Resolutions from an Expert

Only once have I kept a new year’s resolution but I had to make the same resolution two years in a row for it to stick. That said, because most resolutions fail and because I did manage to keep flossing long past the one year mark, I do feel like a little bit of an expert on resolution making.

While it is advisable to stick to a very small list of resolutions, I, being a resolution expert (ask my dentist if you don’t believe me), have compiled a longer list for myself.

Sheri's List of Resolutions:

• Eat less candy
• Buy less candy
• Don’t feel obligated to eat all candy that was previously bought
• Eat less chocolate
• Buy less chocolate
• Don’t feel obligated to eat all chocolate that was previously bought
• Make new and exciting meals for my family on a regular basis
• Try not to get upset when family hates new and exciting meals that I have made for them
• Stop buying every hair product on the market that promises a silky sheen
• Be willing to throw out all previously purchased hair products that do not provide silky sheen promised on the package
• Show husband that I appreciate him every day (because I do)
• Pretend that I think husband is right about something every day (because he would totally fall for that)
• Stop swearing behind the wheel (because my children will not believe that “mother trucker” is a term of affection for fellow drivers indefinitely)
• Try to do at least .4 percent of the things I pin on Pinterest.
• Blog at least once a week

I realize that this is a very ambitious list, but that’s just the kind of person I am.


*UPDATE*

The new year is about happiness (which is why people say happy new year) and happiness is very strongly tied to self-esteem. This is why it is very important not to set oneself up for failure by setting unattainable goals. As such, here is my slightly revised list:


Sheri's List of Resolutions:

• Do not miss any episodes of Grey’s Anatomy
• Try to finish all chocolate  and candy in the house in anticipation of next year’s resolution
• Blog sometime

(Happy new year!)

A Journey of Self Discovery (or Why Unpacking My Closet is Like an Archeological Dig)

We moved last week. This has been a journey in self-discovery similar to what I imagine Anaïs Nin, Thoreau, Pi and Britney went through. The following are my revelations.

Things I’ve learned about myself while unpacking:

1. I am under the impression that chain belts are going to come back in style. Also shiny spandex running pants.

2. I had no idea whatsoever that the VHS tape might one day be obsolete

3. If you and I ever dated, I probably have a pair of your socks

4. I apparently thought that labelling computer disks was for suckers

5. I have enough slightly used hair products and gifts-with-purchase lipsticks to open a specialty store

6. I have an unconscious desire to start a business refurbishing old Bic pens

7. I will eat chocolate that is older than both of my children.

8. I have never worn anything I’ve bought at H&M

9. If we are friends, there is 67% chance that I have a signed and sealed birthday card for you that I forgot to mail

10. I have a tough time throwing things out

"Mommy it's An Emergency!" or Why Potty Training is a Lifestyle Choice

When one of my Facebook friends announced her pregnancy on Facebook, among the usual congratulations in the comments section was a piece of advice from a friend of hers advising her to potty train her older child as soon as possible before the arrival of the new baby. Because I don’t know that commenter (commentator?) and because I haven’t seen the aforementioned Facebook friend anywhere other than Cyberspace in 20 years (when we were both 4), I decided not to get into it with her friend, but I have been thinking about a way to get the message across that this is a terrible, terrible idea ever since. Obviously my only choice was to write a blog post (I wish there were a way to send private messages over the interweb-- someone should really invent that).

Potty training is not the hard part. Anyone who tells you it is has not finished potty training and/or has a kid who still wears pull-ups (or one of those really smart but hard-to-train cats). I wish someone had warned me ten months ago when I made the fateful decision to throw out all of Benji’s diapers that having a potty trained toddler or preschooler is a lifestyle choice. So as a favour to my Facebook friend and to any other parent who has not yet made the terrible mistake of introducing their child to the toilet, here is a handy list of things I wish someone had told me.

1. You will never again be able to make plans that don’t involve stopping at multiple public bathrooms.  

2. You will need to find clean, reliable, stroller-accessible public restrooms near the park, public pool and halfway between your house and anywhere you plan to go in the stroller. Or the car.

3. Every sink will be too high and automatic toilets are the most terrifying things ever. Stay away from those.

4. You will never again make it to the front of a very long line-up. You will make it most of the way and then there will be a bathroom emergency thus forcing you to leave your spot. Forget Toys R Us the week before Christmas. It will never, ever happen.

5. You will spend much time kibitzing on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night as your child will soon learn that while you will say no to providing middle-the-night entertainment, you are willing to hang out indefinitely when nature is (allegedly) calling.

6. The minute you sit down to any meal, nature will call. Usually twice. Three times if you are in a busy food court.

7. Same goes for car trips and haircuts if you are foolish enough to bring your child to one of those.

8. The only thing that could possibly make having a potty trained preschooler less convenient, is having a potty trained preschooler and a baby.

