Growing Old Gracefully

It was my birthday last Thursday.  Do you remember telling people, “I’m eight and THREE QUARTERS,” lest they think you were only eight and a half, or worse yet, only eight?  I don’t do that anymore.  I’m much more secure than I was as a child.  I have no problem telling people my real age without any embellishments.  I have no reason to lie or pretend I’m a different age than I really am.
So, last week, I turned thirty-eleven.


I spent the day doing fun birthday-like activities.  For example, I emptied the dishwasher, did 6 loads of laundry, and washed my kitchen floor.  I don’t like to brag, but well, since it was my birthday, I guess it’s okay to admit that I also got to scrub the toilet. I know!  I can see you’re green with envy.

I even took a little money and splurged on a present for myself.  I bought a pair of used hockey skates in Jackson’s size.  Okay, so maybe they weren’t exactly for me.  But I got the skates from Play it Again and there are cute twenty-something year old guys who work there so it was sort of for me.  It’s okay (and not at all creepy) because I’m still twenty-something in my mind.

In fact, the the other day, I got in the checkout line at the grocery store with a bottle of wine.  The cashier asked me for my ID.  I said, all giddy-like, “Because I look under twenty-one!”  The cashier was supposed to say, “Why yes, yes you do!”  That is not, however, what he actually did say.  He laughed.  I don’t mean a good-natured chuckle either.  I mean a full-blown guffaw!  He snorted, he laughed, he wrapped his arms around his sides and doubled over.  His face turned red, tears streamed down his cheeks, and he made weird squeaky noises as he tried to breathe.  

Because his reaction wasn’t humiliating enough, my teenage daughter who was shopping with me,  joined him in the hilarity.  I left them clutching each other as they attempted to regain some semblance of control, grabbed my wine and walked to the door, their uproarious laughter trailing behind me.  As far as I know, they’re still laughing.

I rounded out my birthday evening by taking a good hard look at myself and deciding to simply accept my age.  After all, age is only a number, right?  I intend to grow old gracefully.  I’m not going to worry about the parentheses around my mouth or the crow’s feet under my eyes.  I’m not going to get discouraged when I need help getting off the floor after playing a game with my little kids.  Nope, I’m thankful for a reason to celebrate another birthday.  I’m thankful for my health.  I’m thankful for my six awesome kids who give me reasons to smile every day.  I’m thankful for, oops, my timer just went off.  Time to rinse the dye out of my hair.

Sunday Sound Out

From Chicago, where our rivers are green, people dress like leprechauns, and beer is the official sustenance, it's your host, the woman who just turned thirty-eleven, Dawn Meehan!

I don't really have any questions to answer this week. You guys have learned everything about me and no longer have anything to ask, I guess. :) So, instead, I'll tell you about my weekend.

On Friday, I realized that I'd lived in Chicagoland my entire life, but I'd never been to the St. Patrick's Day parade or the dyeing of the river, so I decided that the kids and I should take a field trip in the morning.

My alarm went off at 7:00. I looked at it, thought to myself, I don't really need to see the river dyed greened. I mean, it's pretty greenish year round, then I went back to sleep because I'm just that awesome and responsible. Half an hour later, Jackson woke me up and the lure of getting some cool pictures made me drag my butt out of bed.

We hopped on the L and began our trek downtown. I asked Clay if he thought we'd see any leprechauns. He looked at me deadpan, slowly blinked once, then responded as if explaining to a small, dim-witted child, "We might see some people dressed up like leprechauns, but we won't see any actual leprechauns because they're not real, Mom." I have got to remember to think twice before speaking to my kids. This is the reason kids think they know everything. This is the reason kids think adults are stupid. It's because we stay stupid things!

We got off the train and walked toward the river, following the sea of green shirts, green tights, green hats, green hair, green socks, green ties, green pants, and most importantly, green beer. We did meet a leprechaun (or a guy dressed up like a leprechaun). He didn't have a pot of gold, but he did have a glass of something gold, and judging by his staggering gait, it wasn't his first.

