Category Archives: Motherhood

My New Appreciation for Sibling Rivalry

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Stephanie Alexander| 16 Comments

Today I like: Not having to get up at 6am
Not so much: Dragging my 9yo to “Kids’ Town” at the gym…it’s like, soooo lame there.

This morning I entered my older daughter’s bedroom to wake both girls. E and H, 9 and 7, respectively, have their own rooms, but have always slept in the E’s bedroom. Every night since H moved out of a crib. These days they prefer to share the double bed on the bottom of E’s bunk beds. Morning light lit their sleeping faces…two blond angels snuggled under a teal and lime green shag iCarly comforter. “Wake up, girls!” I said, as I  marveled for the thousandth time at their sisterly closeness.

“Errrr….” muttered one or the other….followed by, “Get your KNEE out of my BACK.”

“YOU get your ELBOW off my HAIR!”

Bliss shattered, I head to my four-year-old son’s room. “C, wake up, sleepy head!”

He sits up. “Where are my girls?”

Probably strangling each other, I think, but I keep that supposition to myself.

Once we’re in the car on the way to school, H and C are watching a Mickey Mouse video on my phone. C sniffs…a long, drawn out, watery little boy snort.

“EWWWWWW! Gross!” says H. “He’s snorting!”

“He has a runny nose,” I say. “I’m sorry…I think I’m out of tissues.” Damn summer cold.

Sniff, sniff…snargle snort snort…

“He’s doing it on PURPOSE!!!” wails H. She retracts the phone. C shrieks in rage, and snorts for good measure.

I intervene. “Let him see the video–and he has to snort…if not it will run down his face.”

“STOP SNORTING!!” Tears of indignation.

“I need to snort!” C yells back at her. “Let me snort!”

This litany follows me over the Ravenel Bridge, to the carpool line…wherein H brushes past C as she gets out of car…as if his boogery nose might attach to her gym uniform and follow her, snorfling all the way, into class.

A few relatively peaceful hours later I pick C up from school. “Where are my girls?” he asks.

We scoop them up and head home to make brownies. E is not in a sharing mood. She hogs the brownie mix, the eggs, the vegetable oil, the stirring spoons, the brownie pan, and 90% of the counter space. Finally I nix her from the process…which sends her retreating to the couch with her book and a bunch of unintelligible grumblings against her siblings, who each had the nerve to want to crack an egg. C and H finish the brownies, and spend several gloriously messy moments slurping brownie batter from spoons.

H gets a glimpse of Miss Huffy on the couch. She washes her spoon, dunks it in the batter…and presents the chocolate covered plastic lollipop to her sister.

Both girls eye me…I give E the nod. “Thanks,” she mutters, although I’m sure the effort is constricting her vocal chords.

Later all three head to the trampoline, and during that hour E defends C from the boy across the street, who is, “like, totally too rough with him.” H accidentally brains E with her elbow, causing E to inform her that she is, “the worst sister EVER.”

Five minutes later both girls are spinning hand in hand until they fall over…the sounds of their giggling is like a bunch of happy crickets on this early summer evening.

C informs E that he HATES HER because she is SO MEAN…and I never quite figure out why. C has an overtired meltdown, during which I explain that he has to go to sleep if he wants to go to the beach tomorrow…to which H instructs him, “Just listen to Mommy, C, and it will all be just fine, buddy.” Complete with much back patting and hair smoothing.

All three kids beg to sleep in the same bedroom, so E and H are on the bottom bunk…while C takes the top. I tuck everyone in, and get approximately five minutes of peace.

“MOMMMM-YYYY!! I NEED YOU!”

It’s a girl’s voice, but I’m not sure which one. “What’s up, buddies?” I call as I run up the steps. Maybe C fell out of the bed or something.

It’s E. She’s chapped. “C is like…humming. He’s doing it on PURPOSE.”

“C, stop humming.”

“Hmmm…hmmm…hummy hum hum.”

“See!” says E, somewhat gleefully. She’s totally validated.

“C, stop…or I’ll move you to your own room.”

“NOOOO!” C wails. “I want to sleep with my sisters!”

“Then shut up!” yells E.

“Shut up is not nice,” says H.

“You shut up, too!”

“Whoa!! Everyone…how about BE QUIET!” I say.

Several minutes of explanation about the value of sleep later (which I’m sure had no effect except to bore all three into tiredness), everyone is settled down. H pokes E, but for now it’s funny. C hums, but sort of quietly…and E puts the pillow over her head. Three in a bed…all is peaceful.

