why I could be the world's worst mommy

I'll give you three choices. You decide.

1. Amara's school was holding its Mother's Day "tea" Monday afternoon. Afternoon. You know, the ideal time for a working mom. I promised Amara I would go. But then I realized I was working by myself that day. Then we had breaking news. That's television speak for not-a-chance-in-hell-can-you-leave. I was so torn. Luckily I had Dad2Amara. He told me "how could you?" then reminded me, "she's your daughter." Ain't he sweet and supportive. So after an agonizing afternoon at work, I finally made it to her school for the last ten minutes of the program. I sobbed the entire drive from work to her school. I was the only mom not at her school.
2. Amara told Dad2Amara that she wanted to watch her new television show tonight. Hell's Kitchen. And yes, my four year old said hell.
3. Before turning in for the night, Amara told me she was "sad" because I was late to her school yesterday. It made her "nervous." Bad mommy.

I just don't win. Another typical day for a mother.

where's a 24 hour place when you need one?

I spent the last 20 minutes of my life searching for a store that was 1) still opened and 2) had party supplies in stock.

Honestly, is that too much to ask for?

In true Mom fashion, I found myself first at Target then at CVS with only a few moments left before closing.

A co-worker had asked me a few days ago to pick up the goods for another colleague's birthday. And again, as the ever overachiever mom, I said yes. I mean, what else do I have to do with my free time? Nothing like adding on to my to-do list.

Sure I haven't seen Amara in two days.

And yeah I had plans for a little mom's night out at the local wine bar tonight.

But how hard could it be to find this stuff?

Well mom's night went a bit longer than I expected. (I needed an extra glass of wine.)

And before I knew it, I was racing to the stores before the doors were locked on me.

But that left me wondering: where the heck are all the 24 hour places?

I hear of friends in other parts of the country actually buying goodies for Easter baskets, birthday parties, and Thanksgiving dinner at 3 a.m. because it was the only time they could get out of the house.

And here I was hunting down crepe streamers and balloons at 9:59 p.m.

I was afraid my Mom-mobile would turn into a pumpkin at the strike of 10.

I have one open all night grocer by me. But after hitting two stores, I wasn't about to try a third. Plus it was just that, a supermarket. So my chances of let down were pretty great.

So I'm left with some none-exciting supplies. But at least I have some.

I'll just have to use some Mom2Amara magic to make it work.

how fast does that mom-mobile go?

I was sitting at work, trying to finish up some odds and ends, when it happened.

It's the call every parent dreads.

Dad2Amara was on the line. I could hear Amara in the background...wailing. Her right ear was throbbing.

Amara's never had an ear infection before.

And I've never heard her cry in pain the way she was.

So I raced to the urgent care in my mom-mobile. The 20 minute drive to my hometown felt like an eternity.

Or so I thought. I wasn't prepared to sit for an hour in an empty urgent care, waiting for a physician's assistant to see us. That felt like an eternity. Not to mention I was annoyed that the doctor couldn't even give us the courtesy of seeing Amara when no other patients were in the building.

But I digress.

After finally arriving back home, I started to pack.

Have I mentioned I'm headed for San Diego today?

Leave it to me to procrastinate. So I had to get all my clothes together. Then I wrote out my presentation outline (I'm on a panel at a conference). Yeah, I still don't have my video presentation done and my plane leaves in five hours.

I have tremendous guilt leaving town -- selling the house (by the way, have you checked out our house blog yet?), Amara being sick, work obligations, blah blah blah. There's just a lot going on.

But that makes me want to take the mom-mobile and go far, far away as fast as I can.

I'm burned out.

So how fast can my mom-mobile go?

Not fast enough.

I can't wait to hop a plan and head for sunny California!

stuff I hate

A few weeks ago, the Manic Mommies did their take on Oprah's Favorite Things.

But that's not what caught my attention.

It was the start of a conversation filled with stuff they hate.

Then Taawd talked about one of his pet peeves.

Yeah, I could fill a book with the things I loathe.

Start with tonight...tornadoes. I hate severe weather. But I absolutely despise tornadoes. I think it has to do with my profession. Finding a spot to send a camera to capture a spectacular lightning show is easy. When a blizzard hits, you can't miss. But tornadoes? It's always a crap shoot. Not to mention, with a tornado, I have guilt sending any person - photographer or reporter - out in those conditions.

