The Dreaded Call from Sara’s Principal…

The Dreaded Call from Sara’s Principal…


While caller ID has afforded us so many luxuries over the past ten years (or so), in the realm of parenting and what equates to immediate heart palpitations is when you (and if you work in a cube environment – your co-workers, too ) see their children’s school identified on the opposite end of the line. I believe that no news is usually good news…Except in my case. 100 percent of the time.

As I answered my office phone in a chipper and professional manner, I dreaded the news awaiting me on the other end of the line. Especially when the opening sentence is, "Now don't be worried, no one was hurt." I immediately reached for my Excedrin and said a prayer to Jesus all in the span of five seconds. Warm greetings were exchanged before the bombshell dropped.

“Sara has had an accident involving a pair of scissors,” she explained calmly – as I immediately felt my blood pressure climb.

Visions of a scissor-wielding five-year-old instantly came to my mind, perhaps a little boy she had pushed to the edge? This thought was overshadowed by my growing concern for my own daughter's safety - could she have been "cut" on accident? Again, racing thoughts and proposed hypothesis in less than five seconds.

Thankfully, my mind was put to ease fairly quickly. During "arts and crafts" she managed to cut her pant legs to shreds. Nice. That's my girl!

I sheepishly explained she was learning to sew at home, with my mom's assistance. By now I was sweating - both from the call itself and the fact that my co-workers in cubes surrounding me could hear the conversation clear as a bell.

I made the walk of shame out to my company's parking lot, followed by the drive of shame to her school. Being the burgeoning blogger that I am, I wanted to capture something on film. Sad, but yet something we can look back on in 25 years and laugh about. Maybe.

P.S. In an attempt to rush back to the office, I clipped a co-workers car which will cost me over $1,000 to fix - out of my own pocket - I had traded cars with mom that day.   Even Better!  The cherry on top of my day.

The Bad JuJu - Part Four: And Baby Makes Three...

And Baby Makes Three... Two

Watching my daughter's birth was surreal.  "T" spent most of his time on the blackberry crackberry, while my mom held my hand and answered my every need.  She is the most giving, selfless woman I know.  Her whole life was her children, which is another reason why I yearned to be a stay-at-home-mom - if T was bringing in close to six figures - why not?  It wasn't like we would starve or have our utilities cut off because someone forgot to pay them and didn't give his wife access to his bank account after leaving on a business trip halfway around the world.   Wrong again.

When my daughter was ready to poke her head out, the doctor asked if I wanted a mirror positioned so I could "see."  I was facinated and embarrassed at the same time.  I asked Thomas not to look, as there are some things between a man and woman that should be upheld as sacred.  But it was like passing a car accident on the highway - you couldn't help but look.  Til' this day, her arrival through my birth canal has been the best 5 seconds of vision my eyes could ask for. 

While not the most attractive scene, it was amazing.  T later told me he could go his whole life without seeing that again.  I KNEW he would be disgusted, which is why I told him to LOOK AWAY!  Suffice it to say, our sex life would take a plunge into dormancy following Sara's birth.

So, there I was, in the suburbs...with a husband who didn't communicate and a baby who cried...alot.  T had sold his truck and was using my car as our single mode of transportation.  I could use it if I wanted to get up at the but crack of dawn, wake and feed a baby, change a diaper and screw up her morning nap time - which was my only time to myself.  It was sacred, that time...

You could call it "stuck"..."isolated"..."alone" - whatever it was, it didn't agree with me.  The "free spirit" began to get her wings clipped.  I would look through photo albums of trips I'd taken with friends, ex-boyfriends, business...I'd spend time staring at my "skinny jeans" - wondering if I'd ever wear them again.  And then I'd hear the distant cry of my daghter, and all selfish thoughts went out the window.

Looking down at this little human with large round eyes that seemed wise beyond her years made me that more determined to start shutting down the person I used to be - fun, outrageous, carefree and adapt to whatever this baby would need me to be.

