It’s good to be back home, sisters. New York City was, of course, a blast, and my children loved it more than I thought they would. When plans for the trip first came up a year ago, I thought, “Take my kids to Manhattan? And do what? Be terrified the whole time that one of them will get lost or stolen? No thanks.” I used to think of the Big Apple as an adults only kind of place. But I’ve been proven wrong. Enter stage left, my favorite story about our trip. I was disappointed that my four year-old daughter was completely uninspired by Eloise at The Plaza. I had expected a memorable mother-daughter day with lots of pink and tea, but when we arrived, she was like, “Yawn. Can we go?” Bummer. So instead, we hung around Pulitzer Fountain, across the street from The Plaza. This is where we spent most of the morning, and I wasn’t complaining. The weather was gorgeous, the crowd was good, and I had HUGE blisters on my heels from my yellow JCrew flats. No Band-Aids in the purse—big mistake. Needless to say, I rested my feet while my daughter chased pigeons and threw pennies into the splashing water of the fountain. I told her that when she was ready, we could go to FAO Shwartz (the most ridiculously expensive toy store in the world), but I had grown concerned. With my raw heels becoming more so with every step, I didn’t know how I would be able to manage walking much further in those shoes. Enter stage right, Bergdorf Goodman. “Hey, let’s go to Bergdorf real quick so Mommy can get some sandals that won’t rub blisters.” “But I thought we were going to the toy store.” “We are, darling. But first we’re going to Mommy’s toy store. When we’re done, we’ll go to yours.” We walked through the revolving doors and looked around, surrounded by lustrous marble and brass, designer handbags, fabulous accessories and snooty sales people. I glanced down at my daughter to find a look of wonder of her face—similar to Annie when she first entered Daddy Warbucks’ mansion. She took in a long breath and then let it out as she exclaimed, “Mommy! Your toy store is AMAZING!” My eyes welled up with proud tears and then quickly vanished when I realized my four year-old was more impressed with Bergdorf Goodman than she was Eloise at The Plaza. Get out your wallet, Mama. You’re in for some trouble. Michelleread more
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I know, I know - it's not really a "daily blog" if I don't write everyday. But come on - it's summer, the kids are home, I'm rewriting a book... What do you want from my life?? The fam is taking off for New York tomorrow. With children coming along, I have a feeling the complexion of this trip will be slightly different than my last visit to the Big Apple; no karaoke or Austrian food at 1a.m. However, there will be museums, Eloise at The Plaza and, since the whole crew is home now, I'm sure we can go see Alex the Lion at the Central Park Zoo. I understand if that last part is lost on those who remain unfamiliar with Madagascar 3. With all this being said, I'm taking a week off. Talk to y'all next Thursday! Peace out! Michelleread more
The typical morning in the Colston household begins with breakfast and some sort of cartoon; SpongeBob, Adventure Time, Scooby Doo. Every now and then my children will be merciful and chose a show that doesn’t drive me crazy, but for the most part, they like to be entertained by a character that has the most annoying laugh known to man. This morning, however, we went a different route. After requesting pancakes, my 4 year-old daughter requested Usher. What? Usher. Gladly, I turned on my iPhone and we hung out in the kitchen, measuring flour, cracking eggs, whisking, and dancing to my favorite playlist entitled Shake It Bitch. Not a bad way to begin a Monday. It’s going to be a good week. Michelleread more
For today's blog, I have listed the top three reasons why it’s frustrating to be the mother of my seven-year-old son. I drew inspiration from a few of yesterday's trying moments.
- He’s too smart and gets easily distracted by his brilliant, yet zany ideas: After giving him laundry to put away, I find him in the office an hour later, watching You Tube videos on sea snakes (he’s obsessed with reptiles). In passing I ask him if he put his clothes away like I had asked. He turns to me and says, “No ma’am. I was looking up fast and easy ways to put clothes away, and I got distracted with this video, Sharks vs. Black Mambas.” Ah, yes. The old, “battle of two species that will never share the same environment” decoy.
- Due to his brilliance, he’s overly confident and thinks he invincible: He comes into the kitchen with a long dowel, which I have no clue where he got it from, telling me he needs a bucket. “What for?” I ask. “I’m going to go trap a coral snake, so I need a bucket to put it in.” Okay—I suppose this is what the dowel is for. “You know, son,” I reply. “Since a coral snake can, ya know, kill you, and all, I think if you come across one, it’s best to let it be… Or run away. Running away might be better.” He doesn’t like this. “No, mom. I’m not going to touch it,” he says, like I’m an idiot. “That’s what this stick is for. I’m going to pick it up and put it in the bucket. Or a box—a box will work, too. Do we have a box?” I shake my head, “Babe, I’m telling you, if you see any snake, leave it alone.” “MOM, I know what I’m doing—I’ve seen the guys do it on You Tube. Trust me, okay?” We stand there arguing for fifteen minutes. Do you know how long fifteen minutes is?
