T.G.I.M. (Thank God It's Monday) -- by Gina

You’ve heard of T.G.I.F… the well-worn battle cry of the 9-to-5 crowd? Well, I actually found myself this Monday morning thinking, and actually saying out loud to my co-worker, “Thank God its Monday!”

Of course, I started the weekend off like any other Monday to Friday office worker, looking forward to the weekend.

Friday after work was a quick bite with my husband and daughter, then off to shop for shoes for Gianna. Her 3-year old body is outgrowing clothes and shoes at a stupefying rate. I had so many things to do that weekend I figured it best to squeeze it in Friday evening.

Three shoe stores later, we arrived home weary and exhausted, and way too late, even for a weekend night. My neck and back were killing me; I realized it was from bending over lacing and unlacing many pairs of size 9, 10 and 11 sneakers (including ultra-cool Hannah Montana extreme high-tops, which after all the lacing and unlacing – you guessed it - didn’t even fit!)

After pizza, and what I foolishly thought would be a quick stop in to Toys R Us (HA! Did I mention it was a “sale day” and the line was longer than it is on Black Friday?), we headed to my niece’s ice skating party. My husband (thankfully) picked up my 3-year old so I could be just “Aunt Gina” and not “Mommy” for the rest of the afternoon.

After fighting traffic and getting slightly lost, we arrived at the indoor skating rink, tired but excited. My sister had assured me that I did not need to ice skate; there were going to be instructors there for those kids who have never skated, and none of the parents were going to be skating. I laced her skates up, headed for the ice, then waved over a coach who said it was too busy for him to spend more than a minute with her. Alissa, brave as she was, stayed on the ice, clutching the side of the rink and inching her way slowly and carefully around, while I followed along with her on the other side of the plexiglass, bumping into metal bleachers, giving her a thumbs up, and shouting, “You’re doing great! I’m so proud of you!” In an angry voice, she yelled through the glass, “Why can’t you go get ice skates and come help me!?” How could I explain there was no way I was getting my 41-year old feet into ice skates? Especially as her friend Valerie’s mom, (a 20-something tall, thin, blond), went gliding over to Valerie, took her hand, and skated off with her. My niece was glaring at me as I blurted, “But your mom said the parents didn’t have to skate!”

Then I noticed the poor child’s frozen little hands (apparently everyone knows you have to wear gloves when you go ice skating.) Not only because its cold, but as another mom shared with me, “We went to a skating party where a kid got his finger sliced off.” Great – that’s all I needed to hear as I quickly ushered Alissa off the ice, consoling, “You did great for a first time! I think its time to go back to the party room for cake!”

By this time, my niece is crying that her feet hurt too much to walk the long walk back to the skate rental counter to get her shoes. I took her skates off and, feeling sorry for her, (and guilty that I hadn’t donned skates, jumped onto the ice and helped her), I carried her back to the skate rental piggy-back style (I don’t know which was worse: carrying a 50 pound child on my already sore back, or her frozen little hands crushing my windpipe as she clutched onto my neck.)

Arriving home exhausted, I rested briefly then got ready for our next “Moms Night Out”. It was supposed to take place at- get this – “adult skate” at the new roller rink (!) which I just couldn’t face – I convinced the moms to change the agenda to just dinner… it turned out all the moms were, like me, too tired for a Moms Night Out!

The next day, as I wearily arrived for a big family Sunday dinner (late), my sister cornered me, asking a favor… “Can you take my son to a party next week – I can’t make it – it’s at the Y – a pool party… but don’t worry, you don’t have to swim…” She must have seen my eyes glaze over at the thought of it getting in the pool with a bunch of 11 year old boys….

Good thing I have another party, far away, already scheduled for that day, so I got out of it. The best part? It’s at a nice, quiet, toddler puppet show!

Egg Hunt -- by Gina

This past weekend I took my 6 year old niece and 3 year old daughter to an Easter event at our local children’s museum. The week prior my sister and I had been preparing by gathering up the requisite egg cartons (paper, not plastic or Styrofoam) for the Easter Egg basket craft the girls were going to be making first, to house their found eggs. My sister couldn’t make it – she had to take my nephew to a karate tournament so I would be spending a festive morning with just the girls.

We had to be there early – I had scheduled us for the earliest appointment. After leaving the house only a few minutes late to pick up my niece, I called my husband from the driveway. “Can you do me a big favor? There’s an egg carton in the fridge… can you empty the eggs out and bring me just the carton?” He hung up without a word and appeared in the driveway (in his boxer shorts) a few minutes later with the empty egg carton, a confused look on his face, handed it over and walked away without saying anything. He has learned not to bother asking what’s going on… it is usually too long an explanation for him.

