just another manic Sunday

SUNDAY – a day of rest, a day of worship, a day for football lovers, and an important day for women who take the beloved birth control pill.

Today was my special Sunday, when my next cycle was set to begin, as the empty spinning wheel dispenser told me. And what a surprise…as of 1:30pm, I hadn’t even called in my re-fill. Procrastination at its finest.

After finally placing the order at 2:00pm, I took a mental note of the pharmacy’s closing time, 6:00pm, and made the conscious decision to wait til after the girls’ naps to pick it up. They never sleep past 5:00pm, so we would have plenty of time to get there before closing.

Due to hyperactivity and a couple blow-outs, the standard 2:00pm naptime became more like 2:45pm and finally, by 3:00pm, ALL three of the Godwin Girls were sound asleep. On this particular Sunday, Steve was gone at a commercial casting session, and I was nursing a slight hangover from last night’s celebration for my friend’s 40th birthday, so I took the opportunity to catch some zzzz’s myself.

Periodically, throughout my nap, I groggily awoke, took a moment to figure out where I was, determined all was well with the world since I wasn’t hearing any unseemly noises on the monitor, briefly questioned the time but didn’t bother to actually check the clock, and fell back into my deep, deep glorious slumber.

Ultimately I awoke to Lexi’s cries and as I went to pick her up, my eyes glanced at the clock: 5:35pm.

CRAP!

I swiftly picked Lexi up, ran downstairs to call the pharmacy, all the while trying to coax my brain out of the dense fog it was wading in, and trying to figure out my most efficient plan of action. Do I try to get all three of us in the car and to the pharmacy within 25 minutes?  Do I try to get a hold of my doctor and have her call it in to a different pharmacy with BETTER hours? What should I do?

Ring Ring…Hi, I have a prescription I need picked up TODAY, but I have two kids and don’t know if I can make it there by 6:00pm. Is there any way you can leave it at the Albertson’s customer service desk?

No, we’re not allowed to do that.

Ok, well then is there anyway you can just stay a few minutes late? It would just be a few minutes.

No, they make us leave right at 6:00pm.

Ok, well then can you call it in to a different Sav-On?

No, all our locations close at 6:00pm. But we open at 9:00am tomorrow morning, why don’t you pick it up then.

Inner Monologue: Ok, Little Miss Unhelpful, Uncooperative, Unfriendly Thang…

You clearly:

#1 – Are not on the pill so you don’t know the RAGING hormonal rollercoaster that ensues after one skipped pill

and

#2 – Do not understand the imperative nature of preventing an oopsies.

I looked at the clock – 4:43pm.

Ok, we’ll be right there.

I dashed upstairs, woke Lily out of her deep sleep, threw sweatshirts on all three of us, told Lil to grab her flip flops as I grabbed mine, buckled the kids in their car seats and we were off.

It was 5:51pm.

After 8 minutes of praying to the Green Light Gods, driving like a cautious bat out of hell, and cursing the m-f’ers who were taking their leisurely Sunday late afternoon drives, we barreled into the parking lot, parked the car and RAN into the store. There I was, no make-up, hair disheveled, a kid under each arm, with my tank top being pulled down in the front by both girls who were hanging on for dear life. It was a SIGHT to be SEEN, I am quite sure.

As I reached the pharmacy counter it was 5:59:30. The rolldown doors were all shut except for one little area where the cash register sits. I saw the pharmacist standing, arm crossed, scowling, as he mouthed the words here she comes.

Huffing and puffing I reached the counter, Phew, I made it.

What’s your name? Said the same unfriendly gal, in the same unfriendly tone.

Godwin, Burt-Godwin. B-u-r-t. (This is where the whole hyphenating thing gets a little tricky).

As she fetched my prescription from the fancy hanging rack, I said, kinda under my breath, my stanky dragon wine hangover breath, yet still kinda loud enough for them to hear…

I’m gonna need to switch pharmacy’s ’cause this just isn’t working out for me.

No reply, from either the grumpy pharmacist or the unfriendly, unmarried, apparently celibate clerk.

I swiped the card, snatched up my prescription and proceeded to do a happy dance with Lil and Lexi in the aisle.

We made it! Woo Hoo. High-fives, fist bumps and hugs all around.

From there we walked around Albertson’s to pick up a few essentials, and my mind raced with all the things I could have said to clerk. I should have asked her if she has ever been on the pill, or if she has ever heard of BENDING the rules a little for a mom who needs to catch a much needed break.

Right then I saw her at the end of the aisle.  We caught eyes and I thought, oh, here is my chance.  We were walking towards each other.

