Posts (page 2)

So, every week, I write and publish a department newsletter that is sent to all the Regional Retail Managers and District Managers. Most of the Regionals trickle it down to the venue level (which is the level that really needs to read it, anyway), and every now and then, it trickles up to the Area Vice Presidents or higher. It's a pain in the rear and not always fun, but I have most of it down to a science so that it's not the worst thing in the world.

This afternoon, the department head (my boss's boss) told me that she presented the last few publications to the CEO to show him what we, as a department, are doing to communicate with the field. Now, I have to admit, that gave me some pause. Given the nature of my topics, I have a tendency to get a little "preachy". I mean, how many times can you gently remind people they need to sell product? After a while, it gets old, and you start to think banging your head against the wall sounds infinitely better than writing another article about customer service.

Anyway, he liked it. And I mean genuinely liked it! (This is a man who does not mince words. If he thinks something is crap and/or a waste of time, he'll let you know in no uncertain terms.) He found the headlines compelling, the articles cogent, and the entire publication (all 3 or 4 pages of it) worthwhile. I believe she said his exact words were "a fantastic communication".

So, yeah. Good job, Eileen.

Now get back to work.

When I opened the door from the garage tonight, I heard Chris talking to The Boy.

"You tricked Daddy!" he said. Apparently, The Boy was playing with his toy phone while Chris prepared his own dinner. The Boy handed the receiver to Chris, and when Chris took it, The Boy grabbed a hamburger bun off his father's plate and took a bite before returning it as though nothing had happened.

When he saw me, he eagerly ambled over to me and began to tell me all about his afternoon. Most of it was standard fare, but then he started telling me about playing baseball. (And yes, he actually says, "Baseball".)

Chris told me The Boy was trying to play baseball. He would take a (small plush) ball, toss it into the air, and try to hit it with a drumstick. When he realized how difficult that was, he propped the ball onto the coffee table and swung at it with the drumstick, instead. Then he placed a drumstick in Tommy Bear's paw and pitched the ball to him.

I have to ask his teachers about this because we don't play baseball. We (clearly) don't have a bat in the house, we don't have a baseball in the house, and we don't watch baseball on TV. So he must have picked it up at school, right?

So, really, I don't need to get back in shape for myself. I need to set a good example for The Boy, first and foremost, and be able to keep up with him no matter what sport he wants to play. The personal fitness aspect is just an added bonus.

But baseball? Really? I can't even hit a ball when it's propped up on a tee!

In my attempts to regain a semblance of the pre-Mommy me, I spoke to my friend Gena about the possibility of having her train me. As she is still working on getting certified as a personal trainer, she agreed but refuses to accept any money from me. She would, essentially, have me do exercises that target key areas, assign "homework" on the days I don't see her, etc. I, in turn, would be her guinea pig and do whatever she asks.

Gena's work schedule right now is such that she is working her regular job Tuesdays through Thursdays, which means we have Mondays and Fridays to get together during my lunch break. We began our sessions last Friday, during which she had me work on my arms to tone the muscle there. Because I'm occassionally lifting and carrying a little man of 30 pounds (fully clothed with shoes), I discovered I had more upper body strength than I initially believed. But I was certainly feeling it over the weekend!

On Monday, we focused on abs and legs. On Tuesday, feeling sore but functional, I played the part of hamster at lunchtime and walked/ran two miles on a treadmill while a coworker used the elliptical at our office gym. Yesterday, still sore but in different ways, I chose to go to Target for a few necessities and walked two laps around my neighborhood last night. And today, I visited a friend's very ill mother during my lunch hour with every intention of doing laps around the neighborhood again tonight.

Only, the skies opened and poured (much needed) rain upon my house. And it's still going. So I'm not doing laps.

I'm a slacker, I know.

Christ, I'm such a follower.

Over the past few years, I've watched several neighbors float off of Vox, my In Box laced with messages from neighbors alerting me to their changes of address. Some, like my friend Gena, have been able to (kind of) maintain her blogs in two worlds. Her everyday life blog is here on Vox, while her fitness and nutrition blog is elsewhere.

Inspired by her ability to multi-blog, I've decided to follow a similar path. And so, dear neighbors, I'll still be Voxing about grown-up Eileen things with a smattering of motherhood posts here and there, but if you feel so inclined, you can follow my Mommylogues at my new address: mymommylogues.blogspot.com. There won't be any pictures of The Boy (I'll post some updates with photos periodically here), but I have a feeling the vast majority of my neighbors are getting tired of reading about day care and potty training, anyway.