9.  Seeing you nurse your baby is always a sign to your older child that it's time to use the bathroom.

10. You will be faced with the choice of whether to put your younger child on the floor of a public bathroom or force your toddler to wipe his own behind.

11. You will spend a great deal of time breastfeeding in public bathrooms while waiting for your older child to do his business (should you still to choose to leave the house).  One day you will continue to breastfeed while pulling up your older child’s pants and washing his hands. You will not care that other people are staring.

12. There is nothing more appealing to a young child than the sanitary napkin disposal.

13. Once your younger child is old enough to stand or walk, he will use this newfound freedom to crawl under the stall door. Because who wouldn’t really?

So what’s my advice? Wait. Wait until your preschooler is old enough to get onto the toilet, do his own wiping and reach the sink. If you have two kids, wait until your baby is old enough to stand up nicely while you attend to child 1. Maybe you can just potty train both of them together. Or if you wait long enough maybe they will train themselves--or better-- eachother.

Trite and Maudlin

I haven’t been updating my blog lately -- partially owing to sheer exhaustion (I have one of those non-sleeping-babies-- one of the 2011 models every one has been trying to get their hands on) and partially owing to a weird case of writer’s block that has to do with only wanting to write serious, sentimental posts. And because my blog is titled Trying to Find My Funny, I don’t want my tens of readers to be disappointed. So perhaps I should just start a sister blog entitled Trite and Maudlin (Overtired and Stupid is another title I have been toying with). Anyway, I will try to get back to funny ASAP but the following is a letter that I wrote to Benji last night after his pre-preschool graduation (yeah, that’s right). To be honest, it wouldn’t have been that hard to make it funny, but in this instance I was going for sincerity as this letter was written primarily for me and of course, for Benji. That being said, I am happy to post it for the other saps who might be lurking among us. If you are not a sap (or at the very least a mother), stop reading here. Really. I would like to be able to look you in the eye the next time I see you.

Here it is:

Dear Benji,

Today was your preschool graduation. Actually, that’s a lie. It was your pre-preschool graduation because you are going back next year. So really, it was just the last day of your first year of school. It was the last day of your first year of school. How did that happen?

Soon there will be a mess of graduations that are going to be hurled my way faster than I can stand to think about as you metamorphose into a “grown up man” (the kind that can use knives and chew gum and have as many big dogs as he can fit into his grown-up-man-house)(which will be adjacent to mommy and daddy’s house, obviously) which is why today I am a little (read: very) weepy when I think about how adorable you looked in your little cap and man-shirt at your pre-preschool commencement ceremony.

I am so proud of you, my sweet boy. You are funny and affectionate and kind and musical. You speak in rhyme and in song. You dance for no reason (the “hockey dance” is currently my favourite) and you are the slowest walker I have ever met. You hold your baby sister’s hand in the stroller and you like to point out when she is being cute (or doing something wrong--- “No, Aviva, no!” are words we hear with some frequency).

You are loving and open -- declaring different friends to be “your favourite guy” after a fun time in the park or  at school. You love soccer (but hate the idea of someone taking the ball away from you) as well as baseball-- despite never having seen, nor played, a game.

You are smart. You have known the alphabet and have been able to identify all your letters and numbers since long before you were two. You learned our phone number on the way to school one morning. You are learning to spell and you remember names and stories and people. You are so smart.

You are shy around “big kids” as well as big groups of kids but are happy to charm any adult, regaling them with anecdotes, puns and knock knock jokes. You pick out your underwear every morning by laying out an “underwear buffet” though you will take off whatever underwear you painstakingly chose the moment you somehow get wind of the fact that “Thomas on the bum” is clean. You are currently in bed happily telling stories to yourself  so loudly that I can hear you through the door and across the hall.

You still love to hold my hair just as you did when you nursed (just over 2 years ago) and you still suck your fingers just as you did on the day you were born (just over three years ago). You like to cuddle and listen to stories and give hugs. When you sleep you still look like my baby. You always smell like my baby. But you are growing up.

The day you were born was the happiest day I had ever had and since then the days have been even happier. I am glad that my heart is one of those new burstproof models, otherwise it would have blown to pieces years ago.

Benjamin Bunny, next year is your last year of preschool. And before I know it, there will be another graduation.

I want this year to go by slowly. I want all the years to go by slowly. I love being your mommy and as much as I will love, adore, be amazed by, the next version of you, I need you to know how crazy I am about three-year-old you and how much I am going to miss that guy.  

Happy pre-preschool graduation Bunny. I love you.

On Hating Haircuts (or why I need to invest in a Flowbee)

I think there were about ten minutes in the mid-nineties that I wasn’t either growing out my bangs or deciding whether to cut bangs. I am currently doing both (as my longish side bangs are so annoying that I am trying to decide on the easiest way to end the misery).