Despite the cold and rainy weather, the girls were excited to get started. They enjoyed making their Easter basket craft – though it was a little chaotic, with lots of aspiring crafters pushing their way in for a spot at the busy craft tables to decorate egg carton baskets. There being no chairs, I hunched over the craft table or squatted down to the girls’ level, twisting into awkward positions to help them do their crafts. While I spent an extended amount of time helping Gianna get her basket together, my niece, Alissa, who had been suspiciously quiet, exclaimed, “Wow! This is so cool, Aunt Gina! Mommy NEVER lets me staple!”

So between alternate demands of “Help me, Mommy!” and “Help ME now, Aunt Gina!”, I managed to create two lovely Easter baskets with only paper and staples. But boy was my neck and back killing me from hunching over. As we traipsed from one building to the next, up and down stairs and over the wet field now, baskets in hand, my neck stiff, it occurred to me as it often does when I am doing these kids’ activities that… I am just too old for this!

Next they collected their eggs, arguing over who spotted which egg first, but enjoying it just the same. I made them pose for lots of pictures, then we went off to the next building for the snack. The Easter Bunny himself was seated in the snack area for photo ops, How nice, I thought. “Look girls, the Easter Bunny!” , to which my niece, who has always hated costumed characters, shouted, “That Easter Bunny is freakin’ me out!” My daughter, who predictably repeats everything her older cousin says and does, shouted (LOUDLY), “Yeah, Easter Bunny, you’re FREAKIN’ US OUT!” I hung my head in shame as everyone turned to look at us, but giggled to myself as we headed to the cookie table for their snack.

We entertained ourselves by watching the door the Easter Bunny had disappeared behind, waiting for him (from a safe distance) to come back out after his “carrot break.” The girls became brave when I told them he would give them treats if they went over to him. In fact, they were the first ones over when he came back out and they marched proudly back to me with bags of jellybeans in hand, smiling proudly and excited at their spurt of bravery. I snapped a quick photo of them and thought, “I’m not too old for this, after all.” Kids make everything more fun – a typical Saturday morning for us is an adventure for them.

It was a good day.

Happy Easter and Passover to everyone! And remember, don’t let the Easter Bunny freak you out!

Time -- by Gina

This week my father-in-law was in the emergency room for severe stomach pain. He is better, thankfully, but it has been a crazy week for me since my husband has been working long shifts, and I was the only one available to deal with “Grampa”: visiting, picking up stuff from his apartment, picking him up upon being discharged, then driving him around town for his various errands. It was an unseasonably warm and sunny weekend and not what I really wanted to be doing, but of course I had no choice.

Then there were all of the other “things to do” for the week: creating and mailing out my daughter’s birthday party invitations, shuttling her around to school and activities, celebrating my husband’s birthday, two work events, late meetings, working full-time, and all of the other usual stuff (laundry, dishes, etc.) Not to mention two separate emergency deliveries to my niece (backpack forgotten in my car) and nephew (change of clothing after a classmate spilled chocolate milk all over him.)

Yet, when a good friend who is going through some tough times asked me why I hadn’t called her in a while, I couldn’t come up with a good excuse. “I’ve been so busy” sounds like such a cop-out…I mean, everyone is busy, right? But when I actually sat down and thought about why I hadn’t called, I realized it wasn’t just that I didn’t have time, I never seemed to have the RIGHT time. By that I mean, I never seem to have “phone time”, that precious luxury that I am only now realizing existed only in my pre-mommy world. I have always had very busy jobs, so I always (and still do) had to rush my friends off the phone with a “Can I call ya later, work is crazy? Thanks!” I’d wait until after dinner when I could sprawl out on my couch and really catch up…laughing and having lots of good girl talk. Now, as the mother of a 3 ½ year old, those opportunities never seem to come anymore. I still entertain the thought that I will be able to find time for a good chat after Gianna’s asleep, but since she has trouble falling asleep and staying in her own bed, that phone time never seems to come for me. I spend the night going up and down the stairs to her room, as she calls me to come stay with her because she is afraid, or because she “has too much energy.” Then when I think she is finally asleep, I am exhausted from working all day and parenting all evening. Also, once the house is quiet, I feel obligated to speak low so as not to wake my daughter. This is also the time I do a load of laundry, straighten up the house and get ready for the next day.

