Weed Whacked Mama

Ok, so I was brave enough to go back to the naked spa for a second trip. Actually, I wasn't scared at all this time. I was perfectly relaxed and looking forward to an evening de-stressing in the sauna and bubble baths.

I was all prepared and ready to let go...until I was in the dressing room taking off my clothes. I just happened to get a glance of myself in the mirror. I was horrified. It wasn't my scarred up C-section belly or the lumps and bumps that made me gasp...No it was something much worse, and there was nothing I could do about it. And it was something I had complete control over! I had only managed to shave half of my girly bits.

Yes, I was lopsided and it was just at that moment that I remembered what had happened. When I was in the shower the kids were fighting, and in the middle of my task, I had to get out and settle the dispute. I guess I just ended up getting dressed and forgot. Typical.

So here I was at this fancy naked spa with my mother-in-law no less, no razor in sight and I had no where to hide, I was a freak of nature. I thought to myself, it could be worse, but as I began to scan the crowd I realized I would stand out like a mangy dog. I sat in the first sauna facing the door that looked into the showers, in desperate hopes that I would see other misfits like myself. No such luck, everyone had perfectly manicured lawns and I looked like weed whacker gone wrong.

Thankfully I was able to wrap in my towel most of the time, but there were moments when there was no hiding. Like when I climbed down into the hot tub. It was like walking down the cat walk, everyone starring up at you...naked. I could see on the women's faces they noticed. Women check out other women, especially naked!

Oh well, no one is perfect, I thought to myself. And I had to let go of the embarrassment or I would ruin a very rare evening without the kids to wind down. So I climbed into the bubble baths and saunas proudly. I was a mother and I deserved this evening, butchered and all. And who knows maybe I started a trend. As soon as I arrived at my home, I went straight to the bathroom...and put a disposable razor in my purse!!!

Mama gets her face lifted...

Last weekend for my birthday, my sister-in-law and I decided we would treat ourselves to a facial at the Beauty Center in a vacation park we were staying at in the south of Holland. The night before we had found a brochure for the many different treatments the spa offered. It was in Dutch so I only really understood the words massage and collagen, but no matter, I was sure it was all about relaxation.

At first, I was a little relectant to get a treatment because I was trying to save money, but of course I talked myself into it. I never get to do these things and this would be the first time I would have a facial in Europe. I had one in America just before I moved here and I remembered how much I loved it. So that was that, my sister-in-law booked us a facial treatment.

So I walk into the room and I met the lady who is going to give me the 60 minutes of relaxation. I could hardly wait. One whole hour someone was gonna massage my face and make me all relaxed. The only problem was I could't undertand a word she was saying.

She introduced herself and I suddenly relaized that she was speaking a funky dialect or maybe even Flemish. I couldnt even tell you what the girl's name was, but it didnt matter to me. Then she wouldn't talk to me and I could have peace.

It all started off perfectly, got a cleanse and she rubbed some smelly stuff in to my face. Then she asked me the strangest question: If I would like my eyebrows plucked? Or at least this what I thought she was saying, so i said OK. Matter of fact, everything she said to me I just said OK. I had no idea what I was agreeing to.
She plucked away and plucked away. I thought to myself ok, this was not what I was expecting but hey maybe this is how they do things in Europe. A little pain in the beginning to really appreciate the relaxation. So once she stopped plucking, she put a steamer on my face and once again said something, God knows what.

There I sat in a chair my eyebrows throbbing and my face sweating like a pig. definately not what i expected but I think I had 30 more minutes at that point. I would take whatevr I could get.

So she comes back into the room lies me flat in the chair and blindfolds me with round makeup remover pads. She said something again and I said Ok. The next thing I knew a needle was being injected underneath my eye. Holy shit I thought, I must have just agreed to Botox. I felt her take the needle out and then wipe with a cloth. And I felt a lot of pressure. I was freaking. I had just got an injection, it had to be. And ebfore I knew it she was sticking a needle in the cornor of my eye. Same procedure. I was speechless.

Then she started mashing zits on my face. All the time I was thinking ok, I am gonna have one Botoxed eye and red zit pits all over my face, this was unbelievabel, what a stress. So she lifted the chair up and got the mirror out to show me her work. At first I was afraid to look but I knew I had to face my own stuidity of not speaking up and stopping the madness.

I was so relieved when I looked into the mirror to see that in fact I didnt have one swollen up eye. There was no Botox. Apparently she used a needle to pop under the skin zits. It wasnt a facial, it was a zit popping treatment! Thank goodness I was relieved, but I still didnt get my 60 minutes of relaxation. Oh well...at least I am zit free!!

Part-time mama

When I went back to work after having my second child, a friend of mine asked me a painful question: How did I like being a part-time mama? I felt knives through the heart every time I rolled the new title around in my head. I was working. I was leaving my kids, part-time with a daycare. She was right...I was a part-time mama.

I kept this title for myself for quite some time...until I realized it was bogus (I know I am showing my age with this term). But it was. In fact, I was not a part-time mama at all. I worked part-time and my kids went to daycare for 3 days a week, but I still worried, thought, worried, cried, arranged things and worried ALL of the time.

Matter of fact, because I work part-time I have to do double the housework because the Baby Daddy thinks since I work part-time I should do even more since he works full-time. Plus, I have more time for doctor appointments, shopping and any other things in between. So it didn't take me long to see that I would be better off working full-time.

