Wanda Says…Gourd-geous Halloween Pumpkins!

October 27, 2014 / Wanda / 23 Comments

I love Halloween. It’s one of my favorite holidays. On a good year, I will go crazy and decorate the house with all kinds of cool stuff. However, the past few years I’ve been less enthusiastic about putting the effort into it. It just seems like so much work, and that stupid bastard we call Depression has done its best to ensure that I have no energy or desire for the project.

Halloween pumpkins are a different story, though. I never slack on the pumpkins, and my family and I take our pumpkin decorating seriously. It’s become an annual tradition that we enjoy so much for the creativity, as well as the time spent being together as a family.

We set up the back yard as our work area. Sometimes we do themes, or coordinate our pumpkins. Here are a few examples of our work.

This first picture is Halloween 2012.

Halloween 2013…as you can see, we chose a Peanuts theme.

We put so much effort into our pumpkins, but typically within two days our pumpkins look like this….

Last year it took exactly 48 hours for our pumpkins to disintegrate and turn into pumpkin mold soup on my front porch. It’s disgusting.

I remember our pumpkins lasting forever when we were kids. We would carve them two weeks before Halloween and they would just be starting to form the dots of mold a few days before the holiday. But living in a cooler climate was responsible for that extended preservation. When the temps drop to 40 degrees at night, the pumpkins are basically refrigerated. That is not the case here in southern California.

So this year we decided to do something a little different. This year, we painted our pumpkins instead of carving them. We went to Michael’s and bought props, acrylic paint, googly eyes, fake mustaches and eye brows. We didn’t follow a theme, but I think they turned out pretty good.

Here is our 2014 completed collection…

Individually, I would like to introduce you to Bryn’s creation, Ms. Pumpkin 2014.

Bryce’s creation (with Daddy’s help), Mr. Mario Cart.

My husbands creation, The Clown. I told my husband his clown looked worried, like he may have just accidentally shit himself.

And lastly, there was my pumpkin. I don’t have a name for it, but I think it looks pretty badass.

Happy Halloween! 🙂

PS…Bryn wants to know which pumpkin you like the best. I kept insisting that this was not a contest, just a fun family activity. But she would still like you to vote, so if you don’t mind please cast your vote in the comments section. Thanks!

Wanda Says…On my daughter’s opinion of French kissing.

October 15, 2014 / Wanda / 8 Comments

Last night my ten year old daughter came into my room to say good-night to me, and she initiated a conversation about some new and enlightening things she learned at school that day.

Although I ask her every day how school went and what fun things happened, she often waits until right before bed to share the juicier, more dramatic details, which pretty much guarantees I won’t be sleeping through the night, because I’ll be having nightmares about how she’s growing up too fast.

The conversation went like this:

Bryn: Oh my gosh, Mom! I forgot to tell you what I learned at school today!

Me: What was that?

Bryn: Well, during recess, my friends and I were talking, and you’re never going to believe this! My friend said that there’s this thing called French kissing, and that means that two people kiss with their tongues! Like lizards, Mom! They wrap their tongues together like lizards! And guess what?! It’s true!! People really do that!

Me: (starting to sweat)

Bryn: And guess what else! In France, there are beaches where people don’t wear their clothes! They go to the beach naked, Mom!!! Can you believe that? (she dissolves into hysterical giggles and laughter) Have you ever heard of these things?

Me: (sigh) Bryn, I promised you I would always be honest with you, so yes, I have heard of these things and they are all true. Except nude beaches aren’t limited to France. Many countries have beaches where clothing is optional. I also have to tell you that I’m not sure I’m ready for you to know about this stuff yet. I’m not ready for you to know about French kissing and nude beaches.

Bryn: I know, Mom. (she kisses me on the cheek to console me)

Me: What did you think when your friend told you about this stuff?

Bryn: I think French kissing sounds disgusting! (she makes a sour face, a gagging noise and then pretends like she is throwing up)

Me: (Laughing) That’s the right attitude, sister! (she laughs with me and leaves the room)

I realize this is just the beginning. She will continue to grow up and discover new and exciting, and sometimes gross things about life, and people and relationships. Soon, in her health education classes, she will learn about sex and reproduction and how her body works. She will also learn about boys, and it won’t matter that I want to freeze time and keep her my little girl forever.

