Category Archives: Frazzled Working Mom’s Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Super Bowl? Super Boring!


After much bragging over the last few days that she was going to watch the Super Bowl, Chloe didn’t keep her word. “Scooby Doo” won the day, by a landslide.

She actually turned the channel to the big game. For all of five seconds. Didn’t even see one famous-for-being-funny commercial. And tuned out long before Tom Petty at halftime.

When I asked her if she wanted to watch, she responded, “Actually, I think I just want to watch Scooby Doo.” So much for having at least one football fan in the family.

So, instead of the Super Bowl, our evening show consisted of Sophie and Chloe dancing silly around the dining room table. Frankly, an infinitely more entertaining way to spend a Sunday night than watching a bunch of big guys tackle one another.

Go Giants! Oops – I mean, Go Girls!

Sleep, Sophie, Sleep!


Chloe has always been a good sleeper. Sophie, however, is a different story. She used to do pretty well, but lately it’s been awful.

Some nights, the screams start at 11 pm, when my husband or I come up the creaky stairs. Sometimes, it’s at 2 am. Somtimes, it’s both. We usually let her cry it out at such a god-awful hour, but it still keeps us up. The worst are the cries at 5 am – too late for her to fall back to sleep, but too early for any normal person to be parenting.

My husband is a trooper. He’s usually the one to console her when she startles herself awake. But her shenanigans in bed have thrown us off our sleep patterns, and it’s become a vicious circle of “who’s going to be the zombie today.”

It could be that she’s having toddler night terrors. It could be she’s not eating enough before bed and she’s hungry in the wee hours. It could be she’s getting too big for her crib. It could be (perish the thought) that she’s simply an extremely light sleeper and too bad for us.

We need to lay down the law and just let her cry. The problem with that method, however, is that although she may fall back asleep eventually, we’re wide awake by the time she calms down. And we don’t want Sophie to wake her sister.

You know that something’s off-kilter when you’re excited that your almost 2 1/2 -year old wakes up at 6 am without having interrupted your sleep for the night. But Sophie should be sleeping until at least 7, for crying out loud. She’s no longer a baby.

Maybe she’ll do better if we transform her crib into a toddler bed. If she feels like a big girl, maybe she’ll start sleeping like one. I hope so. Because if not, my husband and I are going to go insane.

Forget the Blues Brothers, INXS Rules

The girls have discovered INXS. Let’s face it, the Blues Brothers are so yesterday. So is INXS for that matter, but Chloe and Sophie don’t know that.

Sophie and I were dancing to their music earlier. She’s actually quite good, and she really loves to move. After a few minutes, however, she decided to show off her gymnastic talents – attempting, without much success, to do a headstand.

My brother sent Chloe another CD mix for her birthday. We haven’t yet had time to really delve into the music, but from what I’ve heard so far, the Blues Brothers will truly be a distant memory once the girls get their feet moving to those tunes.

I’m glad to leave the Blues Brothers behind. They’re really quite annoying. Chloe’s also enjoying some of my retro Depeche Mode music. I hope to get her hooked on David Bowie next, but I’m not counting on it. While he’s always been my favorite, I’m not sure she’s ready for him. I won’t give up, however. He’s a musical icon who deserves to be appreciated by the young ‘uns.

Fortunately, Chloe hasn’t yet asked me to take her to see the new Hannah Montana 3-D movie. Having to sit through that would be a penury worse than arts & crafts. She did ask me if she could watch the Super Bowl on Sunday, though. She doesn’t even know what football is, but her teacher told the kids that the commercials are fun and the music at halftime is good. Which actually might be the case this year, since Tom Petty is performing.

Our Little Shirley Temple

First of all, just a side note as I watch the debate between Clinton and Obama. How amazing is it that in the first time in American history, we are going to have either a woman or an African-American democratic candidate for President?

Back to the subject of my blog entry tonight. Sophie’s hair is crazy. Crazy curly. Especially right after we wash it. Sometimes when I look at her, I wonder if the hospital switched babies on us. I don’t know where she gets it from.

Everyone thinks it’s so cute. Which is all well and good – it is cute. But it’s also a pain in the butt. It gets frizzy. It’s hard to keep it from getting knotty. And worst of all, I can’t seem to find someone to cut it properly. And when Sophie’s older, I’d be willing to bet my life savings that she’s going to hate it. And blame her father and me for passing her the horrible curly hair genes. I’m also willing to wager that we’re going to spend inordinate sums of money for her to be able to straighten her hair. The beauty product companies would do well to start marketing to her now.