The only phone calls I seem to get a chance to make on weeknights is to return calls, mostly to my family and my in-laws, arranging visits, exchanging babysitting duties, and checking in on how everyone is feeling.

I made amends with my friend – I devoted a very long phone call to her which thank goodness Gianna cooperated with by going to bed on time. I assured her that although I don’t have the kind of time I used to have, I am still here for her no matter what and will find a way to make time to talk more often (haven’t figured that part out yet…) She doesn’t have children yet but I think she understands - I hope so. When we moms say we don’t have time for something, it isn’t an excuse… it is our reality – that our time is just not our own anymore no matter how many more hours we could use in the day. We can carve out time here and there once our kids are old enough for babysitters but in the meantime, it is a big adjustment and a real balancing act to find time to do the things WE want to do. I have heard it gets easier as our kids get older, but for now, I can only hope that friends understand, just as I am understanding when plans get canceled or my calls go unanswered. I think that is part of being a good friend – being flexible and forgiving – none of us are perfect and we are all doing our best to get as much as we can done in one day. These are the times I wish I could work only part-time, but for now I have to find a way to make it all work.

I have another good friend who had her three children in her early twenties. When I don’t have time for the long gab fests, she understands and lets me slide. I was able to see her for a brief visit recently and it was like no time had passed. Those are the moments you realize that true friendship endures through all the highs and lows of raising children, trying to have a career, and not having enough time for either. We sat in her mom’s kitchen, talking and laughing like we did when we were 17. In those moments, time – be it how much has passed, or how much more of it we wish we had – just doesn’t matter so much…well, at least for a moment, anyway.

Perspective -- by Gina

Today is a gorgeous day; blue skies, sunny, 61 degrees – quite a welcome departure from the snow and storms we’ve had so recently. You wouldn’t think that just this past weekend was a storm that took down power lines and trees every few blocks in the northeast. I can even hear the sound of spring - kids happily playing outside after a long winter indoors.

But despite the bright weather, today is also a dark day. Today I heard the news that a friend’s child is losing his battle with cancer.

My eyes teared up as chills ran down my spine. I wondered how the parents are going to get through it, and how frightened and utterly devastated they all must be. I said a silent prayer for them. But what can you really say or do at a time like this – when someone’s world is crashing down around them, when their heart is surely breaking into a million pieces?

For me, this is one of those moments that “puts it all in perspective”… in a big way.

I’d been having a rough week with my daughter, Gianna. Between racing around to get to my full time job on time, nursing her through her most recent cold, chasing her around the house with Tylenol and nose spray, dealing with her tantrums and the worst part, hardly getting any sleep all week. She has been scared of sleeping alone in her room, and has been finding her way out of bed and downstairs asking for.. well.. you name it -another cup of water, some company, the option to sleep with me and my husband in our bed. This week, my patience has been worn thin and my energy even thinner. While I was at work one day, Gianna discovered my permanent markers and decided to decorate her arms, hands and knees with them. A trying week, that is, until you are reminded of what a trying week truly is... and someone helps you to put your own trivial complaints into perspective.

So tonight I will give my daughter a big hug, and probably kiss her so much she wipes her face, sneering, “Ugh! I don’t like kisses!”

Today, my heart goes out to all the parents out there facing the truly unfaceable. It is not until I became a mom that I understood what my sister, herself a mother, meant when she told me, “Congratulations. Now your heart exists outside your body.” I have never felt such incredible emotions in my life until having a child… the highs and lows of pure love, true joy, fierce strength, and utter sorrow. Your heart is literally out of your control. No wonder we parents are always exhausted. It is not just the physical and the day-to-day errands, school, etc. – I’m convinced it is the emotional exhaustion that wears us out. Loving someone so totally and completely with all your heart is a risky business, despite all we get in return.

“Later moms” face the unique challenge of dealing with the fear that we may not be around for our kids due to our advanced age, and hand in hand with that fear comes regret for not having become parents earlier in our lives. Again, for me, hearing today’s sad news puts the “later mom remorse” smack into its rightful place. The back of my mind, way far back so I can focus on the important stuff: loving and caring for my child today, not worrying so much about what in our lives is “not right”, living in the present, and being incredibly grateful for the messy playroom, the runny nose I’ve wiped what seems like fifty times today, and yes, even the misdirected permanent marker.

