Four Crying Out Loud

My children don't understand the concept of money.  I like to break it down for them by saying "I had to work 'x' hours to be able to afford those shoes for you!"  Or, "Why did you leave this out in the rain?  I worked 2 days in order to buy that for you!"  I'm pretty sure this technique doesn't work.  My daughter asked me where I was going one morning.  I told her I had to go to work.  "So you can buy me those two Disney princesses?"  Ugh.  Children are self-centered wallet suckers.  I like to heap the guilt on them but my husband just wants them to have all the things he didn't have as a child.  When our daughter loses 3 sets of Monster High doll hands, he simply buys her new dolls.  Although he doesn't agree with her lack of reverence for small doll parts, it makes him happy to spend his money on his girl. When I was in college in Athens, Ohio, I worked at a bookstore.  My boyfriend (now husband) didn't like that I had

I desperately wanted to be the new mom you see in the parenting magazines:  feeding on a schedule, napping when the baby naps, playing the classical music, and taking a shower daily.  A combination of three words put an end to that dream for me:  real live baby. Allow me to paint for you the external factors that were going on as well during this joyous, life-changing event.  Six days after the birth of that bundle of joy, I started back to school for my Master's Degree.  Two weeks after the birth of that angel sent from heaven, my husband went back to work on midnights.  Four weeks after the birth of that swaddled package of love, I went back to work.  With a husband who worked midnights, and an employer who allowed me to bring my baby to work, I was with that sweet infant gift all day and night.  I packed him around in a Snuggli when I had to go to the copier machine.  I changed his diapers in my office and prayed that he would sleep through hour-long conference calls.  When

My mother does our laundry.  I'm not jumping for joy about it.  It comes at a high price.  I'll admit, I like to save my laundry up and do it all on the weekend.  By Saturday, you could stand on one of the piles and change a high-hanging light bulb with ease.  The sight of this makes my mother's blood boil.  The process of her doing our laundry goes in phases: The Allegations of Neglect Phase My mom likes to tie the situation that my laundry is in to how well I care for my children.  "You are neglecting their basic needs!" she says as she sorts delicate tu-tu's from the bleachable tighty-whities.  As she sorts the piles, she says things like "No wonder Milena looks like an orphan half the time!  She has all these cute clothes to wear and they're all dirty!"  (Side note:  Milena looks like an orphan, because she looks like an orphan.  The cleanest of clothes won't change that.)  The Martyr Phase My mom likes to talk loudly while she is