We made it to the water and fought our way through the crowd to see the boats speeding around the river, a beautiful, bright green in their wake.

Pretty cool, huh?

This is the point where the kids decided that although the green river looked awesome for the first five minutes we were there, it was too cold to hang around and admire it any longer.

We started walking back to the L when we spotted someone's toupee on the ground. Granted, it was really windy on Saturday, but how do you not notice your hair flying off?

We passed a cab with five air fresheners hanging from the rear view mirror. I was really thankful we were walking and didn't need a cab. (Don't mind me, Mr. Cab Driver. I'm just taking a picture of your collection of pine freshener freshness.)

We made our way back through the crowd of people who were well into celebration mode despite the fact it was 11:00 a.m., and we hopped on a train headed toward home. Two seconds into our return trip, the kids commented, "It smells like pee on here!" Yep, the kids not only got to see the river dyed green, but they also learned that St. Patrick's Day is a drinking holiday.

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I'll be doing most of my blogging over at Babble.com now, but don't worry, I'll post here and link to it every time I update over there. You can check out my blog on Babble here! I'm so excited to be blogging over there. If you aren't familiar with Babble, check it out; it's a great, informative, entertaining website! And Lisa Belkin who writes the Motherlode blog for the New York Times was instrumental in getting me hooked up with the folks at Babble, so my heartfelt thanks go to her! Right now, Lisa is laid up with not one, but TWO badly broken ankles. I know! Can you imagine not being able to even hobble around on crutches? I don't know what I'd do if that happened to me! So, head on over to Motherlode and offer her up some well-wishes.

My New Job!

I am sooooo excited to announce that I have officially joined the team of awesome bloggers over at Babble.com! I'm really honored to have been offered a job blogging there and I hope you'll all head over and read what I (and a few other talented bloggers) have written. Here's my first post. Please go leave me a comment so I'm not all sad and lonely there.

I’m so thrilled to be blogging at Babble, but I feel a little like the new kid in school among all these esteemed bloggers.  So, at the risk of sounding like a lame Facebook meme, let me stand up in front of the class and tell you a bit about myself.


1.  My name is Dawn.  People call me Dawn.  Or Mom.  But that’s mostly just my kids.  Or Shawna.  That’s a Ferris Bueller line.  I quote random movies regularly just to see who’s on the same page with me.  Hmmm, I wonder if Charlie Sheen was winning back when he was in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

2.  It’s been 75 minutes since I did a load of laundry.

3.  I have six kids.  Yes, I know what causes it.  Yes, there’s a reason why I have six; it’s because I didn’t want seven.

4.  I’m recently divorced from a man who quit being a father a year and a half ago.

5.  I have an unnatural fear of vomit. Seriously, when one of my kids throws up in my house, I move to another state.

6.  I’ve written two books, Because I Said So (and Other Tales from a Less-Than-Perfect Parent), and You’ll Lose the Baby Weight (and Other Lies About Pregnancy and Childbirth). I’m thinking about writing a single mom’s survival guide next.  Or maybe I’ll write a book about Hawaii because that would probably take a considerable amount of research on the island.

7.   I hate the sound of styrofoam and balloons, I love to buy shoes, but I hate to wear them, I have enough bath/shower products to open my own Bath & Body Works, and I always step on the scale at least 3 times in a row just in case the number was wrong and I really weigh 20 pounds less than the first two readings because I’m insane.

8.  I can’t live without my cell phone, freshly laundered sheets, coconut, rum, and oxygen.

9.  I was born in Chicago and have lived thereabouts my whole life.  I love the city, but passionately hate the weather.  And the traffic.  And the weather (yes, I hate it that much).

10.  A disturbing amount of people land on my blog after googling “bat poop”.  I’m not sure why since I don’t recall ever writing about guano.

11.  I’m addicted to coffee.  I tried giving it up once, but the uncaffeinated version of me scared my coworkers and they begged me to ingest some sort of caffeine.  After about a week, I started drinking coffee again and eventually, they gave me my scissors back.

