FOOD, LOVE & SHELTER, THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT!

It's new territory.

I originally meant the whole electronics thing, but really every sunrise is new territory in MotherLand.

My newborn humanoid once looked at me for every clue of information, food, care, love, shelter.

At age three, the electronic music from the ice cream truck played and she said "is that your phone?" it cracked open the concept that we were in a different era.

We thought it was cute when at four years old, while visiting Grandma's house, Girl said, "I just want an E-dot to lay down with me for a little bit." We figured out she meant A-dult and reveled in how the electronic age is part of their life right from the start.

Today, getting ready for school, Miss 15 asked, "what's the weather supposed to be today...OH never mind... I have an APP for that!"

Motherhood... there's an APP for that. APParently I am not essential personnel anymore!

MAJOR LEAGUE MOTHERING

Get your sashes out and "stitch witch" on your Force Feeding badge.

I am Forced to Feed.

The whole "feed the family" thing scares me with the same amount of nerve wrack as "they're going to bite my hand off" in a petting zoo.

It's entirely up to me. The nutrition and health or lack-thereof of my family rests on my itty bitty shoulders. I have to make sure everyone gets their 16 vitamins and minerals and doesn't go hungry whether in home or on the run. I have to nag calcium into Girl's bones and see that her diet is more than a parade of after-school-snacks and that the Baconator I married gets some roughage now and then.

In the delivery room I transformed from my previous "happy eating a bowl of cereal for dinner on the couch in front of the TV" to a skilled and trained nutritionist. But I don't remember going to class for it, so I'm making it up as I go.

My basic raw mothering instincts tell me: "too much sugar is bad, three squares a day, get some greens in there, protein & calcium are musts."

I learned on the battlfield (and I'm not saying this with pride) that:

eating something before leaving the house staves off low sugar tantrums, a pizza in the freezer can save the day, pancakes are a good vehicle for sneaking in nutrients, no one really likes Tuna Supreez, there's no fighting halloween candy, oranges have calcium for someone who turns her nose up at milk, chocolate in the evening brings on the nightmare monster and ramen noodles are an embarrassing 'just keep the kids alive' secret in my pantry.

The non-stop merry-go-round of meals is a ride I am strapped onto with handcuffs. Somedays it's a hit, most days it's just tolerable but everyone is still alive and still asking "what's for dinner" so it can't be all that bad... can it?

It's Not Me, It's Just Thursday

TODAY WE ARE EARNING:

"PRETEND YOU ARE SKINNY & BEAUTIFUL" BADGE.

This Sunday we leave for our Annual Thanksgiving in Sarasota trip. Family is together, cousins, aunts, uncles. There's a beach there. Ordinarily I love the beach but this year I am terrified. I've been MEANING to lose some of the weight I've been steadily gaining. You get busy shuttling, emergency shopping for something your kids "just forgot!!! I neeed it tomorrrow!" and the likes. All mothers, I don't care who you are, will do what needs to be done and pay less attention to self and one day be trying on clothes in a 3-way mirror and be gripped by the terrifying notion "Mom Butt!!"

Today I am in that classic school nightmare where you realize you have a test that day and you haven't even cracked open the book. I leave in 3 days. It's unlikely I will lose 30 lbs. or even three by Sunday.

I'M NOT A HAG, I JUST PLAY ONE ON TV.

Remember I do not glamorize for the morning routine of getting girl to school and dog walked. As my porky, unkept self is driving past the grocery store on my way home, a brain balloon floats up reminding me of 5 things I need. It's 7am on a wednesday. I'll be perfectly invisible.

Evidently I am not and there must've been a recent "love your customer" training session because every chirpy stock dude makes a special point to say "GOOD MORNING MA'AM! FINDING EVERYTHING YOU NEED?" I get haggier & heavier with every greeting.

IT'S AS BAD AS BRA SHOPPING.

The best I can do at this point is not GAIN any more weight before sunday, thus flavored zero cal waters might be a useful tool. Do I want vitamins? Minerals? Strawberry? Açai..with anti oxidents? Kiwi Lemonaide with memory fiber? Blueberry with vitamins but not minerals? Wild Cherry with an underwire? 36 C Rasberry that will cross your heart? Front snap with cleavage booster watermelon with aspartame and back fat control? "GOOD MORNING MA'AM! FINDING EVERYTHING YOU NEED?"

IF ONLY I WAS AS THIN AS THE SKELETONS IN MY CLOSET.

Scurrying past the magazine aisle another brain balloon ... airplane reading. I grab a "BE GAUNT IN 4 HOURS!" magazine about motivating to work out and diet. Clearly reading it ON the plane on the way to the beach will not get me thin... but those who can't, read about those who can and did.

MAY THE FORCE FIELD BE WITH YOU.