So when I review this day, a few points pop into my head. First, we’re never so honest as we are with our siblings during childhood. We have no filters, we say exactly what we mean and let the chips (or Legos, or Barbie shoes) fall where they may. We’re perfectly comfortable in the knowledge that the argument will pass…and we still love one another.

Somehow we grow up, and we lose that combination of brutal honesty and unconditional love. We stew, and pull back, and blow. We avoid and we read into things and we hold grudges. Eventually we forget how to let it all hang out, even with our brothers and sisters. Anyone who has a contentious adult relationship with a sibling knows this.

Remember when you could scream at your sister one minute and crack up the next? Remember when you knocked your brother upside the head and then held ice to his goose egg? It’s love/hate…but mostly love.

Now, I’m not saying that we adults should abandon diplomacy for interactions of a 9, 7 and 4-year-old. I do think, however, we can all learn a little bit about the nuances of love and forgiveness from my little buddies.

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Posted in Family, Motherhood, Uncategorized

What Math Taught Me About Writing

Posted on December 2, 2011 by Stephanie Alexander| 24 Comments

Today I like: Rhianna
Not so much: Kids Place Live on XM. I can only take so much Laurie Berkner

“…I’m all about them words
Over numbers, un-encumbered, numbered words
hundreds of pages, pages, pages, for words,
More words, than I had ever heard
And I feel so alive…”
–Jason Mraz

Let’s start out by saying, academically speaking, I’m a words person. Give me term papers and poetry readings and fifty page dissertations. Let me make outlines and take copious, long-winded notes. Read bulky text books. I don’t want just one answer. I want to see all sides of an argument. I want differing points of view, so I can prove my opinion. Makes sense, novelist and all.

This leads me to admit: I hate at math. I never enjoyed it. I know, as a feminist I should be a strong female role model, and I hope I am…as long as I’m not required to figure the square root of anything or do long division. I have to agree with that much-maligned Barbie…math is hard.

So I avoided math as much as possible. Not difficult, since I did not attend the most stellar of high schools (PG County’s finest). Didn’t take any math my senior year, and somehow squeaked by with B’s the three years before that (maybe because my basketball coaches were my teachers? Who knows.) I got to college and was promptly placed in remedial algebra, which I managed to pass with a lovely D that screwed my GPA for all eternity. Damn you, letter D! After that I took symbolic logic, and I hoped I’d be finished with x‘s and y‘s forever.

Oh, no. Fast forward to grad school. As a sociology student, I had to take A LOT of statistics. I literally cried my way through every problem. Twenty-five years old, sobbing, “I CANNOT DO THIS. I WILL NEVER GRADUATE. MY BRAIN IS OOZING OUT MY EARS IN A SLOW FLOW OF P-VALUES.” Regression analysis made me regress to age six.

I’m thinking about age six because my sweet six-year-old daughter is struggling right now. She’s having trouble with her math facts. Last night she sobbed at the dining room table.

“BUT IT’S HARD, MOMMY. I CAN’T DO IT. IT’S HARD.” Big blue eyes seeping tears all over her subtraction worksheet. Smudging the smily elephant on the top of the page, the one I’m sure she’d wanted to stab with her pencil.

So I told her my story. About statistics, and how it almost killed me. I really got into it. Cue me boo-hooing and pounding my fists on the dining room table and pretending to hurl my computer out the window. She loved it, and the scary part is my rendition was actually a fair representation of the truth. She sniffled and got back to business, and we plodded through the worksheet…came out the other end with smiles.

Now, I pulled through in stats. It all finally clicked…and my final class earned me an A. One I actually deserved. Honestly, that experience taught me that I’d never worked hard. I was lucky enough that I didn’t have to. I could put in a modicum of effort in school and get a good result. I think my daughter is the same way. She’s accustomed to things coming easy.

These days, I think back on what I could have accomplished if I’d actually tried throughout my academic career. Put in the kind of effort I put into statistics. Those god-forsaken classes changed my life. It took me until age twenty-five to really understand the value of hard work.

So when I sat down to write a book, yes, it was going to be a challenge. But I never had any doubt I could do it. If I could conquer statistics, I could conquer anything.  Writing is sometimes emotionally exhausting, no doubt. But nothing feels better than the combination of hard work and passion.

I hope my daughter learns that lesson quicker than I did. I think she will. She’s a smart cookie.

 

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Posted in Motherhood, Uncategorized, Writing

In Which Making Friends is Like Dating for Moms

Posted on September 21, 2011 by Stephanie Alexander| 27 Comments

Today I like: Rainy mornings that turn into sunny afternoons
Not so much: Homework

Today’s post is not about writing, or fairy tales, or gender dynamics. It’s not really about motherhood, although I guess it is about something that’s vital to moms. Well, not just moms, but all women. It’s…the girlfriend.