Happy reading!

It seems like just last week I was mulling over the idea of switching, at least part-time, to cloth diapers. In reality, it's been closer to 14 months since I actually broke down and bought a few BumGenius 3.0 diapers to test. After being so incredibly pleased with the three that I initially ordered, I bought another 12, and we've been using them ever since. I have to admit there are times I wish I had put him in a disposable diaper (gigantic poops and toddler tummy among them), but for the most part, I'm actually used to using them. We've already recouped the cost in savings (including any fluctuations in utilities - which have all gone down over the previous year) and are doing our part to save the planet. Moreover, I really like them!

But diapers (thankfully) are only needed for so long, and The Boy is now at a stage where I really ought to have the option of training pants available to him. Oh, sure, I bought him some Thomas the Tank Engine underpants a few weeks ago, but he's not remotely interested in them - nor should he be because, well, he's not even interested in sitting on the potty! But I've seen him in the mornings, when he's anxious to get into the shower, tugging at the waistband of his diapers, almost in a vain attempt to remove them. (He has also voiced displeasure at having his pants or shorts removed unless he decides it's time for a wardrobe change.)

I spoke to his teacher this morning about pull-up training pants to see what she found to be the easiest to use. (The morning drop-offs got a little bit easier each day, but we'll see what happens on Monday.) Much to my surprise (and to show you how little attention I've paid to disposable training pants), there's a very big difference between Pampers Easy-Ups and Huggies Pull-Ups. While both are equally easy for kids to put on and take off, only Huggies has the easy-off velcro sides to make it easy to clean up accidents (especially the poopy variety). I'm very glad I asked, or else I would have invested a small fortune in the wrong disposable training pants!

Now, in a perfect world, The Boy would train himself in a day and I would only need to buy one package of disposable training pants before he moved on to his Big Boy underpants. Just as ideally, he wouldn't need training pants at all at home and would never need to get up in the middle of the night to use the facilities. However, I am all too well aware that we don't live in that perfect world (I don't, anyway) and, as bright as The Boy is, he's not going to potty train himself overnight. Moreover, he's still likely to have accidents at night once he is trained during the day.

I just don't want to give Kimberly Clark or Proctor & Gamble all my money! (They each get plenty as it is.)

Enter Antsy Pants. Have you heard of them? These are the coolest-looking training pants! They're stuffable, so I can use my existing BumGenius inserts at night (multi-tasking is a must). They have snaps on the sides for easy accident clean up. The sides are elastic garters, just like the disposable kind, so he can step into them like regular underpants. And though they are absorbent, they also leave just enough of a wet feeling so that The Boy will know when he's just peed. (I think he already knows this to some degree.)

Anyway, I just sent in my order for six (they call that a one-day supply, but since I only want to use it at home, it should be plenty, right?) and should receive it sometime next week. I'll write a comprehensive review after we've used them for a while. My initial plan is to give The Boy options - does he want to wear a diaper or Big Boy pants? - and go with whatever he says. I still need to make it clear, of course, that he can only wear his Big Boy pants if he agrees to sit on the potty, but if he doesn't, that's okay, too.

He's showing a little more interest in the potty, but he doesn't seem ready just yet. I'm hoping with some options, though, it will help him feel a little more comfortable about the idea of sitting on the potty with a bare bum.

The Boy is officially in the 2-year-old classroom now. Dropping him off was absolutely awful this morning.

A big part of the problem is that I still haven't met the teachers, and it doesn't help that the classroom where I drop him off in the mornings isn't the one where he will spend most of his time. So, his cubby isn't in that room, his artwork (once he makes some) isn't in that room, and his teachers aren't in that room. And it didn't help this morning that he doesn't know any of the kids, either.

After I signed him in, I briefly looked around the room and pointed out all the cool things in the classroom that aren't in the Toddler room. They have bathroom stalls - short enough for me to peer into, but tall enough to give kids privacy when they use the facilities. There's a little sink where he can wash his hands without needing to use a step stool. The tables and chairs are a little taller than the ones in the Toddler room (though still shorter than the set at home), and there are Legos and art supplies and all kinds of fun toys that we have at home but weren't in the Toddler room. After all, he's a big(ger) kid now!

I did my best to talk about everything excitedly, to get him to take me on a tour of the classroom, but he would have none of it. He begged in earnest between sobs for me to take him outside ("Out! Mama! Peas! Mama! Out! Peas! Peas!"), and he clung to my leg for dear life as I wrote on the sign-in sheet. Finally, the teacher there (still don't know her name) took him from me so that I could escape. As soon as the door shut behind me, I ran to his old Toddler classroom and sobbed.