I remember telling my friends who were appalled at my situation, "When you have a baby, you give up the right to be frivilous."  I think that fell on deaf ears, especially for my generation whom I deem the "instant gratification nation"

Stranger Danger Warning and the Repercussions of Letting Your Bored, Mischievous Five-Year-Old Know About 911

Along with a divorce comes the sale of what a husband and wife once called "home."  "T" and I lived in a nice home in the suburbs of Dallas, complete with a corner lot and dive-friendly swimming pool.


The swimming pool was a "luxury" item I tacked on to our home search while shopping for our family's nest.  Mind you, I was seven months pregnant with my first child, and oddly enough didn't take into consideration all the dangers a swimming pool held for a stay-at-home-mom and her baby/toddler...The Optimistic vs. Realistic Conundrum I would soon face on a daily basis...


Getting back to my main point...We now rent a "home"...and Dallas-suburban it is not.  It lies on a street that begins out above-middle class and ends up ghetto-fabulous by the end of the block. Suffice it to say, there are many men I find "sketchy" roaming our street - both during the day and evening hours.

Fortunately, we have a dog who barks his balls head off anytime the hint of a footstep is heard by his superieor canine hearing.  Of course, at 2:00 a.m. his barking will awaken me, and I will forgo sleeping and lay with my cell phone, ready to dial 911 if I hear a doorknob rattle.  This lack of sleep tends to make me quite the charmer the following day. 
 
As my five-year-old blossoms into a young lady, I want her to be in the "loop" of what to do if a stranger approaches her-whether she is at home, school or any location in the continental United States.

We had a family member abducted last year, getting off a school bus in a very affluent neighborhood.  She is a sharp little cookie, but at the innocent age of six believed the man in the car when he said "her mommy asked him to pick her up"...An Amber alert was issued and fortunately the man had dropped her off in a parking lot, but not before inflicting damage. 


I remember staying up the entire night in shock, crying and praying for not only my young cousin, but especially her parents.  To imagine your child violated in any way is something I can't begin to fathom.  Sara was four at the time, and as "street smart" as she appeared, I couldn't bring myself to "discuss" what lay beyond her innocent little world.


I decided to give the "911" talk last month as my purse was literally stolen out of my car (the bad juju) in addition to my dad's truck being stolen in broad daylight.  These are the acts of people with little remorse and who feel above the law.  Not an ideal demographic.

So I sat my sweet, first-born daughter down to talk about how "there are some individuals who aren't very nice.  They could look nice-"

"But they could look sketchy too, huh Mama?" she asked - as if she were already "schooled" on the subject.

Aside from regaining my posture as quickly as possible while suppressing a laugh (Couldn't be helped.  To hear her say "sketchy" threw me for a loop).  She seemed so...adult-like, all of a sudden...My baby is becoming a big girl.  Both bittersweet and touching was this conversation of ours. 

I agreed with her about appearances, but also carefully skipped around labeling someone because of their looks.  For all anyone knows, a "bad man" could like like Mr. Rogers and still be a person with bad intentions.  "Who's Mr. Rogers?" she asked me.  Oy veh...

Anywho, I explained dialing "911" was for emergencies ONLY!!  If she found herself in the trunk of a car and happened to see a cell phone, grab it and dial 911! 

She liked this exchange of worse-case scenarios and began throwing out other scenarios where "911" might need to be called.  "When Josephine finally goes number #2 on the big girl potty?"  Not exactly...

I decided to let that knowledge rest in her head, hoping she would never have to utilize it.  

Well, she utilized it all right.  Three times in a row, no less.

I typically find places to hide my cell phone, as Sara is extremely chatty and loves to dial random numbers and talk.  Before you silently accuse me of being a hands-off mommy, keep in mind I have a two-year-old who likes to "get into things" and between keeping a diligient eye on both girls, somethings go under the radar.

Like the ONE time I take a shower by myself (I kid you not, I can't take my eyes off of them for a minute.  It is non-stop.  24/7),  believing both girls to be watching a movie on mommy's bed.  It wasn't a luxurious shower by any means.  Straight nozzle action and to the point.  Out in five minutes.

I walk into my bedroom and the bed was missing a child.  Shocker.  I hear my phone ringing and run through the house, intent on finding Sara - and all-knowing she had found my phone.