We all need them. I’ve been so, so blessed to have wonderful female friendships that have followed me through my life. I count my mother, my sister, and two of my cousins as my closest friends. I have a friend coming to visit me next weekend who I’ve know since we attended a single grade of school together at age eight. I have high school friends and college friends and friends I’ve made through my children’s school and my neighborhood. These relationships are vital to my health and my soul, and I hope I’ve reciprocated support and laughter to these amazing women over the years.

So when I moved back to Charleston, I was lucky enough to still have two of my very dearest, oldest girlfriends here in town. Freshman-year-in-college, lived-together-for-years kind of friends. We don’t live very close to each other, unfortunately, and get together when we can. I’m thrilled to be able to see them on a more regular basis, but I’m conscious that it will take work. When I left DC, I left behind not only my mother, but a few very close friends, and I my heart hurts missing them every day. Particularly my best friends from my neighborhood. We had an almost “college-like” relationship. Saw each other every day. Talked on the phone every day. Spent Friday and Saturday nights together nearly every weekend. Went on trips together. I recognize how rare it is for adult, balancing work and family, to have that everyday closeness. I feel like I’ve been cut loose, just a bit. Sort of like I’m “single” again.

So I’m here, now, in Charleston, and for the first time in years I’m on the prowl. On the prowl for girlfriends.

It’s not so different from dating. You head to a party, or the park, or a room parent meeting. A few moms turn up. You check them out. Hmmm, she looks pretty cool. Fun dress. Looks like she works out– maybe we have something in common? About my age…because I’m not trying to “date” too young or too old…maybe I should make a move?

So we chat…kids…work…where-y’all-from? She’s funny! Fascinating background…drinks good beer! I’m interested!

But maybe she’s not. Maybe she has a million friends and doesn’t need any more. Maybe I’m coming off as too blunt (I’ve been known to have that problem in the past.). Well, I’ve dropped the hint. Let’s see what happens.

Next day, I wonder…maybe I’ll shoot her an email and see if she wants to grab coffee? Hmmm…don’t want to be a pest but it’s worth it. That chick was too cool to pass up.

By the time I get around to looking up her email address it’s afternoon. Flip open my in-box. Oh, look, she emailed me first!

Yeah! Guess she wants to be friends. Let’s do coffee. It’s just a “first date,” but you never know. Maybe I’ve made a match.

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Posted in Friends, Motherhood

Life On-Demand

Posted on September 12, 2011 by Stephanie Alexander| 21 Comments

Today I like: On-Demand TV
Not so much: On-Demand TV

If you have kids you’re probably a fan of On-Demand TV. I admit, it’s great when I’m making dinner or I need a few minutes of uninterrupted phone time. Lately I’ve been thinking, however, that for today’s kids, On-Demand TV translates into On-Demand life.

I don’t mean to sound like my grandfather (“When I was your age all we had to play with was an old wagon wheel. And damnit, we had FUN with that wagon wheel.”) It’s just that I believe we’re doing out kids a disservice, in that they don’t ever have to wait for anything. No specific time for a TV show to come on. No sitting through the commercials. No waiting for Rulolph the Red-nosed Reindeer or The Great Pumpkin to make their yearly appearances. And it goes beyond TV. Everything is pre-packaged, from snacks to friendships. (Playdates, anyone? No wandering the streets to see who you might run into.) Everything is structured and planned and we know exactly when it’s coming.

If you’re a writer, you know this isn’t the case. We wait, and wait, and wait some more. You reach a point where nothing you do will make the decisions or feedback come any faster. It’s the same in other professions, from lawyers to salespeople. Full-time parents spend our lives waiting for our kids to eat, wake up, go to sleep. You can’t have the information or the outcome you want the second you want it.

How will this On-Demand lifestyle serve our kids? I don’t know. I’m now willing to give up my DVR just yet. But I’m thinking about it.

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Posted in Family, Motherhood, Writing

Laundry and Social Networking

Posted on April 17, 2011 by Stephanie Alexander| 17 Comments

Today I like: Kiawah Island
Not so much: Traffic on I-95

This post will draw a comparison between two seemingly unrelated things. The first is as old as humanity (or at least as old as humanity’s desire to smell good) and the second is a new frontier. Hmmm….bubble bath and ebooks? Old Spice and renewable energy sources?  No! I’m talking about laundry and social networking.

Please, bear with me. I swear it will make sense.

I joined Facebook back in the dark ages of 2008. I’d hop online, comment on the random 1990′s pics some high school acquaintance had the audacity to scan and ignore a few Farmville requests. I once spent an afternoon pondering “25 Random Things about Me.” (Number 10: I have great teeth and have never had a cavity.)  I even took the time to add captions to the photos I uploaded (Mommy and C at the beach! Uh…the sand and ocean probably gave that one away.) Easy and uncomplicated.