As if that weren't enough, I still needed to run diapers to his new classroom (not the temporary one). I wrote his name on the package in the Toddler room, steeled my nerves, then ran (literally) past the room where I left him and down the hall to his classroom. Once I was there, I looked around a bit, just to see where my little boy would be spending most of his days for the next year. It's an adorable facility, really - perfectly sized for him, and I can totally see him fostering more independence in the coming year. I carefully made my way back once I heard one of the Directors being paged to the classroom where I left him and saw him standing by the door, tears streaming down his little cheeks, wringing his hands and stomping his feet as he cried, "Mamaaa! Mamaaaaaa! Mamaaaaaaaaaa!"

It absolutely broke my heart. Thankfully, he was looking the other way and didn't see me through the window (I would have died if he did), but it was horrible. I felt terrible!

I'm sure he will give Chris a full report this afternoon when Chris picks him up. And I know he's fine and is probably enjoying himself as I write.

It doesn't ease the Mommy Guilt, though.

The lady at the cleaners loves The Boy.

Before he was born, my husband would drop off his shirts or pick them up, and he would tell me that she wasn't very nice. Yet, whenever I went to the cleaners, she was always very nice to me. "Maybe it's because I'm not Asian," my husband would say half jokingly.

Several months after The Boy was born and Chris established an afternoon routine with him, he would take The Boy, still in his carrier, into the cleaners to fetch his shirts. The lady at the cleaners would coo at him and tell Chris how cute the baby was. As he grew and began interacting with his surroundings, he began to interact with her. First it was a smile, then a wave, which no doubt tickled her to no end. Every now and then, if I left work early or was at home with The Boy, Chris would go to the cleaners by himself, and she would ask where the baby was. Chris says she's much nicer now than when we first moved to the neighborhood, but she's even nicer to him when The Boy accompanies him.

Yesterday, when I came home from work, Chris and The Boy had just sat down for dinner. Chris told me that they picked up his shirts from the cleaners before going to Publix, and that the lady at the cleaners gave The Boy a bag of Sun Chips. "She always tries to give him gum," he said, puzzled. I figured that she wanted to give The Boy something, and that gum was the only thing she had handy. But that day, she went to the back and presented The Boy with his very own snack-sized bag of Sun Chips.

The Boy was very proud of his chips, and very possessive. Chris said he clutched his little bag while they were in Publix, and only gave it to Chris when they got to the car after being promised that he could eat them with dinner.

I don't go to the cleaners very often anymore, so I don't get to see the lady at the cleaners. I wish I knew a little more about her, though, even her name, and thank her for the kindness she bestows on my little boy.

Maybe it's time to bring that coat in for drycleaning...

The Boy is starting to transition to the 2-year-old classroom today. Each day, he'll spend a little more time with the bigger kids so that, come Monday, he'll be comfortable going to the 2-year-old wing.

I need to prepare myself for meltdowns next week.

He's teething like crazy. Even after a half dose of Tylenol this morning, he was still holding his mouth when I left him at school. I don't think I need to express how relieved I will be when these molars come in. At least I know I'll have a slight reprieve before the next molars come in - and by then, he'll be able to better express himself verbally to let me know what he needs.

I bought him some Big Boy Underpants this weekend. He hasn't been asking for them or anything, but I know he'll see some kids in his new class wearing Big Kid underpants and want to have those handy as a potty training incentive. He's not showing a lot of interest in the potty. He knows what it is and that you sit on it; beyond that, he hasn't quite grasped the concept. Tommy Bear sits on the potty more than The Boy does. Meanwhile, Chris and I ask him every day if he wants to sit on it, and we're careful not to push it on him. After all, he'll get there one of these days. And if he's the only kid in his class still wearing diapers, so be it.

He'll pick up on that really quickly.

In fact, I'm not quite sure how I feel.

My father called me last night.

Let me begin by saying that my father has refused to talk to me, answer e-mails, or respond to text messages in a month. For an entire month, my father has shut me out.

And he called last night because my sister wasn't picking up her phone.

My niece, J, is having her First Communion next month. This is a very big deal in the Catholic faith, and my mother would have been so incredibly proud. I won't be in attendance, but I am still so very proud of her for choosing to take this very important step.

