This Page

has been moved to new address

Fairly Odd Mother

Sorry for inconvenience...

Redirection provided by Blogger to WordPress Migration Service
body { background:#fff url("") 50% 0; margin:0; padding:0 10px; text-align:center; font:x-small Verdana,Arial,Sans-serif; color:#333; font-size/* */:/**/small; font-size: /**/small; } /* Page Structure ----------------------------------------------- */ @media all { #content { background:url("") no-repeat 250px 50px; width:700px; margin:0 auto; padding:50px 0; text-align:left; } #main { width:450px; float:right; padding:50px 0 20px; font-size:85%; } #main2 { background:url("") -100px -100px; padding:20px 10px 15px; } #sidebar { width:200px; float:left; font-size:85%; padding-bottom:20px; } #sidebar2 { background:url("") 150px -50px; padding:5px 10px 15px; width:200px; width/* */:/**/180px; width: /**/180px; } } @media handheld { #content { width:90%; } #main { width:100%; float:none; } #sidebar { width:100%; float:none; } #sidebar2 { width:100%; } } html>body #main, html>body #sidebar { /* We only give this fade from white to nothing to browsers that can handle 24-bit transparent PNGs */ background/* */:/**/url("") repeat-x left bottom; } /* Title & Description ----------------------------------------------- */ @media all { #blog-title { margin:0 0 .5em; font:250%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#353; } #blog-title a { color:#353; text-decoration:none; } #description { margin:0 0 1.75em; color:#996; } #blog-mobile-title { display:none; } #description-mobile { display:none; } } @media handheld { #blog-title { display:none; } #description { display:none; } #blog-mobile-title { display:block; margin:0 0 .5em; font:250%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#353; } #blog-mobile-title a { color:#353; text-decoration:none; } #description-mobile { display:block; margin:0 0 1.75em; color:#996; } } /* Links ----------------------------------------------- */ a:link { color:#488; } a:visited { color:#885; } a:hover { color:#000; } a img { border-width:0; } /* Posts ----------------------------------------------- */ .date-header { margin:0 0 .75em; padding-bottom:.35em; border-bottom:1px dotted #9b9; font:95%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:.3em; color:#663; } .post { margin:0 0 2.5em; line-height:1.6em; } .post-title { margin:.25em 0; font:bold 130%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#333; } .post-title a, .post-title strong { background:url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; display:block; color:#333; text-decoration:none; padding:0 0 1px 45px; } .post-title a:hover { color:#000; } .post p { margin:0 0 .75em; } { margin:0; text-align:right; } em { display:block; float:left; text-align:left; font-style:normal; color:#996; } a.comment-link { /* IE5.0/Win doesn't apply padding to inline elements, so we hide these two declarations from it */ background/* */:/**/url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; padding-left:15px; } html>body a.comment-link { /* Respecified, for IE5/Mac's benefit */ background:url("") no-repeat 0 .25em; padding-left:15px; } .post img { margin:0 0 5px 0; padding:4px; border:1px solid #cca; } /* Comments ----------------------------------------------- */ #comments { margin:0; } #comments h4 { margin:0 0 10px; border-top:1px dotted #9b9; padding-top:.5em; font:bold 110%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; color:#333; } #comments-block { line-height:1.6em; } .comment-poster { background:url("") no-repeat 2px .35em; margin:.5em 0 0; padding:0 0 0 20px; font-weight:bold; } .comment-body { margin:0; padding:0 0 0 20px; } .comment-body p { margin:0 0 .5em; } .comment-timestamp { margin:0 0 .5em; padding:0 0 .75em 20px; color:#996; } .comment-timestamp a:link { color:#996; } .deleted-comment { font-style:italic; color:gray; } .paging-control-container { float: right; margin: 0px 6px 0px 0px; font-size: 80%; } .unneeded-paging-control { visibility: hidden; } /* More Sidebar Content ----------------------------------------------- */ .sidebar-title { margin:2em 0 .75em; padding-bottom:.35em; border-bottom:1px dotted #9b9; font:95%/1.4em Georgia,Serif; text-transform:uppercase; letter-spacing:.3em; color:#663; } #sidebar p { margin:0 0 .75em; line-height:1.6em; } #sidebar ul { margin:.5em 0 1em; padding:0 0px; list-style:none; line-height:1.5em; } #sidebar ul li { background:url("") no-repeat 3px .45em; margin:0; padding:0 0 5px 15px; } #sidebar p { margin:0 0 .6em; } /* Profile ----------------------------------------------- */ .profile-datablock { margin:0 0 1em; } .profile-img { display:inline; } .profile-img img { float:left; margin:0 8px 5px 0; border:4px solid #cc9; } .profile-data { margin:0; line-height:1.5em; } .profile-data strong { display:block; } .profile-textblock { clear:left; } /* Footer ----------------------------------------------- */ #footer { clear:both; padding:15px 0 0; } #footer hr { display:none; } #footer p { margin:0; } /* Feeds ----------------------------------------------- */ #blogfeeds { } #postfeeds { padding-left: 20px }

Fairly Odd Mother

Frantically waving my magic wand to make wishes come true.

