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True Romance

May 3rd, 2014, posted by Aimee

Have you ever stopped to think about how you define romance? Have you ever wondered whether your husband shares that same definition? My guess for the vast majority of married couples, the answer to both of those questions is no. And when you really force yourself to look closely at the last time you experienced those ways people traditionally consider romantic like getting flowers on Valentine’s Day or dining in a fancy dimly lit restaurant on “date night,” did they really cause your heart to flutter? Again, I’m guessing no.

I was thinking about this a lot recently because our 10-year anniversary was approaching and I had it in my head that Nate and I would renew our vows in a celebration on a Mexican beach, ideally surrounded by many of the friends and family who had been there for our Mexican beach wedding in 2004. We would wear our original wedding attire, including my unforgiving and tiny sheath dress, read letters to each other at sunset in the sand and then throw a big tequila-fueled bash for friends and family afterward.

But slowly my big plans started to fall apart. First, none of our old friends or new friends could make it to Mexico – even after we changed the date three times to accommodate spring break schedules and better airfares, and even after we offered everyone free luxury accommodations on the beach.

Then, after settling on the fact that we would be celebrating as a party of three only, we began to argue about where to do this little ceremony. We considered Troncones, where we married, but two surfers had since been killed by sharks in front of the hotel where we had said our vows. Fear of shark mauling was enough of a deterrent, but we also had another fear – that the place which had seemed so magical the first time around would never live up to our sepia-colored memories. So, we found another Mexican beach that offered the mix of surf for Nate and empty gorgeous sand for me and booked the trip to Todos Santos. A new place for a new chapter. We started to get excited … but Nate was still wary.

“I don’t want this to be Don Juan on the beach in a sombrero,” he quipped, when I mentioned that I had hired a local photographer to take photos. “I know you think this is going to be romantic, but the whole thing still sounds really cheesy.”

The remark ignited a firestorm of an argument between us on the eve of the trip. “You don’t think anything is romantic . Did you think our wedding was romantic?” I shot back.

“Not really. It was super fun but kinda awkward too. Not sure I would call it romantic,” Nate answered.

Strangely enough, as much as his remark sank my heart, I had to admit he was right. Our wedding was really special and a raging party but not sure I would describe it as being the most romantic night of our relationship. Romantic was the night he came over with a ring after we’d been broken up for two weeks and shocked the hell out of me with a proposal. Romantic were the letters he wrote me from surf trips to Baja when we were first dating and the moment Tav was born and he had tears in his eyes because I had given him a son. Romantic was him posting pictures of me on Facebook and boasting to everyone about his “hot wife.” For Nate, it was romantic for him to watch me cheering Tav on at basketball or when we hung out at home listening to records and talking for hours in front of the fireplace on a Friday night after Tav had gone to bed.

Overall, the message was clear. Romance for us is a constantly unfolding concept woven through our memories and through the everyday life occasions that remind us why what we love about each other. So what to do about these milestone occasions? In the end, we charged forward with the Mexico trip – but with much scaled back expectations, i.e., read a few letters in the sand topped off with margaritas and chocolate cake.

And as it turned out, the event was undeniably poignant and heart-warming. Just listening to our seven-year-old son read a beautiful letter he had written about love was enough to burst my heart open. And as much as we felt a bit cheesy running through the obligatory wedding-style poses on the beach (“Everyone jump in the air!” “Gaze over your shoulders,” etc.), the resulting photos are some of the best this family has ever seen.

Overall, the most important thing to come out of the trip was the conversations it sparked that forced some honesty into our relationship and for me to reexamine the idea that we “had” to do certain things to prove how much we love each other.

What We Womos “Get” About Each Other

March 18th, 2014, posted by Aimee

So, there I was on a Sunday night, 11:33 p.m. in a half-lit kitchen flipping through the Home section of the Sunday paper never got around to reading that day. Nothing surprising there for those who know me and my night owl tendencies. But when my cellphone rang at this ridiculous hour, even I had to jump a little. What the …

But then I looked down at the incoming number. It was a colleague helping me out on a new client’s PR launch, and not only was I not annoyed, I happily picked up.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said, eagerly.