Sort of like the laundry situation when my husband and I first got married. With just the two of us it was a casual affair. I’d turn throw a load in the washer before work, dry it through dinner, fold it and put it all away over an episode of Carnivàle (remember that show?). Maybe twice a week one of us went through this ritual (my husband is a modern guy, after all). Also easy and uncomplicated.

Back to social networking. Fast forward to 2010. I finished my book (ah, the thrill!). I put up a website, and then I started blogging. Between researching and writing my own posts, I began searching out other blogs and commenting. The wealth of information out there amazed me, but I was surprised at how much time blogging consumed. Every day.

This point in my social networking life reminds me of the birth of my first child. Suddenly the laundry got more complicated. Little dresses, onesies, socks, burpies, bibs, blankets and sheets joined the fun. Days flew by and I managed to keep ahead of it all, but just barely. Embroidered teddy bears peeked from the baskets with their googly eyes, silently begging to be tucked away in the proper drawers.

“All right, fine!” I said to my daughter’s footy jammies. “You have feet. Why can’t you use them?”

I learned a lot about how much work it takes to keep a family going, and I was surprised by how much time laundry consumed. Every day.

Now back to my online endeavors, and 2011. I joined Twitter about a month ago, and social networking has officially overcome my capacity to keep up with it. This is not meant as a rant. I completely understand the need for author platforms, and besides, I love Twitter! I’ve met so many amazing, supportive writers, all full of information and great advice.

Mad love aside, however, I’m having a heck of a time keeping up with all the @mentions, RT’s, new followers, people I want to follow, everyone’s awesome blogs (and my urge to comment on everything I read), helpful articles, and just plain hilarious comments that demand a witty response. Add my own blogging to this and I’ve fallen into a social networking spin cycle.

It’s the same with the circa 2011 laundry situation. With three young kids and two adults (and a huge, fat dog) in one house, it never stops. School clothes, work clothes, workout clothes, soccer/riding/ballet/swimming/lacrosse clothes, towels, sheets…you know what I’m saying. We have a laundry chute (love it!) and I hear that thing in my dreams (Creeeeak–whooooosh!). I frantically shove everything in the washer and then chuck it the dryer on my way to recess duty. I hustle baskets upstairs and eventually I fold the the stuff and sometimes I even put it away.

There’s usually about an hour, maybe once a week, where all the laundry is clean, folded and put away. There’s a similar moment right after I put up a new blog post and upload a corrected PDF to my website and send out a blast of tweets (probably inciting several people to un-follow me for clogging the feed). I sigh, relieved. I’m done!

Then I hear it.

Creeeeak–whooooosh! The sound of wet towels sliding down the chute. Or maybe Tweetdeck’s chirp, chirp. The spin cycle starts again.

In the case of social networking, I wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, I have to limit the time I spend condensing thoughts into 140 characters. I have a long list of blog posts just waiting to be written. I’m confident this effort will pay off, so I keep at it.

I’ve also learned to think of social networking as a process, not a goal. Finishing a first draft? That’s a goal.  Increasing my Klout score? A process. Social-networking has become part of my regular routine, like laundry. I’m a person who lives by lists and schedules, and I’ve added blogging and tweeting time to my hour-by-hour. I also keep track of blogs I want to check out, responses I owe, and people I hope to know better. I check things off the list, and when something falls through the cracks I add it to the next list.

That’s how I keep up with social networking. The laundry? Well, let’s just say there are two overflowing baskets waiting for me once the kids are asleep. Hopefully I’ll check that box tonight.

How do you manage your social networking?

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Posted in Balance, Family, Motherhood, Twitter

Anatomy of a Snow Day

Posted on February 3, 2011 by Stephanie Alexander| 7 Comments

In lieu of my usual opening, I will do as my dear friend asked and list five things I must have in my possession before leaving the house: 1) oldest child 2) middle child 3) youngest child 4) iPod 5) phone. There it is, MCW!

So this is sort of a typical snow day in my house.