I also realize that this means raising children is going to turn me into an alcoholic, and I need to join a wine club so I can stock the house and get a discount on that shit, because I’m going to need a lot of it.

Wanda Says…Waiting for Superman.

September 20, 2014 / Wanda / 12 Comments

It’s here. I couldn’t stop it from happening. For some reason that I don’t fully understand, I’ve been dreading this milestone birthday, and Superman didn’t show up to gallantly circle the earth at inhuman speed backwards to reverse time so I wouldn’t have to face the fact that I am now 40. Fuck you, Superman.

I woke up this morning and found myself continuously fighting back tears, despite the kisses and hugs and shouts of ‘Happy Birthday’ from my family. I didn’t want to appear sad or ungrateful in front of them, so I smiled and thanked them for their love. My son was so excited, and he dragged me by the hand downstairs because he wanted to present me with my birthday balloons. (My husband and I always set up balloons and decorations after the kids go to bed the night before their birthday, so when they wake up it’s like the birthday fairies visited to surprise them). But there were no balloons. Bryce looked confused. He stood there looking around the empty living room and said, “Mommy, where are your balloons?” He doesn’t understand that these things don’t just magically happen. All I could say was, “I don’t know, buddy.”

My husband could tell I was emotional and asked if everything was ok. I told him it was fine. He had this look on his face like he was disappointed that I wasn’t more excited to face the day. I know it sounds terrible, but I don’t feel like this birthday is any more special or different than any other, and the truth is that I wanted this birthday to be special. I’m 40. I suppose I was hoping for something out of the ordinary to help ease the transition. I didn’t get to do anything exciting for my 30^th birthday. While all my friends were throwing themselves big, elaborate parties to celebrate entering their 30’s, on my 30^th I was 9 months pregnant and having contractions. So I spent my birthday lying on the couch enjoying a celebratory pizza. I gave birth to my daughter four days later.

A group of my college friends and I had been planning a 40^th birthday trip to Mexico. Since we all turn 40 this year, we picked a weekend to celebrate all of our birthdays together. Unfortunately, I had to cancel the trip for myself due to some financial constraints. The trip is coming up next month and I’m disappointed and sad that I’m not going. Most of my close friends live in other parts of the country, so I tend to feel isolated out here in LA. I’ve also been missing my family and the support and unity that come from living close to people who have known you your whole life. This is a big part of the depression I’ve been experiencing. I miss my people.

So this morning, as I faced the fact that I am now a member of the 40 club, I allowed myself to have a few minutes of privacy so that I could host my own little pity party. I cried and processed through my feelings. I cried for missing my best friends. I cried for missing my family. I cried for all the safe choices I’ve made and the risks I didn’t take in the last 40 years that have prevented me from doing much of anything that I could look back on and say, “Wow, that was so amazing and I can’t believe I did that!”

When I was finished feeling sorry for myself, I dried my tears and reminded myself that attitude is everything, and I have always been a badass, take charge kind of girl. I reminded myself that I am responsible for my own happiness, and it’s up to me, and only me, to change my attitude and embrace this new chapter in my life. Sometimes you have to be your own Superman. Sometimes the people who love you are so busy taking care of you in other ways, that they can’t foresee and anticipate all of your emotional needs. Sometimes you have to save your own day.

When I accepted this and embraced my new attitude, so many wonderful things happened. I had an amazing lunch with my dear friend and neighbor. She took me to a fantastic seafood restaurant down by the beach and we enjoyed several gourmet small plates, all made from fresh caught seafood. (One of the benefits of living alongside the Pacific Ocean). When I arrived home, there was a vase filled with beautiful multi-colored roses waiting for me, and my husband went to my favorite bakery to get a sampling of all my favorite cupcake flavors. The day was starting to look up.

That evening, my husband made dinner reservations for us at our favorite sushi restaurant. At first I was a little surprised that he chose this particular restaurant because we go there frequently. It’s sort of our go-to sushi spot and part of our ordinary routine. I thought to myself, “What’s special about that?” But my new attitude prevented me from suggesting we go someplace else. He made the effort to arrange our dinner and make the reservation, so I would appreciate his thoughtfulness and enjoy our date.