“It’s Popsugar – they want an exclusive!” Caroline exclaimed.

“Amazing,” I said, adding, “And you are amazing for knowing I wouldn’t care at all – and was actually thrilled that you picked up the phone to call me at 11:30 on a Sunday night to tell me this.”

I was 100% genuine and smiling from ear-to-ear. It’s not that I was thrilled at getting late night phone calls about work (good news or not), but that Caroline so obviously “gets” it – and me. She’s a working mom in PR just like me, working her tail off in between bedtime stories, baths, Disneyland day trips and school drop-offs. But when a hot media opportunity comes around, she knows that 9-to-5 doesn’t exist in our world. She hustles, focuses on what’s important, doesn’t worry about the Bullshit. Wow, it’s refreshing working with another hot working mama again.

Sometimes over the past ten years working at my old PR firm most of the time with 20- and 30-something childless colleagues , it was exhausting trying to explain my nutty schedule and the way I worked so much faster than most people just to fit it all in. It was hard to explain missing team-building baseball game excursions and spent way too much time apologizing for late night emails or conference calls from the car. Finally, I don’t have to do that anymore. My clients know they are getting my everything and awesome colleagues like Caroline and I know how to work together to achieve results for these clients. Why didn’t I make this move so much sooner?

Guilt, Balance and Horses

January 24th, 2014, posted by Aimee

Once upon a time, as a former competitive rider, now working mom stressed out with the load of a full-time public relations job, hideous commute and a high-energy preschool-age boy, I decided to add yet another thing to my already overflowing plate … a blog about working motherhood, cheekily named “Womoments.”

For a while at least, this working mom found some relief kvetching about the craziness of my life in the blog, but recently it’s become harder and harder to get motivated to write – and of course I feel guilty about that. Now, rather than feeling guilty about neglecting my son, I am worrying about not writing enough about my guilt. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me.

The good news is that I have something to blame for this terrible neglect, and it comes in the form of a furry, four-legged package. My latest obsession, which is actually one of my oldest obsessions back again in full force, is hunter jumper riding. For the past three months, I have been taking hunter jumper lessons once a week, picking back up a sport I had pursued competitively and intensely throughout my youth and early teen years. It’s just a once a week thing – every Sunday for about two hours of sheer bliss at Heidi Cowley’s stable, Boundary Gate, and on the back of a mare named Crystal – but horse fever has overtaken all my (non-working) hours. When my husband is playing video games or watching surf contests online at night, I’m watching horse jumping videos or Googling sources for field boots. Instead of seeking out mommy blogs, I’m sleuthing out equestrian forums and researching saddles. When I shut my eyes at night, the way I lull myself to sleep is by reliving the perfect course I jumped on the previous Sunday or the feel of my horse’s velvety muzzle. Those Pottery Barn catalogs and Elle Décor magazines I used to covet are collecting dust beneath Dover Saddlery and Riding Magazine, and instead of daydreaming about the next vacation, I’m plotting how to save for my own CWD saddle or even squeezing in another midweek ride somehow.

Okay, I absolutely realize that I’m going a little off the rails here. But the underlying truth of the matter is that nothing gives me as much pure peace and joy in life than being on the back of a sweet horse flying over fences and then patting her neck and feeding carrots in the barn after the ride. Other people do yoga, meditate, run triathlons, climb mountains or write poetry. For me, this is my bliss and my therapy, wrapped in one. I’ve tried many other things, and nothing even comes close to the mix of adrenaline and love I feel for horses and riding.

Ironically, just a few years ago I couldn’t have imagined in a million years that I would ever allow myself to take 2-3 hours purely for my own selfish hobby on a weekend day, away from my son and husband. Working long hours and commuting every morning, I was racked with guilt about not spending every possible minute with the family on my free days. It was inconceivable to me that riding could ever fit into my life, financially or from a time perspective.