Monday, October 30, 2006

Trick or SoyDairyEggNutTransfat-Free Treat!

This afternoon, my neighbor flagged down my minivan in the street as we were returning from the library (this week's letter is "Q": books on queens, quilts and Qatar! What the hell am I going to say about Qatar?).

OK, back to my original story: as I rolled to a stop next to her, she smiled and handed me a plastic baggie with pumpkins printed on it. Inside the baggie was an assortment of 'fun-size' candies: Smarties, Skittles, Charleston Chews. I thought she was giving me a treat, but then she explained that this was the bag of treats she wanted ME to give to her son when he came to my door on Halloween night. You see, he is allergic to tree nuts and those candies had been pre-screened by her. She was now walking up and down our street of about 30 houses and giving each neighbor a baggie of candy.

At first, I marveled at her smarts, her practicality (and I love all things practical). Her son would not be exposed to anything dangerous! That Epi Pen could be set aside for the night.

My second emotion was a bit of guilt. My oldest daughter, Belly, is allergic to milk, yet I have never even considered putting together little baggies of 'safe' candy and distributing them to the neighbors. What kind of mother was I? I even get excited that I get to eat all the chocolates in her Halloween sack. I suck.

But then, really. Are we headed toward a time when moms and dads march up and down the streets the day before Halloween, loaded with baggies of pre-sorted treats? Imagine how this would look in practice on Halloween night: the doorbell rings; I open it and peer at the little masked and painted faces. "Oh hi Mary! Here is your nut-free treat bag; Kyle, here is your yummy dairy-free bag; and Joey, I'm sorry, but it looks like your mommy would like to see you lower that BMI. Here are some rice cakes and raisins".

Now THAT is scary!

Labels: ,

Saturday, October 28, 2006

A singing in my ears

Belly has a gift for song. Well, maybe that is too strong a statement. It'll be years before we know if any of this is a 'gift' or not. Let's just say that she has always enjoyed singing songs she's heard and sometimes even sings little ditties she has made up.

I know this will make me sound old, but whenever she sings, I shudder a little inside over what has become of female vocals. Don't get me wrong, she can carry a tune pretty well. It is the inflection that makes me crazy. She is 5, yet she will sing with a 'pout' in her voice, or warble all over the place instead of sustaining a single note (I blame Mariah for this phenomenon). It is all my fault for letting her sit with me through a few seasons of American Idol. I thought she was too young to be influenced. I was wrong.

The songs she chooses to sing are often those of love gone wrong; of wishing for a love that is just out of reach. For this, I blame and my husband, who, in a moment of weakness, bought her a CD of "girl hits"----remakes of "Let's get this party started" and "Hit me baby one more time". He has regretted this purchase ever since our 8-hour drive to Jersey when we heard this CD more times than we could count.

But. . .there is hope. Her last creation was so different from her previous ones that I thought, "could I have the female Weird Al on my hands"? You judge for yourself.

(one note, both girls sang this together. Belly sang a line and then Jilly echoed it--very nice effect if I do say so myself)

The song starts like most of them but then goes to a strange place:

I won't be happy
Until you are back

That piece of corn
I'd eat it up
Until you are back

I'd give you some too

I wish you were here
To see my corn

How are you doing
How are you feeling

I'll simply wait for you. . .

Yes, friends, nothing says "I love you" like an ear of day-old corn. That must be one special fella.


Friday, October 27, 2006

The joyride ends. . .

There is a bittersweet ending to Mom-101's story about Thalia finding a fun little Cozy Coupe unattended, fending off a car-jacker and happily 'peddling' away.

You see, the car was hot, and not from the sun. When the police caught up with Thalia, she was already at the end of the driveway, wind whipping through her hair, a Starbucks in the cup holder. Emily was found asleep in the backseat.

She was placed in a holding cell, pending bail.

Bail was 100 kisses. She gladly obliged.

She then had to get Emily sprung from doggie lockdown. Another 100 kisses, and all was well.
Unfortunately, that Cozy Coupe continues to cause trouble in our neighborhood. Security cameras caught another attempted carjacking of an unsuspecting toddler in a snappy shirt.

This time, the perp even has an accomplice, a short, bald fellow who falls down a lot.

Anyone who can help crack this case should contact the proper authorities.

Labels: ,

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Que pasa?