My route takes me in the direction of the donut case. I am playing with fire if I get within 2 aisles of it so I make a sharp right so as to avoid the gravitational pull. My hair is reacting with a static electricity-like reach in that direction. I manage to escape one temptation at a time walking past the bread and muffins by using the "Dionne Warwick Method" of diet control ... sing it with me now: "WALK ON BYYYYY." Just when I thought it was safe, I come face to face with Mega Monster Truck Rally 'Family's Visiting!" 46 Croissant Superpower Pack... Two for One. "WALK ON BYYYYY."

TRUE CONFESSIONS IN THE CHECK-OUT AISLE.

As I evaluate my 'obviously you are trying to lose weight' purchases, I opt for the Non-Judgemental Self-Scan because I just don't feel like being sized up by a check out clerk. If I was a check out clerk, without a doubt I would be analyzing the combinations people are buying and trying to piece together what they are about to do. God help the clerk that would comment on today's purchases. I could not be responsible for my actions so I Self-Scan. Plus it's fun to see if you can scan like a professional - and I'm fascinated by the infrared light ray mechanism that can read lines waved in front of it.

Sidenote - leaning to put an item in the farthest bag does not qualify as a workout.

WOULD YOU LIKE PAPER OR PLASTIC SURGERY?

When I'm ready to pay, the infrared magic light ray machine asks "do you qualify for a senior citizen discount?" DOES THE SCANNER READ WRINKLE LINES?? WHY DID IT JUST ASK ME THAT?? I must've yelled that out in a blind panic because the attendant pipes in "it's Thursday. Every Thursday is senior discount day and it automatically asks that." It's a milestone when you stop getting carded and I thought I'd skidded in to the next stop on the road to ruin. Whewh!

I'm already swimming in the surf of self consciousness over my burgeoning "beach ready" body, at least I can still pretend the wrinkles aren't calling the shots yet... it's just thursday!

MOM ROCKS!

It's official, the Mom Rocks planning calendar for 2011 is out and about! I've been able to weave in my Erma Bombeckish experiences and the stories and sentiments you've shared along the way. Here's the link to it on calendars.com.

Thank you everyone for your scrumptious support and all of the laughter!

http://www.calendars.com/Mom-Rocks-2011-Pocket-Wall-Calendar/Mom-Rocks-2011-Pocket-Wall-Calendar/prod1289649/?categoryId=cat00153

MORNING BUS STOP BEAUTY PAGEANT

Today, ladies, it's our MORNING GLORIOUS badge we are earning.

My school day routine is to do a "wake up" sort of behavior and stumble downstairs.

I feed the two sets of whiskers and tails staring me down, do a little glassy-eyed laundry change-out-type motions, pour that cup of life then run through studio stuff to set up my day.

Then I get Girl situated for school and when she leaves for the bus, Dean Martin (Mr. Handsomepants black lab) and I join her for the start of his walk. Notice I did not mention beautify or primp anywhere in that routine.

I am sometimes aware that other humans will be witnessing me, but because it's my neighborhood, I somehow feel it's an extension of my home and I wouldn't even feel bad, really, walking the dog in pajamas. I have.

I can get as fancy as work-out capris and a sweatshirt, and a running hat to hide my Medusa hair. Taking cues from the Big Book of Hollywood Glamour, I don big black sunglasses to hide the big dark circles under my eyes. I am the first to confess...it is not pretty. In fact, it's impressively not pretty!

I then shuffle my way up the street to greet the other contestants competing for this semester's crown and sash of

Ms. Morning School Bus Stop

(Names have been changed to protect the guilty.)

First up is Heather, having a particularly aggressive bedhead day, who is forever in flip flops she's had since before she met her husband, chewed up by the dog she had since before she had her flip flops. She gazes confidently at the crowd and judges in her untucked tshirt with stains from the cup of coffee she carries to the bus stop.

Next we have Amy parading up the culdesac runway in baggy tshirt, sweatpants with one leg stuck up by her knee and one leg down by her ankle, baby on hip. You won't find rhinestones or a sequins on Amy, but you will see leftover glitter in her hair and a three day old ponytail.

Then there is Sally. (There's always a Sally.) Stopping short of concrete hair, Sally is always prim and proper, gorgeous and stylishly dressed for work, to everyone else's dismay. She makes up for her perfect looks by being always great to chat with, so we forgive her, though she will never win the crown in this pristine condition.

It's our pleasure to introduce Marian in white ankle socks and garden tennies, all-purpose baggy khaki shorts, one leg shaved, and whatever shirt or jacket is closest within reach. Her hair is urgently clipped back, well, most of it, no makeup and a serious amount of energy for the 7am hour. She will surely win the Most Caffeinated title.

Finally we have Rob, stay-at-home dad on the block, who just doesn't count. He's a dude and dudes can look however they want in the morning. It looks the same in the afternoon and evening and they always look good. But because he shows up for the pageant every day, he gets an honorable mention.