She was under the dining room table (I had placed the cell in the dining room centerpiece...) I saw her arm extended with my phone in her hand "It's for you Mama," was all she said.

"Mam, this is 911 - is there any emergency you are experiencing right now?"  Damn Darn it.

I explained to the very patient - and kind - emergency operater that I had "the talk" with my daughter the night before.  She knowingly laughed, and said that Sara had called three times to say "hello" and "talk" within a seven minute period.  She said it happens all the time, and I might want to "hide my cell phone" in the future.

Put a fork in me....

The Cat is Out of the Bag!

Holy Majolie - my worst nightmare has become a reality. As I've mentioned before, my second pregnancy was like the "immaculate conception" - and while I would have been happy with whichever sex God had in mind for me to give life to, I secretly prayed for a girl.


From Loving...

To Catty

I had fantasies of my two little ladies, brushing each others' hair, giggling together over funny cartoons and growing closer as they became young women, and ultimately - relying on one another when they become mothers and wives...

Reality is a funny thing. I'm the type of person who "lives in the moment" - savoring each experience that life throws my way. As Josephine hits the very real "terrible twos" - those savory moments have become more like a melting pot of raw, uncensored emotional outbursts. And while that is part of the growing game, having to endure her older sister's taunting wasn't in my brochure. Enjoyable? Not so much.

While common sense (and my ever present parents next door) tells me to intervene; I sought "real" advice from a child psychologist as I was finding myself constantly aggravated with the shrill screams and tears that turn on faster than a leaky faucet. The psychologist thought I should turn a deaf ear and eye, allowing the two children under five to work out their conflicts "on their own."

So I decided to give it a try. Without fail, the girls began arguing over a toy - typical. I stood my ground firmly in the adjacent living room - where I could hear but couldn't "see." I could hear Sara antagonizing the sweet little two year old with Shirley temple curls. Halfway into "Na-na-na-booo-boo; you can't ca......" I heard a "thunk" and piercing screams erupt from my five year old.

As I rounded the corner in a panic, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Sara lay crumpled on the ground, screaming incoherently about her eye. Next to Sara was a small, miniature (metal) can of orange juice. As she raised her head up, I could already see the bruise beginning to swell on her cheek.

I turned around and looked at what has always been my sweet, soft spoken little toddler. Here eyes belied her age. I was staring at an angry two year old who'd had it with her tormenting older sister. She then mumbled something like, "Don't do it again Ra-ra!" (she can't enunciate her S's just yet)...So much for my fantasy; not to mention the new age crap the psychologist fed me. The claws are out. It's getting catty.

Put a fork in me...I'm done.

The Bad JuJu: Part Three - Baby on Board and Lack of Interpersonal Skills Go Duly Noticed

I knew I was pregnant both times it happened. I was as fertile as a Washington County hill. When you cognitively realize you are more than likely with the "wrong person" - it usually happens on your way to the "middle" after exhausting every form of "third-party assistance" and "self-help books." While the first few books were about fixing "me" - from three chapters into Dr. Laura's "The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands" I found myself ready to throw the book against the wall into subtle, hormone-induced hostility.

Then came, "There's No Place Like Home: Steps to Becoming a Stay-At-Home Mom" - which reaffirmed my sense of who I was becoming whether I liked it or not - a mommy. I remeber T seeing the book lying on the floor and taking it all in. It was like the rose colored glasses had finally slipped down his nose (in a descent that would continue for the next 5 +years). It was obvious he had different intentions of what my role would be.

My first plan: Get back to Texas and family. Fast. I began searching for jobs that fit his field, finding him a headhunter. My attempts to "sway him in a positive way" were met with resistance. Even when he landed a job making $20K more in Dallas than he was in Califiornia - not to mention our move would be paid for completely. He was full of bitterness.

I'll never forget our move back from San Diego to Dallas. We left as a married couple in love and returned strangers; our only common thread the unborn child that grew larger and was like a soccor play in my ever-expanding belly (I put on a girlish 80 pounds during that first go round.)