Inner Monologue: I’m gonna say something…here I go…she’s gonna get a piece of my mind…

I stopped right in front of her and before I could say a word, she held up her right hand and dangled a set of keys.

Are these yours?

Oh…yeah, thanks.

I told you, I always misplace my damn keys!

never say never – part 2

It occurred to me the other day that my out-of-shape a$$ will be running a half marathon in a few months, up the HILLS OF SAN FRANCISCO…really???  So, this week I dusted off my running shoes, put air in the jogging stroller tires and hit the trails, running.  No, it was jogging.  No, who am I kidding, it was walking swiftly with a few slow sprints mixed in.  I need to start training for my training, that became painfully clear.

While on my first day out, about 5 minutes into the run, only traces of the bribery lollipop were left in the form of a bright blue stain on Lil’s lips which were uttering, Mom I want to go home.

Ugh!

By the time I repeated Just a little bit longer, Lil for the umpteenth time, my desire to work it on out had completely dissipated, so I headed home, after only 15 minutes.

At some point that evening, between the “Oh, I hate this show!” and the “Turn it up!” I exclaimed to my hubbie every 10 minutes of the Bachelor: After the Rose (It really was the most dramatic one ever), I had a flashback to running with Lily in the jogging stroller one night when she was just a baby, before baby #2 was even a consideration. We ran past a dad whose toddler was watching a DVD player in the stroller.

I remember thinking, Oh you’re kidding me! You can’t mix nature and exercise with TV. How dare he? That is the lowest of the low. I will NEVER do that.

Yesterday my run/walk was 45 minutes. Booya!

We do what we gotta do, right parents? Can I get a what what?

Pennies from Fallon

A few years ago I flew to New York to visit BFF Mariana with the third of our Three Amigos, Amy.  I was 3.5 months pregnant and just beginning to experience the ever-so-delightful perma-nauseum that accompanies the miracle of pregnancy.  As we slowly rolled out of bed on our first morning, jet-lagged and starving (yes, I still felt hungry through the nausea, it’s a wonderful combination), Amy and I debated our options for our morning meal.  Mern had already headed to the hospital for her shift, so Amy and I were left to our own devices.  It didn’t take much time for us to decide we were in need of a New York City bagel…STAT.  Good thing Gramercy Bagel was right across the street.

Here is where the conflict of my story comes in…Through the pukey hunger pains I needed to contemplate…Do I take time to put on make-up, brush my teeth, comb my hair and make myself presentable for the inevitable New York City Star Sighting or do I just throw on my nappy, stanky, airplane-stenched jeans and take care of my grumbling tummy and growing fetus?  This may seem like a no-brainer but to me it was a difficult decision of epic proportions:  On one hand… I RARELY go anywhere without make-up — at least my brows, mascara and lipgloss – and particularly if there is a chance of seeing a friend, foe, ex or celebrity. Vain?  Maybe. Precautious?  Yes.  Silly? Completely. But that’s the way it is, or at least was before I had kids.  On the other hand…Hunger and I are not friends, particularly when I am pregnant.  So the insatiable baby in my belly won and against my better judgment, and everything I stand for, I threw on the stale jeans, whipped up a pony and we headed for food. As I trepidatiously stepped into the elevator, Amy noticed my reluctance and said, “Don’t worry Mare, who would we possibly see?  We’ll only be gone a minute.”

Do you know where this is going?

We moseyed across the street to Gramercy Bagel with the cool New York air in our unkempt hair and before either of us landed both feet in the door, we saw him.  Hot hotterson funny man, even with a beanie, flannel and the “I partied pretty hard last night” eyes, Jimmy Fallon.  We looked at him, and immediately whipped our heads back at each other. Without a word we knew it was him and I knew I was going to KILL her when we got back to the apartment.  A mental image of my browless, glossless, nappy haired countenance made me shiver…Are you kidding me right now?  I patted my pockets in hopes of finding at least a tube of Bonnie Bell chapstick (cherry maybe?) but to no avail.

Disgruntled yet star-struck and sweaty-palmed, and still starving, we got behind him in line.  He was thowin’ out fist bumps and “what ups” to all the homies behind the counter. They knew his order. He was a local, a regular.  We were in his territory and I was beyond, beyond…Not sure what I even ordered.  As we neared the register, he dropped a penny.  Pretty sure it was a magic penny. Or in the very least a funny one. So there was the penny on the ground.  I wanted sooooo badly to say something witty, clever, memorable.  Then he would look at my cute baby belly (not the browless face) and make a comment like, “Oh, you’re pregnant, you should name your baby Penny?” Or something witty like that.  And that would be our moment. But no.  That’s not how it happened.  The penny fell between Jimmy and Amy.  She picked it up and gave it back to him and he said “No, you should keep it for good luck,” or some shit like that.  Being the attention hog that I am I poked my head around her and tried to speak, but all that came out was, “Good penny, luck you, hee hee.”  Oh for shit’s sake!  This is my moment with Jimmy Fallon?