I overheard the girls playing with their Polly Pocket dolls today. They were apparently going "South of the Border" because this was the conversation between the dolls:

Belly: Ola!

Jilly: Ola!

Belly: Que Pasa? Blinga!

Jilly: ???????

Belly (in her 'big sister authoritative' voice): Blinga means "to go home" in Spanish.

Jilly: Ohhhhh. . .blinga!

Belly: Que Pasa!

repeat ad infinitum


Monday, October 23, 2006


Fairly Odd Father & I have three children. Little ones, although they seem so old at times. Especially when the girls are dancing with their bums pushed out and yelling, "Shake your bum-bum!" (they did NOT learn this from me, I swear!)

We were married in the summer of '99 on a 101 degree day; outdoors, of course, and then held the reception inside a 'rustic' hall ('rustic' is code for 'no air conditioning').

Six month later, we had bought our first-and-only house. I imagined many nights on the back porch drinking cocktails with FOF and friends, being loud and carefree.

Two weeks after we moved into the house, I was pregnant.

Our first child was born in January 2001. We call her Belly, and she's rocked our world more than we could've ever imagined.

Two short years later, Jilly was born, plump and squinty. She quickly became our never-stop-moving, squirmy worm of a child who has yet to crack the 10th percentile in weight since her 3rd month checkup. Her favorite word is 'poop'.

And then, to prove that Fairly Odd Father and I have no idea how babies are made, we were even more shocked---SHOCKED, I say---to find out that #3 was coming just 18 months after #2. Shortly after D was born, Fairly Odd Father was made less, a-hem, potent, and we closed the book on any more surprise babies.

So them are the kids.

As for me, I went from working a zillion hours a week in my 20's as a Media Planner for two different advertising agencies, to burning out and quitting it all at 29. . .that lasted about six weeks, and then I was freelancing and then hired by a media agency.

I met FOF during my work 'hiatus', on Friday the 13th of December, 1996. I basically threw myself at him shamelessly. I'm not sure what story we'll end up telling the kids. Probably a cleaned-up version until they are about 40.

After Belly was born, I went down to working three days a week which was pretty good for a while. After Jilly, though, daycare costs and the complete pain-in-the-assness of schlepping them both to daycare became too much and I quit the 'paid-job' life for good.

I have now been a SAHM (I hate that acronym but am too lazy to come up with something better) for over 3 years. Totally not the life I imagined for myself when I was a 20-something career person.

Funny thing is, I really like this life. I don't pine for the days when I had my own office and got to tell people what to do. I was tired of the whole scene. The only thing I really miss is the dozens and dozens of free magazines that were one of the perks of my job. Oh, and the money. And quiet time on the computer. And company lunches. So, maybe there were a few things good about work.

As far as our decision to homeschool? That was also not planned but rather fallen into, much like our decision to become parents to three kids in under four years. At some point, I'll get around to that story.

Labels: , , ,

Monday, October 16, 2006

Dem bones

It was bound to happen. Almost six years, three children. . . we've had rashes, fevers, chipped teeth, bee stings, hives, ear infections, bladder infections, constipation, diarrhea. . .what are we missing???? Oh yes, the bone injury. No broken bones, no fractures, no sprains----nah, nah, nahnahnah!

And then, yesterday. . .scratch that last one off the list.

The story my oldest (who is 5 1/2) told the people in the emergency room was odd but true. "I was on the purple dinosaur's head and mommy was on too when mommy saw (the youngest) about to walk into a huge pile of horse poop, so she jumped up and I fell off the dinosaur head".

The parental instinct to protect your children from walking into poop is so strong. I lost all judgment and leapt off the purple dinosaur (no, not
this purple dinosaur) without even thinking about physics and that rule that says something about "one body leaping off a bouncy object will throw the other body into the air, even if that other body is your precious first-born".

Fortunately, my first born is made of brave stuff that I never got. She cried just once at the hospital, when the nurse tried to straighten her poor sore elbow. Five hours and six x-rays later, they have concluded that they "aren't sure" what is wrong. Too much fluid in her elbow to see if there is either a hairline fracture or something else that I heard the doctor say and then immediately forgot.

Today we are off to the orthopedic doctor I have yet to find. Three little children and I in an unfamiliar doctor's office.

I should have let him step in the poop.


Friday, October 13, 2006


We went to the dentist yesterday. As my middle child was getting her teeth cleaned, the oldest leaned over to watch the hygenist at work. Here was their conversation,

Hygenist to oldest, "Oh, do you want to be a dentist when you grow up?"

Oldest, "No, I want to be a vet."

Hygenist, "A vet? That's what I wanted to be when I was a little girl. (turning her attention to my middle daughter) What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Middle child: "A fwog".


