hot mess

Maternity Monday: Prego meltdowns-the best of 2010

So...blame it on prego brain or call it revisionist history, but I can't remember what my personality was like before I got pregnant.  Although I'm pretty sure I wasn't that emotional. Didn't cry that much. Didn't get that angry. Definitely didn't have that many meltdowns! Dare I go so far as to describe my pre-prego self as mostly calm, cool and collected? I mean, don't get me wrong, I definitely had my moments. But since becoming pregnant, woah, child! I've learned that I have the capacity to be one freakin' hot mess prego.

So in honor of my third trimester, here are three prego meltdowns that I'm not particularly proud of (in no particular order):

The Delivery Boy Destruction: Don't mess with a hungry prego!

I'd like to preface this by saying: Dear Mr. delivery guy of sub sandwich shop that shall remain nameless, if you are out there, I am very sorry for what you had to go through and if I could take it back, I would... Long story short, forty-five minutes after placing my order for a veggie sub, this hungry prego was pacing on her front porch, frantically searching for the headlights of the delivery truck. By the time the sub sandwich showed up (it took an hour and 15 minutes!), I'd officially lost my mind. Eyes bulging, hormones raging, face beat red, I called the manager from the delivery guy's phone and argued that he should give the sub to me for free. The manager said no so I held the delivery guy's phone hostage and said I wouldn't return it until he gave me my free sub. The poor guy just stared at me as if he was witnessing an exorcism. As my head spun around on my neck, I had visions of grabbing the sub, locking my front door and eating the sandwich in a heated rush before the prego police showed up to revoke my prego card and throw me in the loony bin. The hubs gently grabbed the delivery guy's phone from my hand and sent him on his way with the sub. As I watched the delivery truck disappear down the street and big wet tears fell down my cheeks, I knew it was one of the lowest points of my prego career.

Mint Chip Meltdown: Don't ef with a prego's cravings

Let's just say that since I've been with child, I've been rather territorial about certain food. And when the hubs polished off the last few spoonfuls of my beloved mint chip ice cream, you would've thought he'd told me I looked fat in my maternity pants. As I clutched the empty Breyer's ice cream container for dear life and thought about licking the remaining mint chip clumps off the lid, I began sobbing hysterically. Hubs offered to go to the store and get more but I stomped out of the kitchen like a five-year-old child throwing a temper tantrum and refused to let him go. I knew I was being ridiculous but I couldn't stop myself or the tears from flowing. I cried myself to sleep, wondering if the hubs would still love me in the morning. (He did.)

Christmas Card Catastrophe: humor the prego's neuroses

It was a few weeks before Thanksgiving. And you'd think I would've been worried about the fifteen family members I was having over, who was making the stuffing or if the turkey was going to be large enough for me (and everyone else). Nope. I was obsessing about our Christmas cards. I was nearly eight months pregnant and it dawned on me that if I gave birth a few weeks early, I'd *gasp*, never get my holiday cards out on time.  I knew I couldn't sleep that night until the cards were handled. As I hopped on Shutterfly and began desperately uploading photos and arranging them in the holiday card template, all hubs could do was roll his eyes.  He tried to be the voice of reason, explaining that we had plenty of time, but I couldn't stop. I was like a mad woman, determined to get the cards out not one minute later than December 1. And I made it! Well, until I came up 25 cards short and had to do a re-order. And we won't even get into what my mood was after that. *I'm sure you can take an educated guess*


Lisa, a.k.a, "hot mess prego"

Mommy Monday! Battle of the Sexes-Parent Edition

Welcome to CLIND's first ever MOMMY MONDAY! And to celebrate, we're giving away three copies of Kristin Hannah's latest release, WINTER GARDEN, a story about mothers and daughters.  Just leave a comment to enter! Today, I'm going to be bitching discussing how gender roles come into play when parenting.  Or in simpler terms, Why Daddy always gets to be the good guy.

I've always known that my husband was higher up on the fun-o-meter than me.  His willingness to act as a human submarine in the pool and ability to hold the children on his shoulders for hours were constant reminders.  And for the most part, I've always kind of accepted the fact that, well, the kids seem to like him better than me.

I've learned the hard way that cooking their food, purchasing their clothes and, oh, what was the other thing?  Oh yeah, GIVING BIRTH TO THEM just didn't hold the same weight as playing Chutes and Ladders twenty times in a row. Or that I didn't go on the pool slide as much as Daddy while vacationing in Maui.  Hmm, is this where I bring up that we WOULDN'T be on vacation if it weren't for Mommy?  Should I mention the hours Mommy spent scouring the internet for those legendary yet impossible to find internet travel bargains? (Well, I *might*  have squeezed in a little Facebook time too. But you see my point.)

Not that I don't spend quality time with the kids-I do.  In fact, nothing makes me happier than taking them to the Farmers market or reading their favorite books at bedtime.  But I'm never going to build structurally sound tent cities or Lincoln log houses the way my hubby does.  Just in the same way that he can barely operate the microwave and starts sweating the minute he's tasked to purchase items unsupervised at the store. (He learned the hard way why you don't purchase the fruit with the "manager's special" sticker on them!)