But then I realized, oh ya…I’m married, happily, and to a hottie by the way.  And…on top of that pretty important detail, he’s a SUPER DUPER famous guy.  And he ordered two cups of coffee, probably to take back home to his lovely fiancé.  But yet… it was a brief fling in a bagel shop. And it was a fun story.  We smiled all day.  And continued to look for him, once we had our make-up on.  Just in case…

I’m telling this story tonight, on the eve of a VERY IMPORTANT DAY TOMORROW…
1)    My sister Laurie’s Birthday – Happy B-day LaLa~
2)    My friend Flo is having her second baby girl – Go get ‘em Flo!

AND

3)    Late Night with JIMMY FALLON begins – With special guests: Robert DeNiro and are you ready for this one…JUSTIN TIMBELAKE…What??? Can you tell I am bursting out of my skin with excitement right now?

Good luck Jimmy, knock ‘em dead!

A Love Letter

A few months ago, one of my fave fellow bloggers, Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor, posed the question…what is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you?

Here is my answer…

My Valentine’s Day Love Letter from my husband.  Check it out…

sugar, sugar, oh honey, honey

At 9:30pm this evening, my toddler, Lily, was still awake in her crib, tapping her feet on the rails, singing “Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby, just to let me down…”

Yes, that is Corvette Diner with oldies tunes blaring in the background.

Yes, that is a strawberry milkshake with whip cream and sprinkles.

And yes, that is “talk to the hand, mom. I’m going to finish this thing with one gigantic sip.”

Oh.

generation gap

SC 1 – INT. PEDIATRICIAN’S OFFICE LOBBY – DAY: Mama Mary sits with her two darling daughters, Lily and Lexi, patiently waiting to be seen.

CUT TO: Young triscuit-muffin nurse walking out into lobby.

Friendly Nurse: Lexi Godwin.

Mama Mary: Oh, that’s us.

Friendly Nurse: (Addressing Lily, the Toddler) Oh hi sweetheart.

Mama Mary: Inner Monologue – Oh, we have a nice nurse today.

Friendly Nurse: You’re a cutie.

Mama Mary: Inner Monologue – Bright and perceptive as well.

Friendly Nurse: And I love your shirt, it’s adorable.

Mama Mary: Inner Monologue – LOVE this nurse!

Friendly Nurse: Are those roller blades?

Mama Mary: Inner Monologue – Oh sweet, sweet youthful nurse.  They’re roller skates, dumbsh*t darling.  As in Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu and every tween girl circa 1980.   Though you are hot and skinny and in the prime of your life, I’m sorry that you will never know the joy of leg warmers and sweaty-palmed couple skates at Aquarius Roller Rink.

Mama Mary: Yes, they are.  Isn’t that cute?

FADE TO BLACK

a mother nose best

If a universal handbook on parenting existed, my latest disciplinary debacle would most certainly not have made it to print.  Or maybe it would have, in the “what not to do” insert.

Ever since Lexi was born, the words “gentle” and “careful” cross my lips at least 525,600 times a day.  I absolutely love the way Lily dotes on her baby sister, but occasionally she is simply too rough.  I am constantly saying, “Lily, get off your sister please. Lily, don’t push your sister. Lily, no feet in the baby’s face.” Alas, my commands are not heeded, my pleading to no avail.

So, the other day, while sitting in the car in the parking lot of REI, Lily SHOVED her bare feet, both of them, into Lexi’s little innocent, can’t fight back, baby face.

Camel’s back, meet final straw…

In that nanosecond, a brilliant idea came to me…how about I teach her the life lesson of “Do unto others…”? You might think, a nanosecond is not enough time to process all that information and make a rational decision.  And if you thought that, you would have been right.  But I went ahead with my brilliant plan…I lifted my monstrous size 10 foot up and over Lexi’s car seat and went to stretch it out towards Lily’s face.  My intention was just to dangle it in her “personal face space” for a moment to give her a glimpse of how it feels to have a foot in her face. Well, at the same moment I had forward momentum with my foot, she leaned in and there was…contact.  My foot, ever-so-swiftly, grazed her face.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, had my nappy toe nail that hasn’t seen the inside of a salon in weeks, not scraped her cute little nose.

“Ouch, mommy, you cut me.”