But as a 28-month old toddler, it is truly adorable. And when she jumps up and down, the curls bob in time with the rest of her body. It’s hard to resist. Perhaps if we collect enough photos and videos of her curly hair, she won’t mind it so much when she enters puberty. Only time will tell.

Happy Birthday, Chloe!


Chloe is officially in her 8th year, which means I’ve been a mom for seven years. Wow. I remember her birth like it was yesterday (I guess that’s what excruciating pain does to you).

She’s now a wisecracking, passionate, sometimes challenging, but always amazing, big girl.

In honor of her special day, I even helped her with her first arts & crafts project as a 7-year old. She made a potholder with her new Loop ‘n Loom kit. I’m happy to report that the ordeal wasn’t nearly as painful as birthing my daughters. There were no tears. Come to think of it, there wasn’t even any screaming.

She’s sleeping in her new sleeping bag tonight. She tried the floor, but it was a little hard. So she’s in her bag in her bed. I just hope that, come tomorrow morning, she remembers she’s in it. Otherwise, she’s going to land like a sack of potatoes on the floor.

Happy birthday, Chloe! We love you very, very much.

My Little Mermaid

Chloe received this great costume as a birthday present. I love it. It doesn’t take up any space, and it doesn’t require me to dig deep into the very small reserve of patience that I have for arts & crafts projects.

This is what Chloe was wearing when I returned home this evening. She was sprawled out on the couch with a big mermaid smile on her face.

My only quibble with the costume is that she can’t really wear it for Halloween unless we happen to be in Disney World (or some other tropical venue), which is about as likely to happen as our winning the lottery, which is impossible because we never buy tickets.

I often wonder how much longer she’ll be willing to dress up in these funny costumes. She turns 7 tomorrow. One more year, maybe two? At least we’ll have them for Sophie. A nice consolation, because I LOVE coming home from work to such cuteness and innocence and happiness.

Buttered Bread

I find it very amusing that our little Sophie takes after her father when it comes to butter and bread. All the more so since our big Chloe takes after me.

I like butter well enough – in very limited quantities and melted on toasted bread. Chloe only started tolerating a dollop of melted butter on toasted bread about a year ago. Until then, every piece of bread she ate, she ate unadorned.

Sophie is another species altogether. She obviously was born with the bulk of the French genes. She likes nothing better than globs of butter (melted or not, she’s not picky) on all kinds of bread (toasted or not, she’s not picky on that score either). She even makes satisfied “mmmmm” noises as she gobbles it up.

I’m scared for her next doctor’s appointment. I’m already in trouble with the pediatrician because Sophie refuses to take her vitamins. Maybe I need to mash up the vitamins in the butter. Do they test for cholesterol at this young age?

Swim Party II

Well, it was a resounding success. Even though we first needed to survive (as I had predicted in yesterday’s post) Chloe’s astounding (although not so astounding for a 7-year old) impatience for most of the day. But the appointed hour finally arrived, and the swim party turned out to be a terrific choice.

All the children had a great time. Even those who weren’t particularly at ease in the water. Here are some photos of Chloe and Sophie from the party.

I think this celebration was the ideal “last hurrah” for her. I’ve already started to plant the seeds for next year. Smaller group, more intimate gathering. I bought her a sleeping bag as part of her birthday present. Slumber party, perhaps?
Goodbye six. Hello seven.

Swim Party

Chloe is celebrating her 7th birthday with a swim party tomorrow. We’re expecting 18 kids to go crazy in the pool – and Chloe can barely contain her excitement. What better way to forget it’s January than with a pool party?

Chloe has everything planned out. She put way too much thought into the goody bags. We spent way too much time at the bakery deciding on a cake theme, which is going to be “treasure island.” She went ahead and opened all of the packets of goody bag items, resulting in extras that I can no longer return to the store. This, of course, makes her very happy. Not me.

She’s had her clothes and bathing suit sitting ready on her dresser since Wednesday. She reminded me to pack the cake knife earlier this evening. She’s counted and recounted the goody bags for the last week. She’s reassured friends who aren’t necessarily comfortable in the water that the pool isn’t that deep, and if they’re really nervous, they can come just for the cake.

I have no doubt that she would drive herself to the party if she could. She would sleep at the pool if she could. The problem is that the party isn’t until tomorrow afternoon – so you can imagine what we’re going to have to endure in the 8 hours between her waking up in the morning and her greeting friends at the pool. “How much longer?” “Seven hours.” “AAAAHHHHH. That’s so long!” Stomping feet. Huffing and puffing. I think I’ve sketched a pretty clear picture.

It’s going to be a long day. I better check our aspirin inventory.