This is not to say that I have never liked my hair. I had a good two year run with one stylist whose personality did not make the cut (wow. I’m so sorry) but more often than not, I’m either committed to a mediocre stylist whose personality I love or I’m bouncing from stylist to stylist like a crack addict with memories of that one awesome haircut that worked and the high the came with it. Though in the interest of full disclosure, I will also admit that sometimes it’s not my hair that’s the real issue--it's my face. I have had several haircuts (including, but not limited to the one that I am currently sporting) that would look awesome if I had someone else’s face.

I am not a cutter or a substance abuser or someone who engages in extreme (or team) sports, but I have been recklessly using Groupons for haircuts lately, my logic being why pay $100  for the same cut you can hate for $15.00? My husband thinks that I’m cheap and that I’m getting what I pay for. That said, he also claims not to notice any difference between haircuts. Ever. If this is in fact true, it’s kind of sad for him because when I do get that perfect cut, he won’t be able to revel in the joy that I am imagining accompanies a good haircut. I might not even invite him to the I-have-the-exact-right-amount-of-layers party.*

I feel like a big issue with my recent (10+ year) run of bad haircuts has a lot to do with communication. However, because I happen to be an excellent communicator (obviously) I have narrowed it down to two possibilities--either the stylists I’m dealing with are hard of hearing or the music they play at salons is just too loud. I mean what other reason is there to explain the fact that when I say “no layers”, the stylist hears “ ‘mo layers!”  Or when I say  “just a trim” she hears “short, like him” or if I say “just a bit off the back” she hears “if you don’t cut a big chunk off the front, I might have a heart attack!” So my next step is to stop frequenting salons that play music**.  

The crazy part is that I have easy hair and I’m not at all adventurous -- my hair has never been cut above my shoulders, dyed, permed or even highlighted which is why I have to get this issue under control NOW. I’m not sure how much time I have left before the grey sets in, but I need to find someone who can cut my hair before I venture into the scary and exciting world of colour.***

In the meantime, the longer this issue goes on, the more empathy I have for fellow sufferers- the most famous being Britney Spears****, who you may remember was so unhappy with a lousy haircut back in February 2007 that she shaved off  all her hair and immediately suffered a breakdown. Though I hear that it’s grown back quite nicely-- maybe I should find out who cuts her hair (and whether he accepts Groupons.)




*Extravaganza

**And to stop using stylists that can only communicate by reading lips without and interpreter who is fully versed in American Sign Language by my side.
***I can already hear how the conversation will play out “What? Dark brown? I thought you said you wanted a colour that you can see across town”.
****Or possibly, Sinead O’Connor

On Hating Cell Phones (or why yes, I *am* a 75-year-old woman)

I remember staying home sick from school one day when I was in the third or fourth grade, lying on my parents’ bed and watching a fashion show from the future on Donahue. I don’t remember much about the show other than models dressed in flashy metallic jumpsuits (so similar to the ones we all wear now....how did they know?) and a woman pulling a phone out of her handbag while the announcer talked about how the future would be communication-driven and that everyone would have a portable phone. I looked at the phone  (attached by a cord to the model’s handbag) and was pretty skeptical. The idea of a purse phone seemed just about as likely as the realization of my fantasies of having a TV in the car or my brother being abducted by aliens.

Surprisingly (given that I had been given so much time to prepare, thanks to my friend Phil Donahue), I was the last of my friends to get a cell phone. It happened one day when a friend marched me into a store, told me that I was unreachable and that I had to get with the times. Because said store was offering a free phone for signing up with a plan (I love free so much that I signed up for 3 different Visa cards in undergrad just for free oversized T- shirts) I signed up. For a three-year plan. And, as luck would have it, my work gave me a Blackberry later that month (also free) so quite quickly I went from being a tech loser with no cell phone, to being a tech loser with two cell phones.

I am a terrible cell phone owner. It took me 2 years to learn my phone number. I leave it in my purse for days at a time. It rarely has any charge (please refer to “purse for days at a time”) and I will not give you my number unless there is a very good reason (ie. we are married or you have temporary possession of my child).  If you do have my number and venture to use it, you will likely be met with a voicemail message warning you not to leave a message because I don’t check messages (my plan came with free voicemail so obviously I had to take it).

I do use my cell phone-- it’s great for calling to say that I am running late or for calling my husband to see why he is running late. But I still have as many reservations as the average tech savvy 75-year-old.

Most importantly, I think that they are dangerous. They cause accidents on the road (I suspect a drunk driver and texter have the same level of skill and awareness). They cause brain tumours and brain cancer (okay, this hasn’t been conclusively proven, but I I’ve read enough studies and compelling arguments to believe it- particularly in the case of children who start using cell phones at a young age). I will remind you that even people as learned and earnest as TV doctors used to say that cigarettes were safe too.