6:30am: C wakes up. He has an uncanny ability to sense when I might be able to sleep in, and therefore he wakes up early.
6:35am: I squint out the bedroom window. I see lots of white, but since I’m sort of blind-ish I can’t tell if it’s a dusting or three feet. Rather than putting my contacts in, I squint at the computer screen, which tells me that MCPS are closed for the day. Not surprising, since MC is a cautious district, with only the children’s safety in mind. It has been known to close for such life-threatening natural disasters as harsh breeziness, mid-term elections, and the US Open Golf Tournament.
6:37: I crawl back to bed with C and squeeze in ten minutes of awesome snuggly-ness before he gets sick of me and goes to play Batman. I doze off. Heaven!
7:02: Batman book hits me on the side of the head, interrupting pleasant dreams of bestseller-dom. “Read this, Mommy!”
After insisting on a please I search for my glasses. E and H drift into the room, all fuzzy jammies and little girl bed head.
“No school,” I say.
“Yes!” They disappear into their rooms, E to her books and H to her Barbies.
7:20: I’m downstairs in my workout clothes, because by wearing them I will remind myself that I must actually workout. Breakfast made! Dishes done! Beds made! Whoo hoo! I may be snowed in, but I’m off and running!
8:04: I start getting kids dressed to go out in the snow. It’s what winter fun is all about, right? Right!
9:38: Kids are ready to go out in snow. I locate mittens and help C into snow bibs for the second time (following predictable potty run). I loosen the girls’ scarves so they are no longer a strangulation risk. Last night’s wet boots emerge from dryer warm and toasty. E’s coat sleeves are properly tucked into her mittens, and her hair is as perfectly straight as Jennifer Aniston’s after a $500.00 blowout.
9:40: I prep hot chocolate. I sit at the kitchen table with my cup and watch kids in the snow. E pulls H and C in the sled, which is typical, because they always make her do all the heavy lifting. I run outside to adjust hats and mittens and wipes noses.
11:00: Everybody in! I strip boots, hats, gloves, scarves, mittens, bibs and coats before they can migrate past the back door and all over the house in a trail of dripping, disappearing snow necessities. I throw it all in the dryer, and dole out hot chocolate and mad marshmallows.
1:15: E’s buddy down the street has joined the fun. We’ve done puzzles and art projects and built a fort in the basement from the couch cushions. Toys are migrating from room to room. I slip on an open Backyardigans book (The Secret of Snow, no doubt, wherein Uniqua must discover, yup…you got it…) and come close to breaking an ankle, which wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. Then I’d have an excuse to not work out.
2:00: We’re running out of options. C is driving the girls and their friend mad.
“Stop breaking your sisters’ castles!” I say.
“But I WANT to break them,” he replies, with a face so earnest I almost feel sorry for him. “I really, really do.”
I remove him, but the girls start driving each other mad without his help. Everything I hear from the basement is along the lines of:
“You’re mean!”
“You’re the meanest!”
“You’re a stinker!”
“You’re a stinky chicken!”
“OK! Everyone back outside!” I send neighbor girl home to get her snow stuff.
2:58: Kids are back outside. I breathe a sigh of relief and eye the pile of brownies on the counter. The phone rings.
“Happy hour?” says BFF.
She’s read my mind. Email exchange between several other snowed-in moms results in the following Snow Day Happy Hour Specials: Pasta bake, chips, pretzels, blueberries, mac and cheese, assorted dips, eggrolls, garlic bread, mint chocolate chip frozen yogurt, and chicken nuggets. Oh, and wine. And brownies, because we’ve all resorted to baking them as Fun Snow Day Activity Number 8!
3:45: I start scraping snow off minivan, and then run back into house to answer phone. It’s Handsome Hubby, calling from busness trip in sunny CA. Begrudge him, just a tad.
3:59: I pile kids into the car and start for GF’s house, because she said we could come over anytime after 4pm. We slip and slide down the road. I grit my teeth. Nothing will keep me from a pasta bake and entertainment for my children. Not rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor crappy rear-wheel drive.
4:13: We arrive at GF’s house (which is approximately eight houses away from mine). We unload everyone. The kids add our pink and black boots, hats and mittens to the massive pile of pink and black boots, hats and mittens. I curse myself for not buying my children electric blue winter gear, if only to differentiate it from the masses.
5:30: HH is in full swing! Kids run amuck! Moms have a glass of wine! iPod is jammin’! Pasta bake, pretzels and assorted dips are consumed! In the grand tradition of our neighborhood, it’s mass hysteria.
7:59: Load kids in the car, much to H’s chagrin (“We ALWAYS leave first!”). Break a sweat (the first one of the day, although I’m still sporting my workout gear) carrying C to the car because putting boots on for the sixth time today seems like too much effort.
8:08: Arrive home with all three kids and six (sort of) matching mittens, but without C’s boots. Make mental note to retrieve boots from GF’s house sometime before spring thaw. I hustle kids toward bed. We forego baths, as they spent several hours in the snow, and isn’t snow wet?
8:35: I call Handsome Hubby to say goodnight, and listen to hilarious snow day recap from kids. Should I be alarmed that Happy Hour is part of their regular vernacular? I read The Secret of Snow (again). Tuck C in. I read The Polar Express. Tuck H in. Ask E to put aside Junie B. Jones and the Slushy-Wushy Snow Day (so I made that one up. There’s an idea for you, Barbara Park!). Lights out!
9:05: Tell H to go to sleep. Check MCPS website. So far school is on tomorrow! Send Hubby goodnight email. Tell H to go to sleep again.
9:33: H is asleep! I’m wide awake. Plan the night’s new scene on treadmill. I’m about to burn something down in my imaginary world. Exciting! Who knew I was a pyromaniac at heart?
10:40: Sit down at computer, sweaty but clear-headed. Burn, baby, burn.
12:28: Scene done! Protagonist triumphs! I think I used the words “heat” and “smoke” and maybe “conflagration” waaaay to many times, but whatever. That’s what first drafts are for. Check MCPS wesbite. School is…CANCELLED!