Wednesday, October 11, 2006

If I Should Die Before I Wake. . .

About two years ago, my mother gave the kids a little stuffed frog whose 'hands' are folded in prayer. When you squeeze his belly, he says,

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, With Angels watching through the night, Until I wake with morning light. Amen"

Old rhymes are hard to forget, though, and I often think, "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take". At the end of this thought, the next one usually is, "and I pray that my kids don't go through all of my stuff".

You see, I'm a saver. Not of junk like old toasters or television sets or clothes that no longer fit. I save old memories: letters, journals, photos.

Ahhhhh, you say, isn't that sweet and sentimental. And, yes, it is sweet and sentimental. I imagine myself being about 80 years old, sitting on the floor of my bedroom and reliving all those innocent, crazy days when, at 15 or 25, I felt like my whole life had been decided for me because of 'X'. And, then I'll burn it all; or at least get rid of any incriminating stuff.

But, what if it isn't me going through all of my things? What if it is my husband or, gulp, my kids? Will they think the old love letters from my first boyfriend are sweet or totally depraved? What about journal entries which admit not recalling anything about the previous night-on-the-town? What about THE LIST?

Part of me thinks that it is important for my kids to know that I am not just the mommy who fixes them breakfast, kisses their boo boos and reads them stories. That, before them, I had a life that was full and wonderful and screwed up and colorful. Before them, I had a life that mattered to me.

So, for now, everything stays. I'll just be extra careful crossing the street.

Labels: ,

Monday, October 09, 2006

Homeschooling hiccups

We are one whole month into homeschooling my oldest child (she is 5 and would've started kindergarten in September), and so far, so good. Our approach could be called 'relaxed eclectic', if one pressed me to call it anything. I've found something to like about almost every method of homeschooling I've come upon, so we're just taking bits and pieces of things and seeing how they meld together.

Most of the time, we just live our lives, but I try to pay more attention for those 'teachable moments' that pop up constantly.

The biggest worry I have right now is reading. I do lots of it, she does none. We are following a 'letter of the week' format to give me a jumping-off point and to help generate ideas (plus, I think it is useful for her two younger siblings, ages 3 & 2). Formal phonics lessons have not worked for her. She can write phonetically (yes, I have just found this love note from a few months ago: "AR TH URST MOMMY IN THE. . ." she had asked me how to spell 'WORLD', but I guess she ran out of room). She does not like sitting down to 'read'---she gets very frustrated trying to sound out words in a book. I'm not sure if I should just let her be or try new 'teaching' methods.

I also feel like I've got my ear to the ground to find out what is going on in our public school kindergarten class. Are we ahead of them? Behind? What are they doing right now? Why do I even care? It bugs me that I do.

I know that I'm very new at this and will relax more as time goes on. Sometimes the weight of what I've taken on seems overwhelming, but then I sit down with them and watch that lightbulb go off in their heads and realize that I wouldn't want to miss that for anything in the world.

Labels: ,

Pleased to meet you. I'm Practical.

Way back in college (we're talking late 80's. . .a l-o-n-g time ago), I was called 'practical'. I must admit, it hurt. I wanted to be known as fun, flirty, whimsical; someone who let things roll off her back. No baggage here! But no. . . .practical. As in, flat dress shoes, one-pot meals, stain-resistant pants and savings plans.

It happened one night at a bar (you'll see that many of my posts will begin like this). I had just finished my third Woo Woo of the night. I was bouncing merrily off the crowd when a guy friend came to me, draped his drunken arm around my shoulders and purred into me ear, "Someday, after I've found the girl I'm going to marry, I'm going to make sure she meets you. You are so practical, you can teach her to be too". (ok, I'm sure the wording was a bit different, but give my tired brain a break; I'm lucky I can remember much from my 20's).

I looked at him with wide, terrified eyes and backed away until I had bumped off enough people to land in my roommate's lap. I then cried, "PRACTICAL?!?!? I'm doomed! I'll never get married! Guys don't want PRACTICAL! They want cute and sexy and fun!" She probably suggested we get another Woo Woo (God Bless You, Sharon).

Of course, deep down, I knew it was true. I always went to the library before hitting the bars. I wrote my research paper notes on index cards so that everything was organized. Our off-campus apartment was spotless. I was dependable; I was a

Shoot forward many years and, yes, I did find a nice, fun, adorable man who thought, "cute, sexy, fun AND practical!" And then we got married and now have three cute, fun and practical kids (no sexy, never sexy). I kind of like 'practical' now. It sounds so safe and comforting. And, while it still reminds me of flat dress shoes, one-pot meals, stain-resistant pants and savings plans, those things now hold a special place in my loud, frazzled, messy life.

Labels: ,