And how about skinny girls? I know it's wrong to hate people. But I feel this is one I can. You know the ones I'm talking about. I've battled my weight forever. Roller coaster up and down. And I'm ok with it. Most of the time. But then there are the women who complain about being a size 6. Or that they can't have a piece of chocolate because they're full from their salad at lunch. Yeah you know what I'm talking about.

You know what else I hate? Denim. I'm just never comfortable in it. Never have. I wear jeans. And denim jackets and skirts. But I end up running home at the end of the day so I can change clothes.

I could go on and on. But I won't.

I think I need a drink.

before she was mom

I don't know much about Lola2Amara, I'm embarrassed to say.

Yes, she's my mom. But her life prior to arriving in the United States in the 1970's has mysteriously been voided from our family history.

But because Lola2Amara celebrated her birthday this past Wednesday, I felt compelled to write a little about her before she was mom...inspired by this post on Blogher.

Lola2Amara's father stayed in the Philippines during martial law. His job prohibited him from leaving the country. Lola2Amara, however, decided to join her stepmother (Great-Grandma2Amara) in the United States, desperately hoping for a better life for their family.

Before leaving the Philippines, Lola2Amara was already a practicing nurse. She had graduated from school and was working in a local hospital. (Coincidentally, that's how she met Lolo2Amara. But that's a whole 'nother story.)

And that's the extent of what I know about Lola2Amara before she was mom. I know little about her childhood.

But what I do know is about her life after she was mom.

Lola2Amara would work evenings and weekends so that Aunt2Amara and I would not need a babysitter. She and Lolo2Amara would trade childcare duties.

Lola2Amara held managerial positions in nursing at a young age. And she was well loved by both patients and fellow nurses. Could be why I strive to be so successful in my career today.

Lola2Amara would throw the best birthday parties, making me the envy of all of my classmates. She was the type of mom who would bring McDonald Happy Meals in for each child.

And now, even when she's feeling sick, filled with the awful side affects of an evil cancer, Lola2Amara still fights because she is determined to stay in this world with Amara and the rest of her family.

I wish I could share with Amara one day the details of Lola2Amara's childhood. But I think I have pages upon pages of Lola2Amara's history that I think we'll be ok.

my daughter's not my friend

It's been a difficult week. (I'll explain later.)

And Amara hasn't made it any easier.

While out and about yesterday, we walked past an Au Bon Pain. Amara asked for a cookie. And I was all too happy to oblige.

I mean, I would of course, get a bite of her treat.

Or so I thought.

Amara decided she would not share the baked good that I paid for. And she made her intentions of being completely selfish known to the entire restaurant.

After threats a stern lecture, Amara seemed to be on the path of sharing again.

But then today, she snatched her Disney Princess throw from my feet. Amara declared she would not share her blanket with me.

Shortly after, she said she was no longer my friend.

So I did what no mom should: I told my daughter two could play that game. I told her she couldn't share the Yellow House with us.

Evil. I know.

But Amara took me off guard.

I thought children started to hate their parents' existence after puberty.

I didn't expect it now.

And I didn't know how to react.

So now I must find a new home for my daughter. ((smile))

Any takers? :)

are all dance moms THIS mean?

I cannot believe that Amara's first dance class of the year has riled me up so much that I'm gonna blog about it. Again.

Would a friendly "hello" in response to my cheery greeting of "Happy New Year" kill them?

Does cracking a smile mean cracking through their icy personalities?

I don't understand how it was possible for me to find the dance studio with the most unfriendly moms.

I mean, I'm likable, aren't I?

They are cliquish. Funny, since I would never want to be like them.

But would showing some decency to the next mom do serious harm?

So if you're ever at Amara's dance class, let me offer you a piece of advice.

Come armed with mace.

Because you'll want to spray yourself in the eyes -- it would be less painful than sitting with these women for 60 minutes.

what a girl wants

Everyone has been doing a holiday wish list. And I was feeling left out.

This year, Christmas will be pretty low key for Amara's family (due to a family misunderstanding). But surprisingly, Dad2Amara and I are looking forwarded to buying fewer gifts and running around less on Christmas Day.

But that doesn't mean a Mom can't dream! So on my hectic mom wish list this year, you can find:

This Cole Hahn tote is perfect for the mom looking to toss her Blackberry, an extra winter hat, mittens, and some M&M's all in one spot.


I'm addicted to bareMinerals. And what Mom doesn't want eye shadow that will mask her tired eyes?