I’m pretty sure, the lady in the car next to me, wrote down my liscense plate number and immediately ratted me out to CPS.    › Edit Post — WordPress

it’s teal, not blue – addendum

Okay, so tonight I’m a little more understanding of the lady who mistakenly thought my daughter was a boy, considering I myself mistook her for Russell Crowe in Gladiator for a second.

It’s teal, not blue

To the casual observer, I probably seem to be unphased by the daily “oh, what a handsome little dude” compliments paid to my 8 month old little GIRL, who is typically dressed in some shade of pink.   But to be honest, with you and more importantly to myself, it bugs the crap out of me.  In the rational part of my brain, .01% of it, I know that baby girls tend to look like little boys.  But with the rest of my barely functioning, pea-sized brain, I think, if you are not 100% certain of the baby’s sex, then either a) ASK or b) use a general address like “how old is your baby.”   That avoids all awkwardness, like me having to say, “Actually, she’s a girl,” as I not so discreetly gesture to her pink outit and/or accessories and do a weird thing with my eyes.

Today Lexi was wearing a TEAL onesie with a floral design and melon colored pants and I got the “Hi Little Buddy, you’re so handsome.”  Inner Monologue, “Oh for gawd’s sake, it’s TEAL lady, not blue!”  But I was cordial and simply corrected her with a smile and a fake laugh.

In the grand scheme of things, these cases of mistaken identity are really no big deal.  But the drama queen in me finds it an easy target for some good ol’ fashioned whining.  Okay, so maybe she has a weird boylike hairline, but seriously, what if she develops a complex?

Okay there, I’m done.

i don’t like gogs, Mommy

So, I have a parenting dilemma…

I’m afraid…of a lot of sh*t.  I’m afraid of heights, confined spaces, big dogs, creepy crawlies, free-falling roller coasters and unicorns, just to name a few.   I’ve learned how to live with these fears, but I really don’t want my children to learn these fears from me.  So, herein lies my dilemma…how do I keep from passing on my many fears to my daughters if I’m too afraid to teach them how to not be afraid?  But to that point, I wonder, is fearfulness a trait that is learned or rather is it inherent in a personality from birth?

Ever since Lily was born she has been afraid of things, even before I had a chance to teach her one way or another, so I do think some of it is genetic.  Things like loud noises and hmmm…dogs scare the crap out of her, and they have since Day 1.

It’s an interesting predicament I find myself in, when the things that scare her, also scare me.  I want to be the strong, invincible mommy, but sometimes I am having a freak-out of my own.

Case in point #1 – The other day, while at my brother-in-law Greg’s house, their GIGANTIC German Shepherd was let into the house while Lily and I were alone in the livingroom.  He ran ran through the room and the poor girl was terrified.  And I must admit, I don’t blame her.  I am scared sh*tless of this dog.

So, although I tried to calm her by saying, “Don’t worry Lily, he won’t hurt you,” I was actually freaking the f out too.

I know I inherited some of my fear of dogs from my mom who won’t come within 10 feet of a dog.  And I am also fearful because one of my younger nieces was bit twice by a dog on her lip and is scarred for life.  Nevertheless, I really shouldn’t be so petrified of my own family’s trained, lovable dog.

“I don’t like gogs, Mommy,”  she said, the next day over her mac n’cheese and tomato lunch.  Inner Monologue  “I don’t blame you, honey.”  Whatever I did end up saying, probably didn’t comfort her much because I have a feeling she can see right through my facade.

Case in point #2 – Last week at PlayWerx, an indoor jungle gym activity center for kids,

Lily went into the climbing apparatus and somehow made it all the way to the top.  When she screamed “MOMMY!’ from the tippy top I knew I would have to go in after her.  I left Lexi on the ground playing with another mommy/baby team and headed into the miniature, seemingly harmless labyrinth.  As soon as I hit the first tunnel, in which I had to crawl on my hands and knees up to the next level, I felt a rush of claustrophobia sweep over me.  My vision blurred and my breathing became shallow and fast.  Inner Monolgue – “Are you kidding me that I have to crawl through this thing right now? Breath Mary, breath.”  Once I reached the top I was fine and my anxiety attack passed.  But I thought to myself…no wonder Lily is afraid.  She’s got a chicken sh*t for a mother!

So, all you parentals out there who are kind enough to read my blog, any advice for this cowardly lioness?  I really don’t want my girls to be afraid of the simple things in life, like: thier friend’s pets, swinging upside down on the monkey bars, walking the balance beam, the hair in their 8th grade science teacher’s ears (like our beloved Mr. Boiko – RIP), science fair projects, or speaking in front of the class (yes, even though I love the stage I am terrified to speak in public).  I guess I need to tackle some of my fears first before I can be a decent role-model.  Or maybe I just send Daddy to the jungle gym next time…