh my God was I skinny.  No muffin top at all?  None?  Me?  How?  Why?
3) I still have that necklace.  I wore it a few weeks ago.
4) In the "candid" version of the video, where I didn't know I was being taped, I was wearing contacts.  And I looked showered.  With makeup on. And painted nails (!).  Who is this girl?
5) Shortly after this interview, five of my friends and I wreaked havoc on the green room and showed the British what 20 year old unable to drink in the U.S. girls can really do when they have access to free, legal alcohol.  They ended up giving us a car to take us into Covent Garden just to get rid of us.

So will my husband make a fool of himself on camera as I did?  We can only hope.  Tune in on Friday night to see.

Stop It

It's another travel day - we are headed out of hurricane country and back into the earthquake zone.

How do I maintain my cool amidst all of these natural disasters, with two demanding passengers in the back seat?

I take the advice from this old Mad TV video clip below, featuring Bob Newhart.  My dad, who is a professor of social work and psychology, shows it to all of his classes on the first day.

Best therapy ever.

The Best Video Ever

There will be no long, thought provoking post today.  Today is our last day of vacation, and I want to spend as little time on the computer as possible and relish every last moment in Cape Cod!  And pack.  And take Braden to go see Cars 2.

So, I figured I'd give you something far better than I could ever write.  Ladies and Gentleman, Countess LuAnn de Lesseps has come out with a new music video.  Kelly Killoren Bensimon and Jill Zarin also make an appearance.

The result is nothing short of phenomenal.  Watch it multiple times.  It gets better with each viewing.