I was exstatic and he became resentful. For this realization to come so shortly after marriage and to have a child growing in my belly - I made a promise to myself. Divorce wasn't an option. We didn't plan on starting a family right away, but why not look at it as a blessing instead of a burden? Hormonal influxes be damned!

I would be a dutiful wife, like my mother was - and be the best mom ever to my unborn daughter, Sara. Although T and I never had a long-term range in plan when it came to how we each viewed our role in the journey that is "parenthood" - surely we'd be on the same page eventually and things would just "flow" naturally. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The Bad JuJu - Part Two: A Sign From God...or I'm Just a REALLY Bad Driver

While I had regrets leaving behind my glamorous life in Dallas to join my soon-to-be-husband in San Diego, California (where his company had just transferred him - hence the wedding in under a year scenario) - I was also excited at the possibilities. Close, intimate dinners at a beachside cafe. Long walks along the beach after work, taking Homer Dog to the "official dog park" on the beach, going to concerts or up the coast for the weekend...After all, while courting me, he spent money like it was water - as did I. Funny thing money: when you are both gainfully employed and "separate" yourselves as individuals through your own checking accounts; life is your own. The night before my wedding, following my rehearsal dinner - I was driving my bridesmaids to the hotel. By the grace of God, my one pregnant bridesmaid decided to follow behind us. Good thing, as when we were turning onto a busy Houston intersection, and believing the light to be green, ran through the intersection and was hit by on-coming traffic. While no one was hurt, the front end of my car was an eye-sore. My superstitious best friend looked at me ominously "after the dust had settled" and asked "Do you think this is God trying to tell you something?" I promptly answered her with, "If he is, maybe he should tell my parents who just spent a small fortune to bring over 150 of our closest family members together." Failure was not an option at that point. "T"(as I refer to my now ex-husband/dead-beat-dad) and I had "fun" together. But as I would soon realize, when the "fun" runs out and real life enters unexpectedly in the form of a pea-in-the pod, that's when you take a step back, look at your growing belly and begin to see what one another is truly made of. In our case, on a partner and friendship level - we were about as shallow as a puddle.

The Bad JuJu - Part One

As my closest friends and closest co-workers know (my co-workers can't help it - the cubical world can hide from no one...which is why I rarely, if ever, take personal calls at work. That and the entire world will know your business by morning break time.) I lovingly refer to my company on a social scale as a large sewing circle - with break rooms:)

Alas, I drift away from my story. That happens quite often to an ADD -inflicted single mom. I might have problems focusing on details, but I am GREAT as seeing "the BIG picture" - It's a weapon that allows me insight and foresight that astrology.com believes will lead to great things...even speculating if I can combine idealism with realism - there is no stopping me! I paid a mere $9.95 for those pearls of wisdom.

Anywho - I have lived a charmed life up until the night before my wedding. I did a study abroad in France while in college (and am still paying back the student loan), I completed internships with CNN and The Beach Boys, taught English in Japan...I could keep bragging but that would get old. Did I mention I was one of the youngest "Brand Managers" ever hired by ABC Radio Network's corporate office in Dallas?

In a nutshell, I was living the dream. Travelling at the drop of a hat, competing in triathlons, hitting happy hour with my girls in Dallas - not thinking twice about dropping $300 on a pair of shoes (I could shoot myself...and if my German-bred father ever reads this, he'll do it for me). Life wasn't only good until the night before my wedding, it was great! *insert Tony the Tiger voice*

I met my husband on match.com. I have no regrets and would recommend their services to anyone. Mary's 411: Try and date for more than a year before getting hitched. And the old adage our parents and teachers employed to scare us in to abstinence "it only takes one time to get pregnant!" - it's freaking true! More on that in The Bad JuJu - Part Two.

They'll Be Coming Around the ENT Too Soon...

Mary's 411: Allergins from all different types of grass call cause children's' allergies to wreak havoc on the ear. Stock up on some benedryal!

I had the melody, "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes" when I wrote this post's title. What a wretched song, lyrics and all, to have swimming in your head for 24 hours. I need my Coldplay...

The title of my post speaks volumes - unless you're childless or your offspring haven't experienced over five ear infections in a seven month period. Ah, the joys of daycare.