Don't get me wrong -I'm incredibly thankful that my husband is a wonderful father. I just wish we could share the glory from all of our hard work. Now I know how the Vice President must feel. Or that guy that only got to host American Idol the first year. Or the people who actually sang those Milli Vanilli songs.

So the next time my daughter tells me that I'm not fun like Daddy because I won't play Memory a third time, (Which, btw, is more due to an actual lack of memory than playfulness...) I'll show her this.  I like to call it my Mommies needs love too list.

  • I'm so happy that you and Daddy had fun playing superheroes all morning. It's too bad that Mommy's the one that needs to be burning  calories.  But the only running Mommy seems to do these days is into Starbucks when she's late for work.
  • I understand that you love playing  tee ball with Daddy in the backyard, but does he let you stir the cupcake batter or let you roll the homemade pizza dough like Mommy?  On second thought, Does Daddy even know how to turn on the oven?
  • Yes, it's so fun to play with Daddy in the pool for hours. But isn't it nice to have a Mommy doesn't look like a HOT MESS with her air-dried hair? And on that note, Did you see Mommy's belly button last time she wore a bikini? Not. Right. At. All. Mommy loves you so much that she was willing to give up ever feeling comfortable in a bathing suit ever again.
  • Thank you so much for reminding me that Daddy is PERFECT when I put you to bed last night. I'll try to keep that in mind the next time we receive a "special gift" for being such loyal customers to

xoxo, Liz

DVR Drama by Lisa

MoxiDVR Before I "shmoved" to Chicago, I lived alone for a really, really, really long time.

Did I mention it was a long time?

Well, when you're the only one under your own roof, you take certain things for granted. Like...

  • When you get home at the end of the day, the last half of your cheesecake is exactly where you left it.
  • Your clean clothes can sit in piles on your bedroom floor for as. long. as. you. want.
  • The DVR records all of YOUR favorite programs WITHOUT FAIL.

Well, let's just say #1 & #2 I can live with but #3, well, that's not negotiable. Because to put it mildly...

Momma needs her f***ing TV!

Back home in Cali, my DVR was a well-oiled machine, like a fine wine--aged to perfection. I'd spent a painstaking amount of time and energy getting it just right. From prioritizing my programs to making sure there was padding at the beginning and end of my favorite shows "just in case" there was a supersized episode-I'd done it all. I never missed a show. Not even a Jersey Housewives reunion. Until...

I cohabitated.

And since I shmoved in with my beloved future hubby, my DVR situation has become

one. hot. mess.

So far, I've missed..

  • The premiere of Grey's Anatomy (Yeah, I'm one of the six people who still watch!)
  • Several episodes of Project Runway! (Life just isn't whole without a weekly trip to Mood!)

The reasons for this DVR dilemma?

  • The definition of "important" television is a debate in our house. (I say anything that ends with a cliffhanger. He says anything that ends with ball.)

So cut to this past Sunday night.

All was right in the world. The kids were in bed, the refrigerator was cleaned out (don't ask!) and I was sitting comfortably on the couch ready to immerse myself in my own, little television world. A world where...

  • I see Matt's lips moving, but there is no sound.
  • My biggest stress is whether or not it will be an elimination round on the The Amazing Race.

Not so much.

Matt wanted to watch the Chargers game.

And my beloved future hubby's eyes glazed over when I tried to explain why he couldn't just switch over to channel 187. I had two programs recording at the same time! But wanting to be a good wifey-to-be, I dumped Melrose (I only wanted to find out if Ashley was a better actress than lip syncher anyway) so he could watch his ballgame. After, the TV karma gods would be looking out for me and all would be right in the world as I watched my shows, right?

Not so much.

When I turned on The Amazing Race, Instead of Phil Keoghan, I saw Andy Rooney!


According to Matt, who very patiently tried to explain this injustice as I cradled my head in my hands, the end of 60 Minutes had recorded so that meant I wouldn't get the entire episode of The Amazing Race!

But how would I know if those professional poker beeyotches made it through?

Matt slowly explained that this could be an ongoing problem because The Amazing Race may never fully record.


Because of the Central Time Zone. Because of football. And because of 60 Minutes. Long story short, football almost always runs late. 60 Minutes must run in its entirety.

No. Matter. What.

Or, as Matt put it, a bunch of blue hairs (and him) would revolt. So, even if I add padding to the end of The Amazing Race, if a football game goes into OT, I could be screwed. And forced to watch the show, the next day or online. Or worse...

in. real. time.

Gag. And screw you Andy Rooney for ruining my life!

But this is all part of saying, I do, right? Learning to be flexible and to deal with new situations. And learning to, er, compromise.

Um, not so much.

Well, at least not for now.

Not when it comes to my precious TV.

So in the meantime, while I come to grips with reality, I'm going to propose my form of a compromise.

A second DVR.