I always ask for a New Balance running shoes at Christmas. My older pair has seen more mileage than it should. And they are now begging to be used to chase after Amara on the weekends. Some Under Armour helps these cold winter days too.


I heart these BOSE in ear headphones. I think I heard my iPod asking for them too.


A little Isaac Mizrahi glamour at a Mom friendly price.


A dutch oven to show off my culinary skills. I like showing off my domestic diva.

What are you asking for this Christmas?

it's not easy being green

I don't have Amara nagging me. Yet.

But I already feel some sense of responsibility to lead a green lifestyle. I'm just really bad at it.

It's not enough to bring a canvas bag to the market. Or to take my own cup to the coffee shop. Or to turn off the water while I brush my teeth.

So now I look for organic products. I read an environmentally friendly blog. Heck, I've suggested geothermal heating for our next home.

But I don't think I'm making a difference. And I'm now feeling like I'm doing my body and my family harm by openly inviting foreign substances and chemicals into our home. Seriously - even my beauty regime is at risk.

So what's a mom to do? Do you live a green lifestyle? Do you have easy tips to help jump start my family? Or are you like Dad2Amara - you believe that if your own mother used a certain product, then it must also be safe for your family?

motherhood: the perfect job?

While contemplating new career moves, I was forwarded this by a friend.

Know anyone who may want this job?

POSITION:

Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma

JOB DESCRIPTION:

Long term, team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an often chaotic environment.

Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call.

Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES:

• The rest of your life.


• Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs
  $5.


• Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly.


• Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go
  from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the
  screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf.


• Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small
  gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers.


• Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of
  multiple homework projects.


• Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of
  all ages and mental outlooks.


• Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the
  next.


• Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap,
  plastic toys, and battery operated devices.


• Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.


• Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end
  product.

Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT AND PROMOTION:
None. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you.

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE:
None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION:
You pay them. Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left.

BENEFITS:
While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth, unconditional love, and free hugs and kisses for life if you play your cards right.

NOTE: There is no retirement, ever.

school shootings hit home

Working in a newsroom, I've become jaded. Murders are a dime a dozen. Cars crash daily. Politicians are elected then scandalously ousted from office. I've seen it all.

But when violence finds its way to our children, you can't help but cry. Your heart aches for the children and their parents who must now help their kids deal with tragedy.

As a mom, some days get to you more than others. Today was one of those days.

Gunfire erupted at a local school. And I personally witnessed the fear and sadness that filled the students' eyes.

I had seen that look before. Just two months shy of my due date, a madman terrorized the halls of Case Western Reserve University. There I was, in my pregnant glory, walking in the middle of Euclid Avenue. As the adrenaline hurried through my body, Amara would occasionally kick my stomach, as if to remind her mother to breathe.

My floral maternity top, flare legged pants and flip flops stood out as I worked side by side with SWAT officers, reporters, and worried family members. Authorities had the media a block away from the scene. But if the gunman was a good sharpshooter, I could have found myself in the immediate crossfire. It probably was not the brightest decision for an expectant mother. What was I thinking bringing a child into a world littered with gun violence in schools?

Fast forward four years. A derailed train had burst into flames, causing hundreds of residents to evacuate. Producers rushed to get the latest information on air as our reporters and photographers were dispatched to the scene. As we worked diligently, our newsroom began to fill with the glare of emergency lights. I peered from my computer monitor and saw police officers at the school across the street. Then more officers arrived. And guns were drawn. Then a crowd began to assemble. Shortly after, I found myself at the school's front entrance, talking with a reporter then assisting a photographer. I had sprinted so quickly that the heels of my new black pumps had dug into the soft ground and were now covered in mud and grass.

Two teachers had been shot. Some students had been hit as well.

I raced along the sidewalk, only knowing my mission - to help get the story. But I was stopped in my tracks. The "crowd" I had seen was not a crowd at all. They were teenagers. They were students who were fortunate enough to evacuate the school prior to lockdown. Some teens stood in shock. Others sobbed. And there I was, unaware of the true emotion surrounding me. And I apparently was oblivious to the danger I put myself in. What was I thinking placing Amara's mom in harm's way?

After 14 hours at work, I drove home just in time for Amara's bedtime story. Tonight, she got two stories and a very tight hug.

EDIT: Want to see what I did most of the day? Click here.

not mom jeans, but close

I did something today I swore I would never do.

I bought an outfit for myself at Coldwater Creek. Actually two. (And Susan, I'd appreciate if you'd hold your snicker until the end of the post.)