When we got to the front doors of the restaurant I started to slow my walk and hang back a little so he could go in first, but he was holding my hand and started to sling-shot me forward, sort of gently pushing me through the doorway. I started to turn around to tell him to stop shoving me, when out of the corner of my eye I saw several balloon bouquets…and a wall of our friends and family. I was sort of struck dumb as I stood there processing the room and looking at the excited faces of several people that I know and love. Some of my husband’s fraternity brothers were there with their wives and girlfriends. All of these men I love like big brothers, and their wives are amazing, too. My neighbor and friend who had taken me to lunch (and led me to believe she had other plans that night), was standing there with her husband, smiling radiantly. My godmother and her wonderful husband were there. Another very good friend that I hardly ever get to see because of her crazy work schedule came as well.

I was overwhelmed. I wanted to cry. Again. But this time the tears weren’t for self-pity, but for this amazing realization that all of these wonderful people were willing to go out of their way and come together to help make my day special. Some of them drove from over an hour away. I moved through the room, hugging and laughing and kissing all of these lovely people, and feeling happier than I can describe.

When I managed to make my way back to my husband, his face revealed so many emotions. I could tell he was happy, relieved, and proud. I hugged and kissed him fiercely, and thanked him for everything he had done to make my day so special.

Superman came after all. He may not have been able to reverse time and prevent me from turning 40, but he went out of his way to not only plan this party, but keep it so secret that he had to allow me to wallow in my self-pity in order not to spoil the surprise. He filled my day with my favorite flowers, desserts, friends, and love. And he didn’t forget the balloons, which were my favorite color, red.

If you ask me what I do all day, I will punch you in the throat.

August 18, 2014February 22, 2019 / Wanda / 9 Comments

I became a stay home mom almost four years ago after the birth of my second child. Prior to that I was a working mom, and at one time in my life I was a single working mom. So having experienced the parenting challenges inherent in those situations, you can imagine how thrilled I was to have the opportunity to be able to stay home with my kids. I thought it would be fun and I imagined all sorts of scenarios involving playdates, an immaculately clean house and home-cooked, healthy meals I would make for my family every night. I mean, how difficult could that be? I would be home…with my own kids…ALL…DAY…LONG.

Cue the hysterical laughter.

The reality for many of us, or at least for me, is that being a stay home parent is a lot like being stuck in Groundhog Day hell. You tend to repeat the same activities over, and over, and over. My life often feels like an endless loop of housework, laundry, toddler drama, managing school drama, homework, cooking and hygiene. And the hygiene management isn’t even for me. It’s amazing how difficult it is to get a school age child to care about showering or brushing their teeth, or teaching a potty training toddler how to wipe without creating a disaster area that requires a hazmat team to clean up.

Sometimes, when I’m doing housework, I imagine that old Dunkin’ Donuts commercial where the old man goes through his morning routine, saying in a dreary voice, “It’s time to make the donuts.” Here’s my rant about housework, so bear with me…If I spend an hour cleaning my hardwood floors, in another hour they look like shit again. I do the dishes so that we continue to have more clean dishes to dirty. Laundry is an endless cycle of wash, dry, fold and repeat. Nobody likes a dirty bathroom, and with young, potty-training children in the house, I could clean the toilets daily and they may still look and smell like gas station toilets, which is just gross. And the toys…oh, dear God, the toys. I can pick them up, but the second I put one away, three more magically appear out of thin air. Is it me, or do crayons and Legos have the ability to multiply on their own?

Now let’s talk about caring for young children and running household errands. For the sake of providing a brief, yet complete picture, let’s just say that taking care of young kids is a lot like what I imagine it would be like working for a bi-polar, incontinent dictator(s), except without the threat of death or having your fingers cut off. “I want milk! No, I want orange juice. Give me some orange juice! No, I want milk! I have to have milk! Now I have to poop! Mommy, wipe my butt!” So demanding! And grocery shopping with toddlers is like willingly entering the seventh circle of hell.