So, anywho, with less than 16 hours of "personal-time" remaining on my "time card" for the rest of the year, I was OVERJOYED to learn that both of my daughters will need new sets of tubes for their "unfortunately shaped" heads (which unbeknownst to me is the root of most ear-infection evils).

Did something go wrong during their delivery? How can both girls have "unfortunately shaped" heads? To top it off, Sara will need her tonsils AND adenoids out and I was told that my TMJ is caused from my "extremely large tongue" which "barely fits in my mouth." Now there's something you don't hear everyday. If I ever decide to date again, maybe I'll put that in my profile:

Single mother of two angelic handfuls whom occasionally soil the mattress I'm sleeping on looking for man who can help with homework and housework while making sure my daughters feel as equally loved as their mother. P.S. If changing dirty diapers, or as I refer to when in public; "We've got a Code Brown. I repeat, a Code Brown." disgusts you, then I'm probably not your girl. Also, my ENT believes my tongue is freakishly large for my mouth. Call me!"

REALLY looking forward to informing my boss that not only will I be out for both girls’ surgeries, but as the doctor weans me off my best-friend, a.k.a Lunesta, I will be required to attend a "sleep study" to determine if I have sleep apnea.

When the doctor told me this, my first thought which I verbalized ever so articulately was - "Sleep apnea? But I'm not old and fat!" And wearing what resembles to be a darth-vador mask at night should have the men lining up outside my door...I swear on everything holy, I couldn't make this sh*t up.

Morning Time Guilt...The Worst.

Putting my children through the morning time rush of preparing them (and myself) for school brings out the worst in all of us. Domino effect of pressure. It's like I am the anti-thesis of my unique self. Pushy, berating my five year old as she slowly meanders around like she doesn't have a care in the world (which she shouldn't - that's part of childhood). So as we rush around, trying to get them fed, making sure teeth get brushed (I'll admit, some days it doesn't happen for them - they inevitably get toothpaste on their outfit and I look like the mom who sends her slovenly children to school in dirty clothes. I have to choose the lesser of two evils.) By the time I get them in the car, strapped in and racing to work, I am amiss in sweat and not exactly corporate-material. Unfortunately my department keeps track of our comings and goings, to a fault as some of the Type-A's thrillingly yell other Type-A's about "insert my name here" being late...or disheveled...or looking oh-not-too-fresh... Some days I am overly thankful for the 17 piles of papers on my desk that keep me busy from 8 to 5 as I won't have the time to sit and feel guilty that my daughters spend 40 hours a week with women I barely know, albeit 'nice' women, but still...These are the women that are getting to watch my daughters unique nuances that I have to strive and be cognitive of when they are in my care from 5:15 p.m. thru 7:45 a.m. I get mixed reviews about sharing a "family bed" (where a mother -and if dad's in the picture - share their mattress with their children) - but I wouldn't trade it for the world.Even though I am rushing around like a frantic woman to make sure they are dressed, fed and appropriately groomed (not an everyday occurrence), snuggling together in bed and seeing them wake up happy and refreshed is usually the best part of my day - unless the dog jumps on the bed and his hair sticks to their clothes as well as we are beset with the shedding of dander-driven allergies on their clothes - which means I have to bust out the lint roller and spend an extra five minutes making sure they are free of Homer Hair. Damn dog - but SO lovable and needy, just like my offspring. Although I have had death threats from neighbors, I can't seem to part with him. Story for another time...

The Grocery Store: Through the Eyes of a Single Mom

Oh sweet Jesus, how I dread those trips. I plan it accordingly - like I would a special meeting invite with co-workers I know will lead to a disorganized meeting and it is up to me to "bring them back" to our original talking point. In this case, we have Sara-the-Terror (a well deserved, lovingly coined phrase befitting to her personality) and Josie-Eats-Mostly (she is 2 and sports a 4/5 T. Mind you, I forget to realize how special and uniqe these trips are for my girls - the child-like thrill of aisles full of over-priced toys (40% probably containing lead from China), the token "free cookie" our bakery hands out begrudgingly and the assortment of all walks of life passing us by as Sara argues her case for why pop-tarts are better for you than fruits and vegetables. I'll be painfully honest, sometimes she raises good points. But between Sara lecturing me on what she wants and why; Josie trying to scramble out of her locked-down position in the shopping cart before the screaming begins - I try to objectively look at this weekly trip from hell with humor and remind myself that in five years, they won't want to accompany me to the store. They'll just dictate a laundry list of wants and desires I will be asked to fulfill all the while denying myself frivilous wants and desires while stowing money away for their future educational pursuits...Ah, the future looks bright!