I also think that they make us rude. It’s entirely normal to pick up a phone call during a meal or while out with a friend (or your wife). People text while others are talking to them. People speak loudly on the bus, in the airport, in stores invading everyone else’s space and comfort level.

Cell phones make it free for our in-laws to call us from anywhere, any time of day or night with their ludicrously cheap plans (which would be annoying for people who don’t like hearing from their in-laws as much and as often as I enjoy hearing from mine).

I am also not comfortable talking on a cell phone (it doesn’t tuck behind my ear the way my home phone does) or touching someone else’s cell phone (I know you’ve had that Petri dish in the bathroom with you). But finally, I am not comfortable calling a call phone, which seems to be something I have to do more and more frequently as people ditch their land lines.

I don’t think that anyone needs to be reachable all the time. I don’t want you calling me when I am at the park with my kid and frankly, I don’t want to be calling you. I don’t like when you call me from the grocery store as you shop with screaming kids and announcements in the background as you tell me to “hold on” while you ask some dude about where the buttermilk can be located. Also, I am nervous calling you. I am nervous that you will pick up while you are driving or that my call will interrupt an important meeting (who hasn’t forgotten to turn off their cell phone during one of those?) and that I will somehow be blamed.

That being said, I do see the benefits of having a cell phone. I like to be able to call my husband to find out where he is or to tell him something important (read: important-ish). I like knowing that my kid’s school can get hold of me in an emergency (in theory- if I were to charge my phone) and I like having something to look at and play on when you are boring me (but hate when you do it when I am boring you).

I just don’t want cell phones to replace land lines until metallic jumpsuits replace jeans and sweaters (or until my brother is finally abducted by aliens). 

Someone please tell me how to make time slow down. Seriously.

Since the day Benji was born I’ve been sad because he’s growing up too quickly. Okay, I am obviously exaggerating. I didn’t start getting really sad until he was about 3 months old when I had to put away his tiny little newborn sleepers, hardly able to believe that my big three-month-old once fit into them. I realized then that even though 6 p.m grocery store line-ups and morning meetings that are still going strong past noon seem to take forever, they actually don’t. Nothing does. Time goes more quickly the older you get (don’t believe me? Think about how long a two-hour car trip used to take when you were six) and I know that soon-- too soon-- I will be one of those weirdos who stops people with babies on the street to tell them to enjoy every second because of how quickly they grow up. I know that I will blink and my kids will be grown-up people making excuses not to have to see me (please God don’t let this happen--please let my children live next door because they can’t live without me)(or at the very least let them have me on speed dial).

The thing is that it’s hard not to mentally rush things-- you look forward to your child sleeping through the night and learning to walk and run and speak and read and he does all that stuff and it’s the best, cutest stuff ever and then he is asking to learn to drive and before you know it he doesn’t want to cuddle with you or kiss in public and then he tells you that he is bringing someone else to the prom. Sad stuff.

At least once a day I remind myself to enjoy a moment. It can be a moment when 2-year-old Benji old and 4-month-old Aviva are holding hands while Aviva nurses or when Benji is singing the ABCs at the top of his lungs while simultaneously clapping and marching though the kitchen or when sweet Aviva is sleeping on me, her warm little body splayed out on my chest as she periodically sighs contentedly. Even in those moments I know that too soon they will be sepia memories (was it Benji or Aviva who used to march through the kitchen while singing ABCs? How did Aviva get the cat to hold her hand while she was nursing? ) but I don’t know how to make them last. I don’t know how to make time go more slowly (other than spending all of our time in meetings with my colleagues). Every day I find myself tucking Benji in or feeding Aviva at 3 a.m. and I realize that my babies are one day farther away from me.

It’s not that I don’t want my kids to grow up, I just want it to take longer. I want more spit up in my hair and diapers to change and play dough under my finger nails. I want more wet kisses and middle of the night cuddles and for bubbles to stay amazing for a while longer. I want to always be able to kiss any pain away. I want to be the protector and confidante and best friend for twice--no-- ten times as long.

Recently I was in a store while Benji was sucking on his fingers and an older woman came to tell me that her daughter used to do the same thing. I asked how she got her to stop and she told me that the daughter did it until she was ten, but in secret. Then she lowered her voice and said that she’d better watch what she says because her daughter is in the store. She also added that her daughter is now in her fifties but that she didn’t want to embarrass her. This gray-haired woman hasn’t sucked her fingers in over forty years but in her mother’s mind it was just last night that she snuck into her bedroom and pulled her fingers out of her mouth as she slept.

The reason those crazies stop you in the street to tell you that time goes quickly and to enjoy every second is because it’s true. I know that too soon I will be looking back at this post* and ten or twenty years will have passed and my heart breaks a little just thinking about that.

*Well, that’s assuming this Internet thing is still going strong. I don’t know about you, but I think that it might just be a fad.