But here’s the thing. Things you love have a way of working their way back into your life and you figure out a way to do it. I quit my job, went to freelance work to be able to take my son to school and cook dinner everyone once in a while during the week. That’s enabled me to let go of the guilt of having my mom watch my son for a couple hours on Sundays while I ride. And money-wise, I look at this like therapy – it’s actually about one-third of the cost of going to see a shrink and much more effective – for both my head and my body. After a ride, I’m both a better mother and wife because I am literally filled with joy that overflows into all my relationships.


If I had to share one lesson out of the experience for anyone else it would be this: Listen to your inner voice and the passions you had a child or younger person. What gives you true joy? Instead of saying, “I can’t,” find ways to do. Life is too short to deprive yourself of those simple pleasures, even if you are a mom with a job and a really full life. Go for it and don’t wait to have fun, damn it.


The Inevitable Truths of Womo Business Travel

October 28th, 2013, posted by Aimee

Like most working moms, I will never forget my first business trip after returning to the job after having my son. Already scrapping by on less than four hours of sleep a night, there I was dragging a breast pump through security at dawn praying I could make it through the 90-minute flight without exploding (or worse, leaking). During the long and tedious client brainstorm, I would glance furtively at my phone wondering whether I might get a text from Tav’s grandmother wondering where his blankie, binky or the right bottles were stored. And then stealing away into a creepy closet with a door that did not lock to pump, clinging to a snapshot of my son willing the vaunted “let down” to commence. In short, it was hell.

Contrast that scene with my business trip last week, six years later. Comfy bed linens, TV remote to myself all night, room service and only the slightest tinge of guilt at missing my son’s bedtime routine. It’s true what my friends with older kids always told me: It does get easier. And at some point, the occasional business trip can even be a fun diversion from the everyday doldrums of working motherhood.

A few things are inevitable though, so be prepared.

o “All the TV I can watch and nobody else hogging the remote” is likely to mean old reruns of “Law and Order” or cable news shows. For some reason, none of the hotels seem to carry Bravo, Food Network, or HGTV. I mean, why bother?

o Your child will either not be interested at all in talking to you and will not tell you he or she misses you, breaking your heart in a million pieces. Or he or she will lay on the guilt thick, asking why you had to go away and why you can’t stay home with him or her, also breaking your heart in a million pieces. Either way, it’s gonna hurt.

o There’s never a damn thing worth wasting the calories on in that minibar – even if your client or company is paying the outrageous tab. And it’s no fun breaking into a mini flute of Veuve by yourself.

o You will still sleep like crap – despite the 1000-thread count linens, custom down pillows, black-out shades and the lack of both a snoring spouse and an insomniac child. It’s just that way.

o There’s never time to shop nor the room in your suitcase to purchase a truly thoughtful gift for your kids on the trip, but you will feel an insane amount of guilt about not bringing something, anything back. So, you’ll resort to troweling the airport gift shops for the least cheesy (albeit criminally overpriced) toy you can cram into your carryon before boarding.

o You’ll come home late after a long day of traveling, and the house will look like a hurricane hit, the refrigerator will be empty and you’ll find out the kids went to school without a snack/their coats/homework, etc.

Oh well, it’s nice to be needed, right?

Maybe, these are just my truths … I’d be curious to hear what other Womos out there have to say. Anyone?

Shifting Gears

September 27th, 2013, posted by Aimee

Well, it’s official. I have finally mustered up the courage to surrender the security of a lucrative paycheck and – let’s face it – my entire identity for the past decade as a hard-charging, long-suffering PR agency executive to pursue a more balanced life as a freelance consultant. What the heck is balance, anyway? Here are a few things it means to me in the immediate sense:
• The ability to see my son wake up every morning, push his bangs away from his forehead for a kiss and squeeze him while he’s still little enough to allow me that privilege
• Taking a run or a hike at lunch time – sometimes even with a friend – even if I have to get up and start making pitch calls at 5 am to do so
• Having the time to prepare a healthy dinner at least a few times a week
• Not worrying about accounting for every single 15-minute increment of time during my day or whether I’m working harder than all the others in my same role at the company
• Shoving that hideous roller bag that I lugged back and forth on BART into my office everyday far into the corner of the closet
• Never having to attend another management meeting filled with hand-wringing over junior staff morale or gossip in “cube land”
• The ability to pursue work with clients I like and brands I believe in regardless of budget limitations

And I could go on. But overall, the overlying theme here is freedom. Freedom to be a more involved mom. Freedom to take charge of my physical fitness and health. And freedom to pursue the kind of work I really enjoy best.