17 Things About Me.

For non-family members and my growing number of "peeps" who have sent me very kind e-mails inquiring about my life, I created "17 Things About Me" because, let's face it, "25 Things" would be narcissistic.

My name is Mary. I’m also called “Mama,” "eccentric," "talented,” “giving (to a fault),” “selfish” and above all “entertaining.” I have a flair for speaking my mind in a warm, lucid manner and thrive upon doing so.
Favorite Quote: “I could not at any age be content to take my place in the corner by the fireside and simply look on.” – Eleanor Roosevelt.

Seventeen Random Things About Me:

 1. I have lived in two countries – France (still paying off my student loans for that doozy of a study abroad trip while in college) and Japan (where I briefly taught English).

2. I never in a million years thought I would be a single mom – as the odds are piled against “us” – I look forward to proving those statistics wrong.

3. Education is sacred to me – your house and car can be repossessed, but no one can take away your college degree. Knowledge is power!

4. I live next door to my parents. On purpose.

5. I am a job snob and believe I am truly gifted with insight that is unappreciated as well as unknown to my superiors.

6. I used to be materialistic – and now I'm realistic. Wandering what stage comes next?

7. Sometimes I feel like a total failure. And then I look at my daughters and know I have done something right.

8. I was one of four students picked to intern with CNN at NASA when John Glenn went back to space.

9. I have no interest in ever falling in love again. Ever.

10. I used to compete in tri-athlons.

11. I have a hard time relating to my friends who don’t have children – they just don’t “get it”. Plus, I hate that their mobility is not encroached upon. To go to the grocery store unattended…a pipe dream for me, reality for them. Boo!!!!!

12. My dog has destroyed over $6000 worth of material items. But I still love him.

13. My dad has cancer.  I cry at the drop of a hat.  I never realized how much I loved - and needed him - until very recently. 

14. I LOVE hip-hop music – especially old-school 90’s. “Ice Ice Baby” never gets old.  I can dance like it’s nobody’s business.

15. I am actively seeking a church where I can relate to the minister – and my girls get their proper dose of religious zeal.  Keep in mind they attend a parochial school which I am counting on to help send the message home.

16. I am a card-carrying republican, but have an open mind. Too open, sometimes.

17. I am a terrible cook. I burn toast.

Choosing the Pill (No, not that pill)

My Matrix Analogy: While I CHOSE the hard path (the blue pill) vs. the less hard path (the red pill) - I sometimes wish there was a green pill that would not only send you back in time to a point where you made a terrible decision, but would allow you cognitive insight as to why you made that terrible decision - and like a chalkboard - erase it and start from scratch. If anyone knows of such a pill, enquiring minds want to know. Not one for understanding "adult" metaphors, there is one I keep finding myself thinking about - "Life's a bitch, and then you die." When I was younger and life was all about “me” I used to think “Who on God's green earth would come up with something so crass, so anti-life?” Now I know. It was a single mom, who was constantly under the gun at work, and then must rush to pick up two demanding children under the age of five, force them to eat something of substance as they protest in stereo while taking great joy in seeing their mother run around like a crazy woman to get it all done. Some nights I think - "There's gotta be another way..." It is usually between 3 and 6 a.m. when both girls are draped over me and unconsciously resting their cheek on my face and I feel their little bodies next to me that I realize how every exasperated breath I intake and exhale is worth all that and more. So - good-bye blue pill. Bring on more life - dish out what you can b/c no matter how bad things seem, I've got two beautiful human beings looking to me for love, support and guidance.