Granny Day -- by Gina

Since she was just three months old and I returned to work part-time, my mother-in-law has been taking care of my daughter Gianna for two full days a week. Gianna lovingly refers to these as “Granny Days”, because the other three weekdays she has “School Days.” I am fortunate to have “Granny,” and the fact that she is home sick today with bronchitis has made me realize how missed she is.

When I say, Granny watches Gianna for two full days… I mean two FULL days. I sometimes get exhausted just listening to the replay of their day. A typical day may include any combination and many times all of the following: doing an art project, playing downstairs in the playroom, playing upstairs in the bedroom, going out for manicures, having lunch in their favorite café or the pizzeria, painting at the pottery place (I now am the proud owner of about twelve assorted handpainted mugs, cups plates, and candy dishes), and going for ice cream. These days alternate or sometimes include visiting the Children’s Museum, Chuck E. Cheese or Barnes & Noble. And that’s just in the winter… once the weather her in New York gets warmer, you can add the beach, park, playground to the list. Whew!

On top of all these great activities, Granny is so caring and patient with Gianna. Last Christmas, Gianna was treated to a hand-crocheted Christmas skirt, with a matching one for her Hello Kitty doll. She got to choose what color yarn she wanted for the skirt, and even what order she wanted the three stripes in…even if it meant Granny pulling out the work she’d already done on the skirt and starting over, just because Gianna wanted the black stripe first, then the red. I told Granny you don’t need to do that, you’re spoiling her.. but I knew my words fell on deaf ears. I got the old line, “I’m her grandmother, it’s my job to spoil her!”

Having grandparents healthy enough and living close enough to be involved in your child’s care is such a blessing. I was not nearly as close with my grandparents. I never met my paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, died when I was very young, about three. I remember her vaguely – pouring water out of my plastic bucket onto her feet at the sprinklers in the Brooklyn playground, her smuggling baby bottles in the bottom of her shopping bags after my mother had already weaned us onto cups. I do remember her always smiling, then remember being told that she was with God and we wouldn’t see her anymore but she could still see us.

My maternal grandmother lived in Long Island - we took the Long Island Railroad out to visit almost every Sunday while we were young, then less as we got older. It was a long trip from Brooklyn, having to first take the subway to downtown Brooklyn, and we always left early, so we would occasionally whine, “do we haaaave to go?” My mother always responded the same way, “It’s your choice… but you don’t know how long Grandma will be around….”

We always had a huge Polish dinner (at 12:00 noon). After which, we usually passed out on the couch, my sister and I both trying to squeeze onto the daybed for a nap with my grandfather. When we surfaced, we might play "Penny Ante" or Rummy card games, or visit my grandfather's "victory garden" at his friend’s house, a short drive away, where we would inevitably get scolded for stomping all over the root vegetables. But then it was back to Brooklyn and maybe we’d be back the next Sunday or the one after. My grandfather died when I was a teenager, leaving my grandmother to downsize and rent an apartment in Brooklyn so she could be close to us. Her health declined rapidly - a heart attack, mini-strokes, and eventually Alzheimer’s led to her needing live-in homecare. Her decline lasted almost ten years, of which there was little “quality time” due to her age and illness. I said goodbye to her through tears over the phone from my boss’ office in Manhattan, when my mother called to say, “It’s finally time - Grandma’s finally ready to go. You better say goodbye now. She may not make it until you get home.”

I missed my grandmother when she was gone, and indeed longed for those Sunday visits I used to complain about. Moms are always right, aren’t they?

When Gianna was younger, I feared Granny was spoiling her too much. M&M's before breakfast, and making a habit of showing up with a box of Dunkin' Donuts in hand. Not to mention jumping up to fix Gianna some instant macaroni and cheese after just preparing a nice family dinner of pasta and meatballs, because Gianna was not happy with our choice of pasta shape. I would say No but Granny would say Yes. Those things burned me inside. I tried to talk with Granny about it, and of course she’d agree to stick to whatever I wanted. But… I have learned, as I imagine most moms do, to pick my battles.

So, now I don’t mind so much anymore when Granny brings Munchkins. In fact, when I lamented how it was hard to get Gianna off her steady carb diet of pastina, spaghetti, and mac n’ cheese, she showed up the next morning with a Ziploc full of hard boiled eggs, which is now a staple of Gianna’s diet – something I never even thought to try.