The saleswomen at Ann Taylor and J Jill love me now too.

I like what I bought. A jacket here. A dress there. A skirt and blouse somewhere else. I resisted the urge to buy new pants. I'm still holding on to the dream of losing some weight. But I couldn't help but change up my wardrobe for the upcoming colder months. Plus, any potential job moves would require pantyhose - quite unfamiliar territory.

Don't get me wrong. The clothes at all three stores are of fabulous quality. And some pieces are stylish and chic. But I should probably start saving for my mom jeans now. Because judging by the merchandise at these stores, my tastes - and my size - are now more...ahem...mature.

When did I stop buying clothes in odd numbered sizes? When did pieces from places like Forever 21, Urban Outfitters, and Nordstrom's BP. become a tad bit short and risque? When did I become a grown up?

I am all about classic and sophisticated. But by making the jump from hot stuff to Coldwater, I fear I am dressing older than my age. I don't want to look younger. I don't want to look older. I just want to remain somewhat fashionable, dammit!

Is there even such a thing as dressing your age?

so true

A comment found over at Work It, Mom!:

I don’t think working moms want to hear about work-life balance stuff — it’s impossible to achieve so why talk about it?

I should be pink slipped

I should expect a pink slip soon. I won't be surprised. I could be fired for what I pulled this morning.

Taking two days off in a row, given my current situation, probably does not look too favorable.

But I had to do what I had to do. Amara's sick. Again. Fever's back. So is the phlegmy vomit.

Certain protocol must be followed. I chose not to wake my boss at 3:45 in the morning and called an already awake manager. Big no-no. I have yet to talk to my boss. Taking two days off for a child's sickness is all but acceptable. I could have lied and said I was now the one bedridden. But regardless of consequence, I am doing right by my daughter.

PBN asks: how far would you go for your kids?

Would I lie for Amara's safety? Would I break the law to insure her a better life? Would I bribe, cheat, and steal? Yes. Unequivocally. And I am certain there are mothers all over the globe who have.

My decision today may not register on the Richter scale to some. But the loss of one salary in our home would be earth shattering. And professionally, I'd like to still have good standing in the business.

But I have no regrets.

How far would you go for your kids?

the post where mom is happy her kid's sick

Hi, I've aged. How are you?

Life the last two weeks has been unkind. I've neglected my family, my home, and my blog. Yesterday, it came to a screeching halt.

"Mom! A friend at school gave me a little bug. Now everything hurts."

A nasty virus has invaded Amara's system. Her coughs sound like hyena screams. Her nose is so stuffed, it's grown. I know I'm a hot mom (snicker) but she's a hot-with-fever Bean. Oddly enough, I'm happy.

Amara duty has allowed me to exhale. No life altering decisions hovered above. (More on this to come soon - I hope.) My hardwood floors are spotless. The laundry piles are shrinking. And I still have time to enjoy Dad2Amara's company when he arrives home.

So I am happy Amara's sick. Her fever broke and can only play in spurts. But consider this: If Amara was 100% healthy, I would not have been home to witness my pumpkin evolving into a ballerina.

an open letter from my four year old

Amara's having one of those Saturday's.

It started in Target when she made one of those grunts with her mouth closed that sounds like a steam engine train coming full speed ahead. I think I actually saw smoke coming from her ears.

Why all the noise?

Because I asked her to return a basket she had taken.

Later this afternoon, we were preparing to leave the house for lunch when Amara threw a fit because I would not give her any juice to drink. I figured she'd survive the 10 minute drive to Panera.

I was wrong. Amara threw herself beneath my dining room table and let out a piercing scream.

Why is my preschooler acting this way?

But I must be doing something right. This is what was handed to me a bit ago.


According to Amara, this is what it reads:

Dear Mom and Dad,
I love you. I am sorry. I was not a big girl. I was a bad girl. I promise I won't do it again. I won't disappoint you. I just love you so much. I love my mom and my dad and Lady [our dog].
Love,
Amara

Now, how could I stay mad?

do I look like a kidnapper?

My stressed out and run down body pleaded this morning to stay in bed. I ignored its cries and hit the gym. Mentally, I felt triumphant. Physically, I felt dreadful.

That was four hours ago. And now I feel suicidal.

I exaggerate. Crawling under the nearest rock will do.

It's the last weekend of summer so I thought maybe some fresh air would help get my blood pumping. And Dad2Amara was stopping at the bookstore so I seized the opportunity to perhaps indulge in a few good reads.