12.  I don’t do math or mornings.

13.  I can’t spell privilege, amateur, or turquoise.

14.  My kids have taught me that eating blue popsicles turns your poop neon green, no matter how long you leave the freezer door open, it will never turn the water on the kitchen floor into an ice rink, and toddlers actually can subsist on chocolate milk and ketchup for a week.

15.  I’m a horrible procrastinator.  I have a hard time finishing pretty much every. . .

Score Another One for Brooklyn

"Can I have some ice cream, Mom?"

"No, Brooklyn. Eat your dinner if you want dessert."

"But I'm not hungryyyyy!" she whined as if I was force feeding her liver and onions instead of asking her to eat the quarter of a hamburger I'd given her.

"If you're not hungry enough to eat dinner, then you're not hungry enough for ice cream," I said, full of brilliant mom wisdom.

"Fine!" Brooklyn huffed, crossing her arms over her chest to make sure I knew exactly what she thought of my tyrannical dinnertime rules.

A few minutes later, as I was cleaning up the kitchen, Brooklyn showed me her empty plate. "Now can I have ice cream?" she asked.

"Did you really eat your hamburger?" I inquired, a little doubtful. I mean there had been three whole bites on her plate and I was having a hard time believing she'd eaten that much.

"Yes!" She insisted she'd eaten her dinner so I went ahead and scooped out a little ice cream for her.

Fast forward seven hours. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face and get ready for bed. Then I spotted it. . .

"Why is there a hamburger in the bathroom? Brooklyn!" I shook my head. She's an evil genius, I tell ya! She managed to find a way to eat ice cream for dinner! Do you have any idea how many years I've been trying to do that?! Score another one for Brooklyn.

If You're Hungry, Eat Your House

Clay cracks me up. Even when he's being mischievous, that kid makes me snort with laughter. I can't count how many times I've forced a stern look on my face when inside I want to high-five him for making me laugh.

Here's an art project Clay brought home from school the other day. They were learning about Abraham Lincoln for President's Day, so they made a log cabin out of pretzel rods. They were supposed to glue the penny to the window so it looked like Abe was looking out.



Except Clay glued the penny so it looks like the Lincoln Memorial is stuffed inside the log cabin.

"Hey Clay, what happened to your log cabin? It looks like it has suffered some significant termite damage."

"Huh?"

"It looks like someone has chewed through some of the logs in the cabin," I explained.

"Oh yeah, um, well, I was hungry."

"You know, we do have non-gluey pretzels here at home, hon."

"I didn't eat too much glue, Mom. See, I just ate the top part off the paper."

"Oh, well in that case. . ." I shook my head. "Remind me to pack you a snack for school tomorrow before you eat your crayons or something."



Then, Clay brought this gem home yesterday.



I looked at it and laughed. "The green dinosaur is eating the other guy's tail and he's looking back like, "DUDE! What are you doing?!"

Clay giggled and started singing, "It's raining BLOOD, hallelujah! It's raining BLOOD, hallelujah!"
Yep, he's perfectly well-adjusted.

But this morning, he presented me with this one when I first woke up.



Don't you adore those "I love you, Mom" drawings? For those of you who have young kids, appreciate those now because, I'm telling you, teens don't generally give you cute drawings that proclaim their undying love. Nope, teens tell you they love you when they want something - money, the car keys, a ride to the mall. . .

Your Ad Here!

Do you have an Etsy store? Are you a stay at home mom trying to make a little money with your own business? Do you want to get the word out about your business, but don't have a fortune to spend on advertising?

If so, consider advertising on my blog. Email me at dawn@dawnmeehan.com for information on my site rankings, traffic details, and pricing.

All the cool kids are doing it. Okay, maybe not all of them. Yet.

Share Your Breakfast

I attended a blogger event at Kellogg's last October. While I was there, I learned about the history of Kellogg's and their products. I was also able to ask questions about their products, what they're doing to go green, ways they're improving existing products, and how they're adding new, healthier options. (If you want to see pictures from the event, you can check out my Flickr stream here.)