We count on each other to keep up the competition for this coveted crown because it's a silent language of liberation for all of us to not have to be ON that early in the morning. Sally is secretly envious.

I am a Dashboard Beauty Queen

TODAY'S BADGE: BEAUTY ON THE RUN

My clock system is precicely the same as before I had kids. 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour.. 24/7/365..four score and 7 years ago..

Remember the non stressed day of waking up, warm soothing shower, leisurely make-up and hair session. I mean really going at those lashes to lift and separate and add volume, not that you even needed it. You worked, you went to the gym maybe dinner out, you watched a little television trash, little girlfriend gossip hour, you slept a full 8 hours.

Clock is the same. What has changed is the amount of things I must cram in to that same clock. I don't think I even need to detail that, because you've got your own blend of 1,001 things ready to spew.

Doing double & triple time, we combine what we can. We write thank you notes between texting, while waiting at piano practice, we watch TV on the treadmill while marinating steaks, we return mom's call in the hardware store comparing paint swatches and having a key made. We are making a mental grocery list while having...yoga class. Never are we doing one single task at a time anymore. NEVER.

Smart moms scrounge out more time in the car, which is fraught with idle moments at stop lights and carpool lines. Until they invent mobile trunk washing machines and appliances, the car becomes a mobile office where we sign papers in the carpool line, map out the week in the drive through pharmacy, and jot to-do lists at stoplights, make appointments, check statuses, return calls.

Now, I don't know about you, but it used to be, back before all this motherhood business, when I had nothing but time, and could spend it in the mirror, all I really needed in my glorious youth was lip gloss, a wink and a smile in the mirror before strolling out the door. Now, with minutes at a premium, I have zero time for beauty, unless I wake up earlier, but what about beauty rest?!

Seems when I need glamour regime time the most, my commute from the bathroom mirror to the front door gets longer every day, patching up crows feet, spackling in laugh lines, caulking in frown lines and restoring dark circles to their 'natural' luster.

Thus, I have outfitted my car with a custom

7 POINT DASHBOARD BEAUTY SYSTEM

My very own spa on wheels:

1. The glove compartment is a station where I can put on a fresh hair tease and get spritzed.

2. Ashtray holds an assortment of ponytail holders and clips

3. Arm rest holds a lotion and fierce variety of nail polishes. Stoplights are for painting, driving is for drying, at position 10 and 2 on the wheel, with air setting on high wind velocity. (On a nice day, the window and sunroof are ideal...but watch the hair.)

4. My cup holder stores an adorable travel mug stocked with eye liner, mascara, lip liner and plumper.

5. The visor comes complete with lighted mirror for up close work.

6. I can monitor my age in the gray-view mirror.

7. I haven't gone as far as shaving my legs at a stoplight, but I have the razor in the lower compartment of the armrest, along with deodorant and a toothbrush... it's really only a matter of time...or lack thereof.

Have I become a dashing dashboard beauty? I don't know about the beauty part, but the dashing part is spot on.

THANK YOU FOR FLYING US HAIRWAYS

TODAY GIRLS, WE ARE EARNING OUR HORMONAL OUTBURST CONTROL BADGES.

We are flying overseas very soon...that is if the US Department of State decides to let Girl have her passport.

It's stuck in the process with every mistake and every delay allowed by law...Murphy's Law.

Although I am a fairly even-tempered gal, I am not above the regularly scheduled programming of hormonal flame-throwing when provoked. However, I've been EXPERT at playing nice while I've been on the phone with Passport Agency 2x a day for a week, an hour plus each time. You catch more flies with honey, as they say, and no one flies this weekend without a passport in hand.

Why the passport delay? Hair.

Good hair, I might add.

My genetic makeup does not include gifted and talented hair. Thankfully Girl ended up with a slightly better lot than I did, thanks to her daddy, but it is not without a some wrangling to get it in the fabulous zone.

Keep in mind, Girl is 13. Anyone who has had a 13 year old knows it's all about the The Power and The Pity. Getting her to do anything she is not inclined to do, such as pulling her hair back, or wearing a headband is an act of Congress, bribery and threats.

While getting a new passport photo, I went the extra mile, risking life and limb to cajole her into wearing a headband "because you are going to have to live with this picture for the next five years and if there ever was a time to bother it's NOW! You don't want to be stuck with 'triangle hair' for the next five years!" I'm sure I wasn't that brief or pleasant while crowing on about it.

It looked great. I loved her hair. Girl loved her hair. The lady who took the picture loved her hair. The passport office clerk who accepted her picture loved her hair. The U.S. Department of State did NOT love her hair. The headband. Unless it is for religious reasons, one must not wear any head attire.

Do they not understand that when people of our genetic hair disposition achieve good hair it is a religious experience?!