1. Hello and Welcome!
Maybe you are here because without your daily dose of Mom’s
New Stage you’d be curled up speaking gibberish amidst the crumbs underneath your dining room table. Maybe
you’re here because we struck up a mom-based convo at Trader Joe’s or Whole
Foods, and I handed you a business card, pulling on the lapels of your coat
as I tearfully begged you to read my blog. Maybe you’re here because of one of my interviews, the "My
Dance Mom" series or a link from another site.
Or maybe, because of my 50s Housewife post on Parent Society
you clicked on over, hoping to get a glimpse of the anti-feminist chick who should share a pedestal with that shit-for-brains Todd Akin.
Everyone who knows me knows how utterly, unfathomably ridiculous that is.
I do not share pedestals with anyone!
2. The Poles of Santa Claus
Last year's visit to Santa at Macy's State Street was the stuff of nightmares. We waited in line for over 90 minutes with an 18 month old and 3 year old. The queue was in a long and winding hallway, and felt like wasting away in a holiday themed small intestine. We were parked at a meter on Wabash, which meant that right after our picture we were a family dashing out of the building like a family of thieves.
This year's photo taken yesterday, was a dream. We got free parking at Navy Pier because of our Children's Museum membership. We waited in line for 15 minutes. Both kids could go potty at one of the bathrooms located within 20 feet.
However, in comparison to last year's jolly old Santa, this Santa seemed staid and insufficiently padded. He looked like the sort who was sitting on that big pine green velvet chair having an existential crisis, wondering where he had gone wrong to resort to earning money by having hordes of strange small children sit on his lap.
What's it like to be Santa for the holidays? It's an enormous responsibility to be the embodiment of Christmas magic for so many young children and families.
I'd be a rather bipolar Santa myself. At one minute trying to hold back tears looking at the joy and innocence in some child's eyes.
And the next, throwing off that hot, fluffy beard and running away screaming.
3. The Gift of McDonalds
Maybe it's a rejection of my chubby childhood self from when I became a weight-obsessed teen. Maybe it's from feeling essentially trapped inside a bag of Big Macs and fries one too many times on public transportation. Perhaps it was the movie Super Size Me, among other exposés.
But I hate, hate, hate McDonalds. And my husband knows it.
So when Hubsy had Mr. R ask me if we could eat there after meeting Santa, I was gobsmacked and annoyed.
I stood in stony silence. Make a sacrifice for my son's happiness or take a stand?
When it came time for lunch, Mr. R was overjoyed to go to Mickey D's. It had been our trump card to get him out of the museum. There was no turning back.
Hubsy asked what Mr. R should eat.
"I don't care, just get him something," I said, sneering up at the menu.
"You aren't making this fun for anyone," Hubsy scolded.
He ordered a grilled chicken and a coke for himself and a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal for the kids. Mr. R was thrilled and ate every bite. Picky Lady A ate some fries, her juice box and an apple squeezie I brought. Oy. She hated the apples and the chicken. And like the eating-disordered teen I once was, I sat sipping on a Diet Coke.
"Do you like McDonald's now, Mommy?" Mr. R asked, my approval so important to him.
"Yes." Not all a lie. I was happy because he was happy.
I know I have friends and readers who are incredulous that I enabled this lunch, and those who think I'm a snob, or worse, who should get over herself. But it was a little trifecta of sorts: I gave my family something they all wanted. I saw that the world wouldn't end because I compromised on something I had strong feelings about...
And since I gave in, who's got major leverage now, baby?
Last year's visit to Santa at Macy's State Street was the stuff of nightmares. We waited in line for over 90 minutes with an 18 month old and 3 year old. The queue was in a long and winding hallway, and felt like wasting away in a holiday themed small intestine. We were parked at a meter on Wabash, which meant that right after our picture we were a family dashing out of the building like a family of thieves.
This year's photo taken yesterday, was a dream. We got free parking at Navy Pier because of our Children's Museum membership. We waited in line for 15 minutes. Both kids could go potty at one of the bathrooms located within 20 feet.
However, in comparison to last year's jolly old Santa, this Santa seemed staid and insufficiently padded. He looked like the sort who was sitting on that big pine green velvet chair having an existential crisis, wondering where he had gone wrong to resort to earning money by having hordes of strange small children sit on his lap.
What's it like to be Santa for the holidays? It's an enormous responsibility to be the embodiment of Christmas magic for so many young children and families.
I'd be a rather bipolar Santa myself. At one minute trying to hold back tears looking at the joy and innocence in some child's eyes.
And the next, throwing off that hot, fluffy beard and running away screaming.
3. The Gift of McDonalds
Maybe it's a rejection of my chubby childhood self from when I became a weight-obsessed teen. Maybe it's from feeling essentially trapped inside a bag of Big Macs and fries one too many times on public transportation. Perhaps it was the movie Super Size Me, among other exposés.
But I hate, hate, hate McDonalds. And my husband knows it.
So when Hubsy had Mr. R ask me if we could eat there after meeting Santa, I was gobsmacked and annoyed.
I stood in stony silence. Make a sacrifice for my son's happiness or take a stand?
When it came time for lunch, Mr. R was overjoyed to go to Mickey D's. It had been our trump card to get him out of the museum. There was no turning back.
Hubsy asked what Mr. R should eat.
"I don't care, just get him something," I said, sneering up at the menu.
"You aren't making this fun for anyone," Hubsy scolded.
He ordered a grilled chicken and a coke for himself and a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal for the kids. Mr. R was thrilled and ate every bite. Picky Lady A ate some fries, her juice box and an apple squeezie I brought. Oy. She hated the apples and the chicken. And like the eating-disordered teen I once was, I sat sipping on a Diet Coke.
"Do you like McDonald's now, Mommy?" Mr. R asked, my approval so important to him.
"Yes." Not all a lie. I was happy because he was happy.
I know I have friends and readers who are incredulous that I enabled this lunch, and those who think I'm a snob, or worse, who should get over herself. But it was a little trifecta of sorts: I gave my family something they all wanted. I saw that the world wouldn't end because I compromised on something I had strong feelings about...
And since I gave in, who's got major leverage now, baby?
Momsanity was the hit post that was featured on
this blog as well as on Bonbon Break and Mamapedia. The Insanity workout? Honestly. We moms are mad crazy every single day!
Momsanity is the demanding workout regimen that uses
motherhood to give moms their body back – and gives them a f%@#-no-I-don’t-have-stretched-out-abs-and-a-lifestyle-rooted-in eating-cheddar-bunnies-by-the-boxful
kind of confidence.
This week Mom’s New Stage has teamed up with writers from
several popular blogs to present a killer workout to get you through the holidays. NinjaMomBlog, The Frugalista Blog, Full of It, Toulouse and Tonic and Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom have put themselves in semi compromising postions ranging
from strenuous to incongruous, from bootylicious to ridiculous.
And it is fabulous.
So where is this post?
Holiday Momsanity is all over BonbonBreak this week. Go. If you're like me, the only bonbon break you're getting is by going to visit this
amazing site.
On that note, I hope you
are finding some peace and happiness amidst all the bustle and pressure, and that your holiday season is MOMSANELY wonderful!
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