I'm personally a big fan of cereal. I don't do mornings and cereal is something my kids can all fix for themselves. Plus, I know they're getting a lot more vitamins, minerals, and fiber than they would if they didn't have a bowl of cereal in the morning. My kids like stuff like Fruit Loops and Apple Jacks, but they also love Smart Start, Fiber Plus, and Low Fat Granola, as well as many Kashi cereals. I mix it up and give them some healthier cereals along with some fun ones. Moderation is key with us.

While I was at this cereal summit, Kellogg's asked us bloggers for some ideas of how to give back. They wanted to know what we thought people might respond to. We gave our input and the result is Kellogg's Share Your Breakfast program.

One in four kids live in homes where food isn’t always available. Although a full tummy can help kids get the most out of their school day, children living in food-insecure homes don’t always have access to breakfast. Even worse, communities across the country are increasingly forced to consider cutting state-funded school breakfast programs due to budget pressures.

Kellogg's is asking you to Share Your Breakfast between now and July 31, 2011 to help Kellogg’s and Action for Healthy Kids, a nonprofit organization that focuses on childhood obesity and undernourishment, share one million breakfasts with kids who need them most. And the best part – sharing your breakfast is as easy as taking a picture or sending a text.

Simply take a photo of your breakfast and share it at www.shareyourbreakfast.com or text your photo with the word “Share” to 21534. Each time you share a photo or description of your breakfast, Kellogg’s will donate the monetary equivalent of school breakfasts to Action for Healthy Kids.

This is something that's quick and easy to do. Snap a picture with your phone and text it. You can do that every morning, and you'll be helping to feed kids across the country!

Sunday Sound Out

I couldn't think of a good "From Chicago" line tonight, so I asked Austin and Savannah what I should write. This is what they came up with. . .

1. From Chicago, Chi town!

2. From Chicago, let's go fly a kite!

3. From Chicago, home of the wiener, I mean the macaroni, you know that thing outside Wrigley Field!

4. From Chicago, the town that's almost 99% lint-free!

5. From Chicago, the town that's rarely sticky!

6. From Chicago, Chicago!

7. From Chicago, where it's always cold. Except in the summer. Then it's hot. And the spring and fall are just right. Most of the time. I guess it isn't always cold after all.

Yeah, so anyway, from Chicago, it's your host, the woman who should know better than to ask her teens for help, Dawn Damalas Meehan! And now, here are the answers to your questions this week. Feel free to ask me your question at dawn@dawnmeehan.com.

You didn't answer my question about how many people visit your blog a day! I knew 2 or 3 silly woman!!!

I dunno. I think my average is somewhere around 6000 a day, but I have more than that who read my blog from an rss feed daily as well.

Have you ever got hate mail that was so lame/pathetic you found it funny?

Yup. In fact, these days, I find most hate mail amusing.

Holy Mackarel! Way to induce self-esteem at a young age! Can you imagine how that teacher would be crucified these days? [When I was Seven]

Yeah, that's probably true. Ridiculous, but true. Children are not so fragile that their precious self-esteem is going to be crushed beyond repair unless they're constantly coddled and made to feel like they're number one all the time. I mean, my attitude is far from Amy Chua's here, but still, I think a lot of parents go to extremes in making sure that nothing hurts their beloved children. Guess what; they're going to get hurt. And it's okay! Then you help them to deal with the hurt in healthy ways, learn from their experiences, and move on. I mean, look at me! I turned out perfectly normal even if I don't have pink eyes and long blond hair!

Remember those purple Xerox copies??? I don't even remember what that machine was called, but I remember that it SMELLED! And the kids would all smell the paper when we got fresh copies. Or maybe that was just the kids in my class. Copies were the gateway drug...

Oh yeah! The dittos! Who could forget that purple ink, the smell of pure alcohol, and the cold, damp feeling of the paper when it first came out of the machine?! Nothing like a classroom full of kids getting high off their dittos.

...Your post started me thinking though, what kinds of foods do you make for dinner? With 6 mouths to feed there's got to be things that each kid refuses to eat. Is there anything that everyone likes?