Oh well, maybe C will sleep in. Or maybe not, but at least we’ll get to snuggle. Like everything in life, snow days are a mixed bag.

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Posted in Family, Motherhood

Christmas cards and the Dodo

Posted on December 16, 2010 by Stephanie Alexander| 3 Comments

Today I like: The sound of snow
Not so much: Driving minivan in snow

Just a quick note today on Christmas cards. I’m thinking about them because I have a large stack sitting on my kitchen counter. They scream at me for deliverance every time I walk past them. You see, theses cards are for our neighborhood friends. There are roughly forty of them, white squares of holiday cheer, all ready to go.

I have not yet sunk so low as to mail a card that will eventually end up within shouting distance of my house. For four days I’ve been trying to find time to drive around my large subdivision and insert said holiday greetings into our infamous neighborhood mailboxes (the ones that look like birdhouses and are regularly subject to the whims of teenagers bent on destruction, but that’s another post). But… it’s cold (I’m a wuss) and I’m rushing rushing rushing. I just haven’t gotten to it.

Part of me wonders why we all still go through the Christmas card rigmarole. Almost everyone I send a card is on my Facebook list, other than my grandmother and a few high-minded friends who are opposed to Facebook on principle. Everyone already knows what my kids look like (cards with no pics are so 1975). My neighbors see them on a regular basis at the pool or at school or in the grocery store. Why spent money and time, and sacrifice trees, on cards that will most likely be trashed faster than you can say 2011?

I have a theory. We keep doling out the cards because they remind us of the days when people looked forward to getting mail. When it wasn’t just bills and catalogues (and the occasional rejection from a literary agent!). Something fun and personal in the birdhouse! I love it! This year my girls are hanging the cards around the kitchen doorway, and all those smiling kids and cute new puppies and Tiny Prints templates do make me feel warm and fuzzy. I had a grand old time choosing pictures for our card. Combed through the whole year, noticed how much the kids have grown, marveled at just how adorable they are.

So I will keep the tradition going. I’ll throw the kids in the car some evening before Christmas Eve and we will troll the neighborhood for the best light display. The girls will get a kick out of shoving cards into birdhouses. I’ll recycle the cards I receive and encourage you to do the same. Long live Christmas cards! May they never go the way of the dodo.

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Posted in Balance, Friends, Motherhood

In Defense of Barbie Flicks

Posted on December 7, 2010 by Stephanie Alexander| 4 Comments

Today I like: Long runs in cold weather
Not so much: Why, Why, Why can’t I stop biting my fingernails?

So today I’m thinking about Barbie movies. Why, you ask? Well, because I’m usually thinking about something very girlie (said movies) or something very not (Tonka Trucks, for example). We have all the standard Christmas movies on DVD. You’ve got your Rudolph, your Frosty, your Whos Down in Whoville. Kris Kringle, Charlie Brown and the Royal Ballet’s Nutcracker production. We have two newer gems, however, ones you never watched on NBC back in the day: Barbie in a Christmas Carol and Barbie in the Nutcracker.

Barbie! Eeek! The social scientist in me rebels. Tiny feet! Tiny waist! Tiny nose! Huge…well…you know. A twelve-inch reminder of every woman’s imperfections, forced upon us before we know the meaning of the word. Unattainable plastic and polyester glamour in a box. So why, then, do my girls watch Barbie movies with my support?

Because, frankly, Barbie kicks some butt in those movies. I challenge any mother to pre-screen Barbie and the Three Musketeers and find fault with the story. Yes, Barbie is pretty and blond and skinny. Yes, so are her friends. However, I prefer an attractive woman who solves her own problems to any woman who doesn’t.

