Mealtime Mayhem: A Play in One Act

I see here that you cut off crusts. Tsk tsk.

Few things inspire me to practice the art of zen parenting more than meal times.  The anxiety of feeding my kids is comparable to a job interview (or one of those dreams when you have to take an exam for a class that you didn't even know you registered for... everyone has those, right?).   You just don't know what kind of curve ball they are going to throw at you and you need be prepared for every scenario:

- How many condiments will my daughter want? Do I have them in stock?
- Will my son insist I peel a traditionally non-peeled food (example: hotdog!)?
- Do I have the "right" kind of grape juice?
- Will someone suddenly crave pineapple?
- Will they stage a full-on "no chicken soup" revolt?
- Will I have the strength to stand my ground and NOT give in???

Bread and cabbage! You don't know how
good you had it, lady.

It is so stressful sometimes that I actually find myself fantasizing about living in a world where we are so poor that all we have for dinner is boiled potatoes... Like it or not, you gotta eat it, kid.  Or starve.  Gosh, how simple and luxurious life would be!

Mom:  Dinner time, children!  (kids eagerly put away their one wooden toy and enter the kitchen)
Kids:  What's for dinner, mother?  (wide-eyed and smiling)
Mom:  Boiled potatoes, again. (shakes head disappointedly) Oh, children, how I wish we could afford something more interesting to offer you (lying through her teeth).
Kids:  Oh mother, we don't care.  We are so hungry and we are so grateful for these delicious boiled potatoes. (eat boiled potatoes, all of them.)
Mom:  Thank you for being the best children in the whole world (hugs children.  smiles to herself and thanks god for small miracles and for the dark chocolate-covered almonds that she's hidden in the old porridge pot for post-bedtime snack)

But, alas, this is just a fantasy.  And my kids are presented daily with well-balanced, wholesome meals...that they don't eat.  Ever.

To illustrate, I've prepared a short vignette of what often happens in my house at dinner:

(Opening scene:  Dad still at work.  Kids, both four years old, in the playroom.  Mom, feeling brain dead and exhausted after a long day, is about to prepare dinner.  She stands in front of fridge and waits for inspiration.  When none comes, she makes chicken, broccoli, and brown rice - simple, inoffensive, edible. )  

Mom:  Hey kids, two minute warning until dinner!
Girl and Boy:  NO WE ARE STILL PLAYING!!!
Mom:  I told you ten minutes ago that dinner was almost ready.  Now please clean up and wash your hands.
Girl:  Okay, mommy. (girl puts away toys. goes to wash hands.  mom rejoices in one small victory)
Boy:  No. (continues slaying imaginary pirates)
Girl:  (comes to table and sees plated food)  I don't want these foods.

F*ck you.

Mom:  Well, this is what I made.  And I know you like chicken, broccoli and rice.  I've seen you eat it.
Girl:  Well, I'm ONLY going to eat the rice.  I am NOT going to eat the chicken or the broccoli.
Mom:  Just sit down.  (to boy child) GET OVER HERE AND WASH YOUR HANDS.
Boy:  No.  I'm not hungry!  I want to watch TV! (he turns on the TV.  mom curses to herself.  prepares for blowout.)
Girl:  I WANT A CHEESE SANDWICH.

Mom:  (to girl) No. Sit. Eat.  (leaves dining room.  turns off TV.  boy child begins to cry. mom drags boy child into dining room.)
Girl:  (begins to cry)
Mom:  (to girl child) Why are YOU crying??????
Girl:  (sob sob) I. want. (sob) a. cheese. (sob) sandwich.
Mom:  Oh lord.  (boy child now in a fit of rage).  Well, I need to deal with your brother.  (conducts risk/reward analysis of negotiating with girl child.)  
Girl: (crying)
Boy: (crying)
Mom:  (decides reward>risk.) (to girl child) If you eat all of your broccoli and half of your chicken, I'll make you a cheese sandwich.
Girl:  NO chicken. Three broccoli. With mustard.  (boy still crying)
Mom:  Three bites of chicken and three broccoli. We're out of mustard. (sh*t. i knew i forgot something!).
Boy:  (screaming in mom's ear)  I'm not hungry!  (sobbing) I want to watch TV (sob sob sob sob sob...ad infinitum).
Mom:  (getting desperate. going deaf).  Four broccoli.  Two chicken?  BBQ sauce?
Girl:  Okay.  But, I want a cheese sandwich AND a cut up apple.  No skin.
Mom:  (shakes head disappointedly) Fine.