In my first year as a stay home mom, I was a raving lunatic about the house. It was my job to take care of the house, and how could I do that if everyone keeps wrecking it?! One day I said to my husband, “Imagine you went to work and finished a big project. And then someone comes into your office and destroys your project and tells you to start over. I bet you’d be pretty pissed about that, huh? That’s what every day is like for me.” My husband suggested we hire a housekeeper to help me out. I got upset (over-reacted), and said absolutely not because if I’m home there’s no reason to pay someone money for something I can do myself. (Again, cue the hysterical laughter.)

I did actually have several emotional breakdowns. A couple of times I just started crying in the middle of folding laundry. I began to resent the dust on the floors and the animals for constantly shedding their hair. I was short-tempered and impatient every time someone got out a toy or dripped something on the floor that I just cleaned. I wanted to scream over spilled milk. I felt isolated, spending up to ten hours a day alone with my kids and the only person I had to talk to was more interested in playing with his toe jam than in having a conversation with his Mommy. In short, I was a hot mess.

I was depressed. I thought what the hell? Is this my life? When did I become this person? I used to have a career! I used to feel respected and like I was a valuable member of a team. Now I feel like I’m just here to cook, clean, chase kids and make everyone else’s life easier. I worried that my value would be diminished in my husband’s eyes because I no longer had interesting and intelligent news to contribute over our dinner conversation. It’s hard to feel valuable when the extent of your daily news is how many times our son went pee-pee on the potty, how many loads of laundry I did, or how I struggled to help our daughter with her fourth grade math homework. (And fourth graders do hard math these days, so don’t judge me.)

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There are some women who seem to be able to do it all. They can keep a nice house, go to the gym every day, cook homemade meals with organic, unprocessed ingredients, grow their own vegetables in a garden, volunteer at their kid’s schools, and also volunteer at church every week. They make it look effortless. I’m convinced that these women take drugs, or they’re just really good liars, but that’s pure speculation on my part. Regardless, I’m not one of these women, and I’ve learned to be perfectly fucking okay with that.

I have now allowed myself to try and let go of most of my self-imposed expectations, and I accept having a not-so-perfect house. I understand and accept that my sanity and my family’s overall happiness is more important than clean floors and picked up toys. I understand that playing games with my son and reading books with my daughter is more important than trying to live up to an impossible standard of perfection. I’m learning that sometimes doing less really does equate to more.

What changed? First of all, my Wanda reminded me that depression is an asshole, and we don’t choose to be friends with assholes. Second, I reminded myself that attitude is everything. The outcome of any given situation is largely dependent on the attitude you adopt while dealing with it. And up until that point my attitude sucked. I also realized that I have to take advantage of this gift of time I’ve been given with my kids and my family and stop stressing about unimportant things. Now, when my son walks up to me at 10am on a Wednesday and says, “Mommy, can we just snuggle?” instead of thinking about the dishes in the sink or the laundry in the dryer, I just embrace that time with him. In those moments, I feel like I have the best job ever.

Sure, I look around my house and see stuff that needs to get done. Some days I tackle those things and some days I don’t. Some days I get a small amount of time to myself, but most days I don’t. Some days, I want to walk outside and beg a stranger to have an adult conversation with me, but I never follow-through on that impulse because that’s just weird and I don’t want to be the neighborhood weirdo.

I’ve learned to embrace yoga pants and pony tails. I’ve accepted that I will not wear make-up every day, and some days I just feel fortunate to get a shower alone and my teeth brushed before noon. I still battle with the stay-home-mommy-blues, but I take what good things I can get, where I can get them. I’m trying to find a balance between making myself happy and doing what I need to do for my family. This is difficult, but I keep trying.

And the most incredible validation comes when my husband walks over to me, usually after spending a weekend taking care of the kids, kisses me and says, “I don’t know how you do this every day, but I’m so thankful that you do, and I appreciate you so much.” That makes me feel respected and like an important member of our family’s team. And I thank God every day that I have a supportive and understanding partner, because if he walked in after work, looked around the house and asked me what the hell I did all day, I swear to God, I would punch him in the throat.