The same moms who raise an eyebrow at my embrace of Barbie movies have no problem with Disney’s Cinderella or Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Even the female animal characters in 101 Dalmations, Lady and the Tramp, and The Aristocats are milquetoast. I argue that the passive women (and dogs!) in those movies do our girls more of an injustice than Barbie and her size three feet. I’ve said it before (see my post on Disney’s Cinderella here), my girls watch the older Disney movies (except Snow White. We don’t have that one, because I just can’t take it on so many levels that reach beyond feminism and into the realm of “it’s-just-so-freakin’-annoying”). I balance them out, however, with the newer Disney films like Beauty and the Beast, Tinkerbell, and the lovely The Princess and the Frog. When we do watch the older movies, I talk with my girls about what they would have done had they been in the heroine’s position. It never involves sitting around waiting for rescue.

I would love Barbie to have a more realistic face and figure, but with our kids bombarded by an endless stream of entertainment, most of it at their fingertips (DVD? On-Demand? We saw Rudolph once a year!  We had to watch the commercials!) I take my positive messages where I find them. The Barbie movies not only portray smart, active heroines, they teach valuable lessons on friendship, honesty and being yourself. If yourself is a gorgeous blond, well, aren’t you lucky. Regardless, Barbie movies have redeeming value while being cute and glittery and fun in all the ways little girls love.

I do find one problem with certain Barbie movies. They elevate the female characters at the expense of the male (case in point, the Mermaidia series). Why can’t everyone kick butt? Why does Barbie have to rock out and Ken become a bumbling, muttering idiot? So I’ll let my girls watch them and not my son…it’s hard to win, I tell ya.

On that note, we all know parents need to talk about these things with their kids. Girl and boy power, body image, all of it. Most important, everyone recognizes the need to limit time in front of the rectangle on the wall. But to the girl moms out there: when you’re driving from DC to Detroit and you need a respite from AAAAbsolutely Mindy and Robbie Schaefer’s Stuck in a Real Tall Tree…when you can’t take any more fighting, Laurie Berkner or requests for Taylor Swift or B.O.B’s Magic…reach for a Barbie flick…you’ll be surprised. The Diamond Castle is my personal fav. It’s, like, so awesome.

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Posted in Cinderella, Fairytales, Motherhood, The Cracked Slipper, Women's Issues

The Five Days of Halloween

Posted on November 1, 2010 by Stephanie Alexander| 5 Comments

Today I like: Kit Kats
Not so much: Candy corn

Welcome to Halloween with my three kids E (7), H (5) and C (almost 3).

On the first day of Halloween my husband gave to me…a Trick-or-Treating office party

Grab three bags of costume stuff. Stuff C in the car while he pitches fit because the plastic muscles in his Batman suit don’t fit under his car seat straps. Remove Batman while he pitches new fit because he wants to wear it anyway. Pick H up from friend’s house. Drive downtown in rush-hour traffic. Park car in garage and hustle kids up the elevator and into bathroom before anyone sees them in their regular clothes. Mad costume assemblage in women’s bathroom, while C pitches fit because he wants to go in the BOYS’ bathroom. E has slight meltdown over her hair, which does not “look good” sprouting from under her witch’s hat. Spend fifteeen minutes trying to pin stuffed parrot on H’s shoulder so everyone will know she’s a PARROT, not the Chiquita Banana lady. Spend pleasurable half hour parading kids around office while everyone ooohs and aaahs and husband looks proud and charming and fatherly. Try to force pizza down them in between cupcakes and M&M’s. Intercept C as he makes a break for the elevator. Watch E and H careen around office chasing “those silly boys” (ie. Dad’s co-workers’ sons). Shove parrot and Batman cape in purse. Engage in fits of adult conversation with co-workers while preventing C from crashing the office database or grinding icing into Daddy’s chair. Offer to let Dad drive three kids home in minivan. He declines. Shocker?

On the second day of Halloween my pre-school teacher gave to me…two dirty looks

Arrive at C’s preschool for Halloween party with Batman costume in tow. Stuff smiling kid into Batman. Witness frown on teacher’s face. Batman is way too big. C is roughly the size of a five-year-old, and I went with the bigger size on my on-line order. Bad move. Batman’s legs dangle over his shoes and the plastic muscles are riding up over his chin. Batman is a threat to his safety, and this is a safety conscious school. “Fine,” I say to the teacher. “You get it off him.” C does his scariest face and hides under the table when she makes an attempt. He is unimpressed with her paper witch’s hat (so am I).  She gives in and we pin up the legs. Batman is happy, so am I.