- He’s brutally honest: He comes into my closet and asks me what our plans are for the night. I like how he thinks far enough ahead when it comes to evening entertainment, but when it comes to attempting to trap one of the world’s top ten deadliest snakes in a box, it doesn’t occur to him that it might be a bad idea. Anyway, I tell him, “Daddy has a meeting to go to, so it’s just us. I think we should do something fun, like movie night. I can pop some popcorn and we can eat it in the living room!” Now, this sounds like a grand old time to me. And considering the fact that I don’t let them eat outside the kitchen, I thought he might appreciate this adventurous streak of mine. “What do you think?” I ask. “Nah,” he says. “I don’t like to do boring stuff.”
There's something I forgot to do today and I can't figure out what it is. Think, think, think. Did I put on a bra? Check. Switch out the dirty sheets for clean ones? Yeah, we’re good there. Kids? They’re fed and around here somewhere, so I’ll give them a tentative check. Workout? Well…we’ll get back to that one—what else? House, did I forget to tidy the house? No, everything looks ship-shape. Brush my teeth? *smack*smack* Yep. Keys? I’m not going anywhere, so it’s unnecessary, but check. Sanity? Debatable check. Blog? Ch—oh, wait. That’s what it is. I forgot to write my blog today. Well, I’ll have to do it later. I probably should try and find my kids. Michelleread more
I love hormones. The way they jack with your moods, your self-esteem, your face. There aren’t enough mornings when I wake up and think, “Gee, I’m so glad those pimples sprouted up over night. And why can’t my eyes be this puffy all the time? What does a girl have to do to maintain this kind of water retention, I beg of you?” I don’t know about anyone else, but if I could somehow perpetuate the most awkward stages of puberty, I would totally do it. Oh good! Swore boobs, too! This day’s gonna be wicked awesome! Michelleread more
I sat in a 140-degree dry sauna last night for an hour. When I was done, I was soaked, looking like I had just stepped out of the shower. Seriously, I left little watery footprints across the floor. I thought, Man, oh, man, I’m going to sleep SO well tonight! I cleaned up, moisturized, brushed, flossed (okay, I didn’t floss) and somewhere between spitting Aquafresh foam into my sink and putting on my comfy granny-panties, I became irrevocably refreshed. “Ah, good. Eleven o’clock at night—what perfect timing for a second wind!” I lay in bed, flipping this way and that. Turning to the right, drumming my fingers on my bed, huffing and turning over to the left, only to repeat the same action again a few moments later. I couldn’t even close my eyes—they kept darting across my ceiling, and all around my room. “Why hello, Seven O’Clock. You sure did come quickly this morning. Could you be a lamb and tell Second Wind to kiss my ass?” The bags under my eyes wouldn’t pass for carry-on items—I’m not kidding. Michelleread more
You know those days when you don’t feel very smart? I experience them more than I’d like to admit, but not to worry – this isn’t one of those blog entries where I bash myself the whole time. I’m only going to bash myself a little. So not very long ago, I wrote a post about lying liars, and the government agencies that tell those lies. “Down with them all!” However, it occurred to me the other day that I, as a parent, am not much different than the United States government. Sure, I don’t have secret tunnels buried under my house, and I have no idea where Jimmy Hoffa is, but when it comes to my kids, I'm in the habit of bending the truth in order to get specific results. After a brief, yet eye opening conversation with my 7-year-old, I’ve come to realize I, too, am wearing garments that are ablaze with deceit – which is an upscale way of saying my pants are on fire. There we are, my son and I, the last day of school, discussing the events that took place in his classroom; an end of school party, pictures, yada, yada. Then, out of nowhere, he asks, “Do you really know how to get in touch with Santa?” Yes, I’m that parent that stoops to threatening my children with ending Christmas, let’s move on. In order to preserve this leverage, I say, “Yes, I do,” tapping my temple, “I have his direct line memorized.” “Really?” he asks. “Because a lot of parents just say that in order to get their kids to behave.” Silence. “So…do you really know his number?” “Guess what I’m making for an after-school snack!” Yes, I’m also that parent who uses treats as a distraction from having to answer uncomfortable questions. Michelleread more
Did I drink too much last night? No… Did I eat overly processed carbs? No… Too much salt? I don’t think so… Interesting. I woke up this morning looking like I had an allergic reaction to a bee sting, or something. *poof* My face is as swollen as a collagen injection gone wrong. Yes, folks – that’s my blog today. I think my title's longer than the entry itself. *shrug* Michelleread more