THE END.


Now... Wouldn't you dream about boiled potatoes too???

Mimi Goes to Washington...in four inch heels.



Dear Ruffle Socks,
Please make a comeback.
Love, Mimi

As pop culture and ZZ Top have told us for decades, every now and then a woman needs a new pair of shoes. A really great, super hot pair of shoes that make her feel like she's on top of the world.  This week I was that woman....without the freaky guys in beards following me around.

On Monday I decided it was time for me to freshen up the shoedrobe (copyright 2011). As you might have noticed from my blog posts, I've been feeling a little desperate and a little helpless lately. Oh nothing too serious and nothing worth recounting here, but certainly traumatic enough to warrant a little cognitive-behavioral retail therapy. I mean, if I'm gunna get back on my feet, I'm gunna do it in style, right? And a little shopping never hurt....unless you once bought a pink faux fur jacket with leather trim over a break-up (That would tragic. gulp.).

Now just between us, this shopping excursion was obviously driven by emotional needs. But I did have the change of season and a trip to DC for client meeting to justify it to my more objective audience. One cannot go to a meeting in October in open-toed shoes. Never. Not if you want to be taken seriously.  At least that's what I told my husband.

So I go to Nordstrom...alone...with a gift card. And I buy these:

(pause for girly screaming)

I know! Aren't they awesome!?! They are Italian. They are shiny. They are hot. And versatile and totally practical, of course.

So the next day I dress for my trip to DC.  I pair them with my super sleek black pencil skirt and blouse (leopard. meow!) and I head off to the train station at 5:30 am feeling good, feeling powerful, feeling very tall.

But...as as a mother of two preschoolers and a person who works from home, I'm more out of practice wearing heels than I care to admit to myself. So it will come as no surprise to you that there were  a few things I did not anticipate about traveling in heels. Such as:

1. Newark Penn Station at 5:45 am: Fear of death by gun shot really makes you wish you were wearing Nikes. On the upside, the adrenaline gets your blood flowing. A bonus when you've woken at 4:15.

2. The speed of the Acela: No matter how hot I think I look in a pencil skirt and four inch heels, there is nothing hot about me trying to walk across the train to the cafe car in a pencil skirt and four inch heels. That train moves fast and every minor swerve throws me like six feet. Walking from car to car is tough enough, but doing it in heels and a skirt that restricts movement (combined with my general lack of grace) means several people lost hot coffee and danishes in the wake of my attempt to purchase my own. And one old lady nearly got a lap dance. Poor thing.

3. Roller bag + Heels = Hot Mess: How many times did I trip on my walk from the metro? eight. EIGHT!!! Roller bags are dorky enough. Tripping with your roller bag is grounds for banishment to Nerdville (Population: me).

4.  Blisters:  Do you know how difficult it is to walk like you DON'T have blisters when you actually DO have blisters?  My abs were sore the next day.  Still are.

The good news is that once I finally DO get to my meetings, I'm a little sweaty and disheveled getting compliments left and right on my hot new shoes and I have a fantastic day - one of the best in a while.  Was all this fantasticness because of my new shoes?  No.  Certainly my co-workers, clients and that glass of Pinot Noir at lunch had something to do with it.  But the shoes certainly changed my mood and made me feel on top of the world.  Mission Accomplished.

And sure, it took a lot of work to get there. And sure, I should have packed flats for traveling. But then we would've had nothing to laugh at today and this blog post would have been way way boring. Instead, I've given all of you the pleasure of picturing me falling and tripping and cursing all over our nation's capital... but doing it in so much style.

You're welcome.