My father wanted to bring A, my late mother's best friend and the woman he had been seeing, to J's First Communion. He bought the ticket and everything and told my sister that he wanted to bring her. When my sister put her foot down and said that, no, she did not want A there because she and Dad needed to discuss some things first, he wasn't pleased. When she got off the phone with him, she called me and gave me a synopsis of the call. And I completely agreed with her - there's a lot our father needs to own up to without hiding behind anyone's skirt. Our mother did us - and him - a great disservice by keeping us sheltered from his inability to take ownership, for lack of a better phrase.

I got off the phone with my sister because it was time for my nieces to get bathed and get ready for bed. Daddy tried to call several times, then, presumably, gave up and called me instead. He began the conversation quite jovially, as if we talked all the time. He asked about The Boy's birthday party and his birthday (never once apologizing for not calling or e-mailing or texting on his birthday), and I responded warmly. Despite everything, he is, after all, my father and The Boy's grandfather, and if he shows enthusiastic interest, I'm willing to respond with the same enthusiasm.

Then the small talk waned. The real reason for his call was that he wanted to bring A to J's First Communion and my sister was being inflexible and didn't want her there. He told me that my sister said she didn't have a problem with A, but that she had a problem with him, and that she felt they needed to build on their relationship before anything else. I listened, having already heard this from my sister, then told him that I agree with my sister.

"Dad," I said to him, "I haven't really talked to you in seven months. We've exchanged words but not a real conversation. And my son doesn't even know you."

To which he responded, "I know, I know. But...", rambling on about how much a victim he was and how unfair my sister was being. For an entire month, he pretends I don't exist, but then he expects me to be his ally when it comes to communicating with my sister? What?

And then he dropped this delightful bombshell:

"Maybe it's an inappropriate time, but I wanted to tell both of you in person that A and I were married on March 21."

Great. So more than three weeks after the fact he finally felt compelled to tell us.

I told him that we live on the other side of the country, that with my nieces in school and me at work, it would be near impossible to get us both together for a single chat. (And, though I didn't say it but desperately wanted to, if I'm going to take time off and see my sister, I'd like it to be a pleasant visit without drama from him.) A phone call would have sufficed. An e-mail or text before the fact would have been preferable to three weeks after the fact.

Once he realized I wasn't going to chide him for his decision but rather was upset that he didn't feel it necessary to inform us ahead of time and reiterated several times that I hadn't really spoken to him in seven months, his focus returned to my sister, how she's not picking up the phone, how he ought to try calling her again. "Call her around 9," I suggested. "Give her a chance to get the kids to bed." Then we hung up.

I called my sister this morning. Dad called her again around 8:30 (right after we hung up - shows how much he listened to me), and she asked if she could call him back. When she returned his call, he said he was on his way out and would call her later. He never did.

I told her about the conversation I had with our father last night. I told her about my husband's response to the news ("not thrilled" would be a major understatement; "angry" would still be pretty far from reality), and we both laughed about it.

He's a grown man. He can do what he wants. And if he thinks this will make him happy, so be it.

I just can't help feeling like my mother took my father's sense of reason with her. Maybe he never had any and she just hid it really well. But with Mom gone, it seems like my dad's gone, too.

Overheard tonight from The Boy's bedroom:

"No, don't take Tommy Bear's shirt off.... Socks? Tommy Bear needs socks? Okay, let's find some socks for him.... There. Now he has socks.... What?... Tommy Bear has socks.... Oh, Cow needs socks? Okay..."

This continued on for a while. It ended with my husband telling him that he had no more socks, that Mommy needed to wash them.

And then I was summoned.

"Mo more sock!" he informed me.

I went into the closet and found socks he had since outgrown, then dutifully put them on his Yo Gabba Gabba! friends. Once he was certain everyone's feet would be sufficiently warm, he decided that his footed sleeper wasn't adequate and wanted, not just socks, but entirely different pajamas to wear to bed.

Then Tommy Bear needed a new shirt. He can't have a new shirt? Well, then he needs shoes. He can't wear shoes? Well, then can I wear shoes? If I can't wear shoes, then Mama has to hold me.

I'm not certan how I managed it, but I finally got him to lie down in his crib. I tucked him in, whispered my "good nights", and hurriedly left the room, leaving the door open (because God forbid we should close the door and do anything without him). He called out for me once more (I did not respond), then was silent. He's now been asleep fr about 20 minutes.

In the meantime, he does have clean socks, just removed from the dryer before I sat down to write. But if we're now going to clothe all of his toys, I may need to stock up on more.