I've given up cooking. I just hook up an IV and feed them intravenously now. Seriously, all the kids are good eaters. Well, everyone, but Brooklyn, that is. They all eat pretty much whatever I make. Brooklyn eats, ketchup, chocolate milk, peanut butter, carrots, mac&cheese, and candy.

wow, by the other comments, this one will seem so off topic... but is the car in your picture a right hand drive?

I have no idea. If I don't have a picture of my own that I can use, and/or I'm too lazy to go take a picture, I use creative commons to find images for my blog.

A month or so ago, you were worried that you had no income and you didn't know how you were going to make it and now you're writing funny blog posts like nothing's wrong. What gives?

Didn't you hear? Everything is magically better now. <---That was sarcasm. I'm explaining because I'm not sure you'd grasp that otherwise.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about my circumstances. Not a day goes by that I don't feel sick to my stomach when I think about it. Not a day goes by that I don't hyperventilate a little and think, What am I going to do? Really, what on earth am I going to do? This is very real and very scary!

However, not a day goes by that I don't put on a happy face for my kids. Not a day goes by that I don't try to maintain a semblance of normality around here. Not a day goes by that I don't work my butt off toward my goals of being self-sufficient. It's been almost two months since my ex lost his job. I have no reason to believe he'll ever get another one since he makes cash under the table doing side jobs. He can take care of himself and not have to pay a penny of child support that way.

Yeah, my circumstances are still downright scary. But what am I going to do? Cry all day? Scare my kids? Give up? Or go on believing things will turn out okay, work to ensure that they do, to the best of my ability, and continue to see the good, the fun and the humor in every day? Yeah, I'll choose the latter every single time. So sorry to disappoint you, but I'm going to continue writing funny blog posts because laughter is the best medicine!

Have a great week, everyone! And remember, Tuesday is Pączki Day! Don't miss out on this most delicious of all holidays!

Campbell's Winner

The winner of the Campbell's Soup AdDress Your Heart apron, fleece, and heart healthy goodies is. . .

Random Integer Generator

Here are your random numbers:

8

Celestial said...

This is awesome, as many followers as you have, what a way to spread the word :)

Congratulations! Email me with your shipping details and I'll make sure this is mailed out right away. :)

I Stopped Short

I was driving to the store today when the light suddenly turned yellow. Now, ordinarily, I take that as a sign to punch it carefully proceed through the intersection. This time, however, I opted to stop. I have no idea what possessed me to do so, but I slammed on the brakes as my arm involuntarily shot out to prevent my passenger from flying out the windshield. The only problem is that there was no passenger. And even if there had been a passenger, my arm doesn't even stretch far enough across my van to touch the passenger seat, let alone span the width of it. Oh yeah, and then there's the fact that I'm reasonably sure my outstretched arm wouldn't, in fact, protect my passenger from being ejected from the vehicle. I could be wrong, but I don't think there have been any cases where a mother's arm saved a passenger when a seat beat and airbag couldn't.

I can just see the whole scene going down at the hospital. "How's my passenger, Doctor?"

"Well, Mrs. Meehan, you prevented your passenger from flying through the window with your arm spasm which is good. But you karate chopped their head off which is really, umm, not good."

Why do I do this wild arm-flinging, and more importantly, is there any way to stop it? I mentioned this on Facebook today and had many people comment how they do this out of a habit that started back in the days when there were no car seats, or even seat belts. I can understand that. I remember, as a kid, just lying around in the back of our neon orange Pinto station wagon. I can see where the MomArm Seat Beat was necessary. In fact, I distinctly remember when gates were first installed at toll booths. My dad was scared the arm was going to come down and crush the car before he had the chance to drive through the toll, so he whipped the coins at the basket and gunned it like he'd just heard, "Gentlemen, start your engines." My sister and I were flung to the back of the car where we were plastered against the rear door, looking much like the bugs on the windshield. But my kids have always been in car seats, so what's my excuse?