I want Granny to enjoy her time with Gianna, and vice versa. She is so good to us, and I know it means the world to her to have lots of quality time with Gianna. The years are passing so quickly and Gianna is in Pre-K this September, and then full day kindergarten. Then, this special time is over and on to the next stage. My mother-in-law gives Gianna so much love and attention, and so many wonderful memories. It is a relationship like no other, that of a child and a doting grandparent. Besides, Granny gives her attention which I cannot, due to working full-time. I like to think instead of spoiling her, Granny is showing her that she’s special, and worthy of lots of attention and affection… and perhaps a little good old fashioned “spoiling” now and then, too. Besides, what are Grandmas for?

Stroller Envy -- by Gina

Hi, my name is Gina Schlagel, and I'm a 41-year old mom with a 3 1/2 year old daughter named Gianna. I am new to the Motherhood Later bloggers, and this is my very first blog. Hope to connect with many of you MLTS Moms in the coming weeks by sharing stories/thoughts I am hoping others can relate to. I welcome your feedback!

It was a couple of days after last week's snowstorm. I was looking for the always rare parking spot near work, and I had just found what I was convinced was the last one in the entire neighborhood. I debated about taking it, as it was a few blocks from my office (and Gianna's pre-school). I always pulled into the temporary drop-off spot at the school, walked her in, then came back out to find a spot on the street. Given the scarcity of parking due to the snow, I figured I would break from the normal routine and grab the spot, even if it meant we'd have a long walk in the drizzly rain.

"Gianna, we're going to walk a little, today, OK?" I was answered with a whiny, "Awww, why?" "Well, Mommy has to grab this spot before it's gone..." No answer. "I know, wanna ride in the stroller!" "Yay," she cried. I figured it would sound like fun to her - we rarely used the stroller anymore and had actually never used it on the typically short walk from the car to the school. Besides, how resourceful can you get - I could walk faster strolling her rather than walking her, I could pull the stroller canopy up over her to keep the drizzly rain off her... this is great, I thought. Why haven't I been doing this all along?

We walked along, but something just didn't feel right. I realized that pushing a stroller while dressed in a suit and heels just felt... well, funny. Silly, almost. I felt almost self-conscious - what if one of my colleagues sees me? Would they too think it looked a bit...well.. out of place? I quickly dismissed the thought as we rounded the corner, thinking, "Oh, who cares what anyone thinks!" As we entered the daycare, I stopped, gleefully announcing to Gianna, "We're here! Time to hop out!" She froze. "But... not HERE!!??", she yelled. What? What's the matter? I saw her gaze land on the open door of her classroom. "They're gonna SEEEEE me! Like the BABIES!" I realized she was mortified at the thought of her classmates seeing her get out of (gasp!) a stroller just like the ones the babies ride in. As I comforted her, "Honey, don't worry, no one is looking at you. Here, get out here, then." I clumsily pushed the stroller back out of the double doors so she could make her stealthy exit outside the building, ensuring no jeering glances from her fellow pre-schoolers. We then walked in calmly as we did every day, no sign of the offending stroller in sight (parked temporarily in the hallway.) I kissed her goodbye as I did every day, and as she went off into class, I now turned my attention to getting the stroller (did I mention it is neon orange?) into the elevator with me up to my office without being spotted by those sneaky kids. I made it into the elevator unseen, entered my floor, strolled down the hall to my office (quickly), and "hid" good ol' Peg Perego in the corner of my office. Whew! I made it.

I felt sorry for Gianna - knowing that she was already, at her young age, worried about what other people thought. At the same time, I was a bit impressed that she picked up on what the norms for her age are and that her peers are indeed judging each other even at three and four. It got me thinking: at what point do our children start worrying about what their peers think of them?

My thoughts then turned selfish...I guess this means no more stroller? I began to mourn the loss of my own freedom...plop her in the stroller and get my errands done, do my mall shopping... were those days over? How will I survive? Who's going to carry all those heavy packages I stuff into the bottom basket, and my heavy handbag I sling over the handles? She was so safe and secure in there, too; now I have to worry about her slipping out of my grasp and running off. And so came the bittersweet acceptance that yes, indeed, my "baby" had outgrown the stroller, both physically and mentally. I, however, was the only only who had not.

Only time will tell if that was definitely our last carefree stroller ride. Maybe I can squeeze a few more long walks out of it in the coming weeks, for old time's sake. I will miss it, not just for the convenience and habit, but more for all it represented: my only child's fleeting "babyhood." Where did the last 3 1/2 years go? And what will the next hold? I am excited to find out as Gianna and I continue to "grow up" together...as I return to the world of full-time, corporate office work, and she readies herself for preschool and soon Pre-K.