On the third day of Halloween my children attended…three Halloween soirees

Leave C with the sitter and arrive at elementary school armed with fruit salad. Try to remember if I am supposed to deliver fruit salad to E’s class or H’s class. Teachers don’t know either. Decide the kindergarteners need the fruit more and leave it there. Help decorate both classrooms while kids are at recess. Arrange pumpkin doily centerpieces and drapes spiderwebs from doorways. Kids return from playground and costume scramble begins. Girls stampede the bathroom so “those silly boys” (ie. any boys) can’t see them in their skivvies. Boys don’t seem to care and just throw on ninja suits and Darth Vader masks over their clothes. Track down lost shoes, swords, vampire teeth. Pull hair into ponytails. Adjust clip-on earrings. Take pictures at absurdly adorable parade, the kind I plan on whipping out on Prom Night 2021-ish. Run between grades 2 and K parties. Notice kids have no interest in fruit salad. Skip the bus and rush home to pick up C in too-big Batman. Allow him to ride around the block with no seatbelt on (bad Mommy!) to the neighborhood Clubhouse. Encounter sixty children under eight running amuck: a swirl of  tulle and tiaras, capes and eyepatches. Preemptively remove random sword from C’s hand. Lose both girls only to find them in the bathroom checking hair and adjusting parrot. Force more pizza. Witness disturbing children’s entertainer, who can do things with a balloon that have an eerie resemblance to those condom demonstrations from high school (Kids are enthralled. Half an hour of quiet in the clubhouse). Hubby arrives looking proud and charming and fatherly in his suit. My favorite costume! Have him take kids home. Stick around to have a beer with other moms and “wrap the room” in gorgeous, festive Halloween landscape (mostly black garbage bags) for the next night’s adult party. Room is wrapped, not one mom falls off a ladder. Success.

On the fourth day of Halloween my neighborhood civic association gave to me…four games of flip cup

After ballet and soccer and a big dose of Max and Ruby’s Halloween Special it’s time to prepare for neighborhood Adult Halloween Bonanza. Don Sookie Stackhouse and Vampire Bill costumes. Admire how husband has resemblance to Robert Pattison, but with a little less hair. Contemplate blacking out tooth but decide against it because it looks more like the results of a stray hockey puck than Anna Paquin’s gap. Go to friends’ house for pre-party drink. Stick bite marks on my neck and slap some blood on hubbie’s face now that kids are not around to be traumatized. Return to the exotically wrapped Clubhouse. Consume keg beer and chicken tenders. Wonder why grown men love to dress like women. Wonder why grown women love to dress like Frederick’s of Hollywood models (I’ve been guilty of this trend in the recent past). Bop around to 80′s music, as I am the youngest person in attendance (I’ve learned to embrace Bon Jovi and 867-5309). Ask the DJ to play “The Humpty Dance” since it’s about the only hip-hop I can get away with in this crowd. Sing along (“You look like MC Hammer on crack Humpty!”). Leave with the vampire before the sun rises.

On the fifth day of Halloween we gave to neighborhood children…five extra large bags of candy

Drink lots of water. Drink more water. Scrub remnants of bite marks from neck. Offer husband some water. Drive girls to riding lessons. Play “Humpty Dance” on Ipod while kids jam to “I Want Candy” on satellite radio. Repeat costume assemblage. Don orange and black striped tights. Drive entire fam down the road to my BF’s house for Pre-Trick-or-Treat Happy Hour. Kids join mob (we are a prolific bunch with rouhly forty kids among ten families). Try a little hair of the dog. Force chicken nuggets on frantically excited children. Stuff parrot in pocket. Re-pin Batman legs. Recap who made the biggest fool of themselves at last night’s party. Venture out into the neighborhood as the sun goes down. Realize that half of Montgomery County Trick-or-Treats on our streets. Follow screams and chainsaw whirrs to haunted house. Convince girls to go through haunted house with me. Exit haunted house with freaked-out children through emergency exit. Hoist C onto Dad’s shoulders. Chat with playgroup moms and teenage babysitters in toned down Lady Ga-Ga who aren’t quite ready to give it all up. Yell at drivers, as anyone in a moving car is going too fast tonight. Encourage C to say “Thank you!” louder. Make sure girls’ costumes don’t catch fire from a passing pumpkin. Tell them “Just two more houses” at least five times. Wave good-bye to friends as we pass our house. Listen to girls’ protest, but convince them to throw in the towel by promising a few extra Twizzlers and Twix’s. Hand out candy to a few stragglers. We only have Tootsie Rolls left.

Brush everyone’s teeth twice. Tuck in. Retire costumes for the year. Witch hat away, parrot in the toy chest. Maybe next year Batman will fit. I can’t wait.

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Posted in Motherhood