Amara loves the bookstore. Bedtime stories are a ritual. Books are stuffed in every nook and cranny in her playroom. As parents, we wanted to foster a love for words.

So imagine my surprise when I caught up with Dad2Amara and our daughter. Amara had a pile of books she wanted to buy. And Dad2Amara was in no mood to purchase the entire children's section. We explained to Amara she could buy one book. And that's when it happened.

Amara threw her body to the ground. She sobbed. She pulled at her hair. She kicked. She screamed. She bit (me).

My daughter has never acted this extreme. Embarrassed, I couldn't imagine her behavior any worse.

I was wrong.

Amara proceeded to yell. So I lifted her, attempting to carry her out to the car. Her shrieks became audible to every shopper.

"Let go of me! I don't want to go with you!"

Strangers began to stare at the shady Asian woman with the large sunglasses who was trying to cart a four-year-old girl out of the store. One book lover rounded the corner, checking on the preschooler's well being. An employee readily arrived in our section, "reshelving" some items. But her watchful eye remained heavy. On me.

"You can't take me! Let me go!"

Amara squirmed out of my hands and darted across the store. Dad2Amara and I found her hiding underneath a table.

We surrounded her and were finally able to drag her from beneath the display. Coincidentally, the same alert employee was back, dusting a shelf near periodicals.

Dad2Amara literally tossed Amara over his shoulder, and we raced out of the store. Amara was still screaming as we forced her into her car seat. Passersby were pointing and whispering, obviously aware of my daughter's pleas to be freed. And as we drove past the bookstore's entrance, a security guard was carefully watching us depart.

Amara caused a scene. I get that. But please show me a four-year-old child that hasn't thrown a tantrum. Must parents be subjected to harsh judgement when all they want is to make a quick getaway before a bad dream becomes a nightmare? Once a child howls bloody murder, don't they think a child abductor would dash for the nearest exit? Do I look like a kidnapper?

Amara's in her bedroom, banished for the rest of the evening. And I left the store without my books. Not a good day at all.

whatcha buy me?

Happy blogoversary to me!

Actually the sentiment is a bit belated. With the hubbub of the last week, I missed my blogoversary by two days. Damn. Late to my own wedding. And now can't even remember the birth of being Mom2Amara.

I feel obligated to say that I've progressed since my first post. But honestly, the bitterness remains.

Traditional first year anniversaries call for a gift of paper. Ironic, eh, considering the technology used to blog.

But seriously. Send cash. Or cool stationery. Magazine subscriptions work too. Feel free to shower me with presents :)

the little things

A benefit of being a working mom is all the SWAG I receive.

A Spongebob bobblehead accompanied me home Monday. Yesterday, I drove with an Island Princess.

Do I need the extra clutter? No.

Does Amara have enough possessions to fill a Toys R Us twice over? Yes.

But the girl loves her Barbies. And Amara adores Sponge.

Each time, she has surprised me with her reaction when I've come home like a walking treasure trove.

"Mom, what's my suprise? [pause] Wow! Awesome!"

If only I could get that response when I put away her clean laundry. Or how about when I make it on time to pick her up from school? There's no enthusiasm even though my arrival took great feats.

The editor of House and Garden asked in a recent issue if parents think their children notice all the things they do for them?

She says the "smallest gestures [are the ones] that contain the greatest love."

It's not the DVD that Amara will remember 20 years down the road. (Although I'm willing to bet Barbie will get me out of some jams in the upcoming weeks.) Amara will look back on her childhood and hopefully cherish our nighttime ritual of storybooks and snuggling. Or maybe she'll realize why I insist on a hug and a kiss when she steps foot in the house.

Yes, Amara may not notice the little things - cartoon characters may speak louder to her now. But all we as parents can do is continue to shower our children with the love and generosity we hope they will exhibit when they too become parents.

How about you? Do you think your kids notice everything you do for them?

going pantless

Dad2Amara and I are polar opposites.

He's calm, cool, and collected. I'm like the ticking time bomb always on the go.

He's a saver. I can rationalize almost any purchase.

I like salty foods you can't get him away from sweets.

We both bring something to the table when it comes to our marriage. We recognize that.

But I think there are times when Dad2Amara wishes I'd go pantless.

And I'm not talking sex.

People say I wear the pants in the family. Maybe because I'm more vocal. Maybe I'm aggressive.

Work It Dad talks about it too.

So, who wears the pants in your family?