On Facebook, it was 99% moms who admitted doing this. I don't know if it's because I only have a couple male friends on Facebook, or if guys simply don't do this. Maybe men think it's the passenger's job to hold on. Or perhaps, they just can't concentrate on both driving and saving their passenger from going airborne. Maybe moms just have more practice honing their puma-like reflexes by wrestling diapers on toddlers, catching cups of milk in midair as they're knocked off the table, and maneuvering over Legos and Barbie shoes like a cadet hopping through tires in an obstacle course.

I guess I'll have to resign myself to karate chopping anyone in the passenger seat whenever I have to stop quickly. It's just one of those mom things, like licking your finger to wipe dirt off your kid's face, or holding out your hand for your child to spit their gum into it.

photo courtesy of CarlosLie's Flickr stream

Dinnertime

Dinner tonight was pretty much like every night at my house. In other words, it's a three-ring circus. I try to avoid having people over for dinner as much as possible because of the indigestion factor.

"Hey guys, turn off the TV and come eat!"

"Hey! Mom said to turn off the TV," Lexi whined which could only mean one thing - Jackson hit her/made a face at her/bugged her in any one of a thousand ways.

"Shut up!"

"You shut up! Mom said!" Then to me, "Mom, Jackson won't turn off the TV!"

"Shut up, Lexi! You're such a tattletale."

"Someone pour the milk and sit down," I instructed, ignoring the fighting.

"Ew! Why is the rice brown?"

"It isn't rice; it's risotto, duh!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"Do I have to eat?"

"No, you don't have to eat; you can go to bed instead," I offered.

"Can I just have a peanut butter sandwich?"

"Mom made dinner. It's chicken. Just eat it!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

I lost it and exploded, "Ohmygosh, I am so sick of hearing that word come out of your mouths. Knock it off!"

Austin piped up with his standard smart-butted-ness, "Um, it's more than one word, Mom."

I stared at him for a second.

Don't you hate it when the kids catch you saying something stupid? Something you know is stupid the second it comes out of your mouth? Something like, Close your mouth and brush your teeth. Or, Be quiet and answer me! Or, What on earth are you doing? as I'm looking directly at what they're doing.

There was only one response that was appropriate in this situation.

"Shut up, Austin!"

When I Was Seven. . .

I'm still cracking up over the many artistic masterpieces I created when I was little. Tonight, I'm sharing another gem I found in my box o' greatness from grade school. (Basically because I don't want to write a post about how many times my kids said the phrase, "Shut up!" tonight.)

So, here is a little booklet I made when I was in first grade.

No, I didn't do a bad job drawing my hair. This is what it really looked like.

This was pre-Dorothy Hammill (which really wasn't much of an improvement.) I still think my mom wanted a boy and was determined to make me look like one when I was a kid. But I'm happy as a clam (or a big floating head) with my purple eyes.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Damalas, you've given birth to a creepy old man with red vampire teeth."

I don't know if I really, truly liked my name as a child or if I (most likely) simply didn't follow the directions, and wrote my name twice.

Sigh. Yeah, some things don't change. It would be nice to be 17 and once again know everything.

Yes, I had big green eyes with red lashes, but what I really wanted were tiny pink eyes with red lashes.

Okay, what was this teacher thinking with all these, "I would rather look like this. . ." questions? I wonder how many kids got a complex after completing this assignment. Or maybe she did plastic surgery on the side.

My favorite sound is a chicken??? I was born in Chicago! I don't think I'd ever even heard a chicken when I was 7 years old! This is probably another case of Dawn not paying attention. I probably thought the question was, "What's your favorite food?" Either that, or I was just deranged.

Hmmm, this must have been a short-lived purple phase because my favorite color has always been pink. But let's take a closer look at this picture with the sloppy coloring. . .

Let's see, there's a unicorn, a flying fish, a giant foot with a head and top hat. . . Yep, I think this (along with every Sid and Marty Krofft show) proves that everyone was on acid in the 70s.

That is the worst drawing of The Dukes of Hazzard I've ever seen!