And at work I am beginning to notice I tend to over compensate for just being there half of the week. I often stay later and push myself to do more and more because I feel guilty for being there only part-time. And in between poopie diapers and snotty noses, I worry, think and worry and worry about work. I know neurotic and probably doesn't make sense, but once again it's a mother's guilt. Work used to be my only child.

Most importantly, I realize no matter how far away I am from the rug rats, they are in my heart full-time. The good. The bad. And the poopie. There is no such thing as a part-time mama. Just like I learned there is no such thing as a part-time job. After becoming a mother, it's all or nothing, in everything a mother does!
 

Mama will protect you...from the Muppet

I just read the most disturbing thing, Sesame Street is going to introduce a hungry Muppet. A muppet whose family has food challenges. Food challenges...on Sesame Street. When I was a kid I loved watching the show because it was so far away from reality with its furry creatures and funny screwball ways to learn my ABC's. I loved the innocence and maybe I am a bit naive, but I want the same for my kids.

I agree with the concept and fully support the idea that kids should be made aware of these things, but is Sesame Street really the place. Sesame Street creates a safe warm and fuzzy place for kids and introducing this topic to a 3 year old will cause the warm fuzzies to maybe become anxiety. Why can't we just let kids be kids and not put so much pressure on them to be good citizens and the perfect human being.

 Why cant they just learn to count how many cookies Cookie Monster eats and that the letter P is for Potato and not poverty?

Red neck Mama in the Hood

 Saw this bike parked in front of an apartment on my street. Guess there are red neck mamas all over the world, even in culture rich Amsterdam.You know you are desperate when you duct tape a plastic container on the front of your bike. Red neck mama can buy a $30 wind screen but not a $5 basket to go on the front of her bike. Wonder what the child's seat under the plastic trash bag is made out of...maybe its an old high chair, sawed off and duct taped on...gonna take a peek next time...

Mama's Night Out...

Mama: I walked into the cafe, heads were turning, I could feel eyes watching me as I took off my jacket to reveal a newly trimmed down sexy, curvy figure, only a mother can have. Out of my peripheral I could see I got the attention of a young stud sitting with his buddies just trying to act like he wasn't paying attention to me. I turned my head ever so slightly so the candlelight would highlight my best feature and lure him in even more. Maybe he would even come over to talk to me, and I would chat for a while and then casually mention I needed to get back to my darling family. He would openly display his disappointment while complimenting me on how wonderful I look for having two kids, and of course saying the Baby's daddy was a very lucky man. I would blush slightly (men apparently love blushed cheeks, Playboy uses this trick) and sexily put on my jacket, leave the cafe with the wind tousling my hair ever so seductively and hop on my Moeder bike and peddle off into the moonlight...Poor guy.

Young stud: Oh my God, the crowd is getting older and older in this place. Look what just walked in the door, Grandma. And oh my god, look at the way she is taking off her jacket. Oh my God, I just puked in my mouth. She has more chins than the Chinese phone book and look at those gigantic breasts...around her knees. Oh my god, and she keeps looking over here at me. Please god don't let her cougar up and come talk to me. Puke in my mouth again. She just turned towards me and oh my god...granny boobs...Oh thank god she is leaving, how annoying she keeps glancing at me..yuck. Oh and no surprise she has two baby seats on her bike...well guess she's got two grand kids.

Pregnant woman in corner: Look at this poor lady that just walked in. Look at those bags under her eyes, I bet she has kids. And look at that shirt. Poor lady, someone should tell her. Her friend should tell her. I would tell my friend. I would never let myself go that badly, even after 20 babies. Oops, just felt a kick. Aww, baby agrees. What a perfect baby, poor lady...

Lesbian at opposite table: Wow fresh meat walking in...false alarm. Maybe 10 years and 20 pounds ago...

Drunk old fart at the door: Yummy, its looking good for me tonite!

Mama Got Drunk

For the first time in a year, I went to the "baby" store, you know one of those stores that is the mecca for all expecting mothers. It wasn't like I HAD to go there, but I wanted to buy some new socks for the kids. I know, I could probably get socks anywhere in the world besides a baby store. I could have even gone to the supermarket and bought socks, but I felt this gravitational pull towards the "baby" store.

So I am walking around, looking at the the big bellies and baby buggies, lost in my own oblivion. It was like I couldn't think straight, like I was walking in a foggy forest full of expecting mommies and newborns. Awww, I could smell the sweet smell of baby bath and lotion, I became more intoxicated with each whiff. I began to pat my own recently slimmed-down-but-still-fat belly. I could remember the first time I felt Luca kick and Charly do one of her somersaults. I was drunk. I was drunk with baby fever. I had to get out before I was buying booties and the birth control pills were flushed down the toilet...

I somehow got out of there with my little angels in tow and mission accomplished...socks for all. But I couldn't shake the baby bliss buzz that I had...what if I just had one more, it wouldn't be so bad...right. My baby is almost potty trained and Luca starts pre-school in a few months...just one more, its only one more...

And just as I was about to call the babys' daddy to test he waters...I see a plume of projectile vomit come from the back seat into the passengers seat...and another...and another...regurgitated bananas everywhere. Charly was covered, the car seats looked like a snail fight and I had to pee so badly that I couldn't hold it any longer...Sobriety...Nope, ten birth control pills when we get home.