Am I terrified a little bit? Definitely. The reality of pursuing business as a solo practitioner and trying to make financial ends meet is still just around the corner. But I’m looking forward to the challenge too. It’s a new chapter and I’m ready for it.

Laid-back Mom or Just Lazy?

June 19th, 2013, posted by Aimee

“Laid-back” is pretty much the last thing anyone who knows me at all would ever use to describe my personality. “Intense,” “stress-case,” “high strung,” even “energetic” and passionate” are the more frequently used adjectives by friends, family, coworkers – hell, anyone who knows me for more than five minutes typically.

However, “laid back” is probably the kindest way to describe my approach to much of the day to day parenting grind. And of course, this lack of worrying now has me worried. Is there something wrong with me that I worry so little when it comes to my little dude?

I’m not talking about health concerns, of course. Like any other mom, if Tav wakes up with a fever or bonks heads with a playmate on the trampoline, I’m calling doctors and administering first aid like no tomorrow. But when it comes to issues related to more everyday kid stuff – i.e., playground disputes, best friend fallouts, etc. – or even school dilemmas like which teacher he’ll be assigned and whether his reading level is above or below average, I simply don’t lose much sleep.

The other day, a good friend spent the better part of an hour explaining a “mean girl” problem her daughters were experiencing at school and wondering how to prevent her daughters from becoming tainted with the bullying reputation and stigma of this cruel little girl. I was having trouble following the logic or honestly caring too much and wondered if this was because I happen to have a little boy – maybe little boys don’t ever deal with this kind of drama? Or maybe I never cared to notice this in Tav’s interactions with friends. Or maybe I just don’t care enough to look into it?

The whole incident made me think about other times I felt like something in my “mommy genes” might be missing. There was the first day of kindergarten for Tav, when dozens of people asked me if I had teared up sending my little guy off to school. “You’ll need lots of Kleenex,” warned more than one mom. But I never understood the fuss. Sure, I was super excited for him to start school and all the “big boy adventures” of elementary school, but was it really earth-shatteringly emotional? Not for me.

Other times during the year, I have overhead other moms fretting about whether their child’s reading level was up to par or about how their teacher may not have stretched them enough in terms of certain academic goals. It just didn’t occur to me to do much more with that information than to let it wash right over me. If the teacher told me Tav was doing fine, I took their word for it. If he liked his teacher, had lots of friends and seemed happy, was I supposed to be digging deeper to find something wrong? According to some moms, it seems so. What the heck is wrong with me that I am not worrying like everyone else?

Somehow, as improbable as it may seem, I have an innate sense of confidence and calm when it comes to mothering Tavish that doesn’t apply to any other area of my life. I can only chalk it up to a fantastic, happy little boy who makes me feel everyday like anything is possible and that life is exceedingly good. Or maybe I’m just lazy.

Wake-up Call #151

June 17th, 2013, posted by Aimee

Sometimes my life unfolds in a frighteningly clichéd manner. This was one of many thoughts running through my mind as I waited in the darkened room, feet in stirrups and heart pounding, for the ultrasound technician to show up two weeks ago today. After all, if I hadn’t canceled my annual exam to attend that lunch with a USA Today reporter and my client a month ago, wouldn’t my doctor have found the huge “abdominal mass” when it was closer to a grapefruit than a watermelon, as the technician later described it to me? What if I had just taken those ten extra minutes between meetings and client calls to push an earlier appointment? Would I still be in this terrifying and mortifying experience now, looking four months pregnant and scheduling a visit to the women’s oncology specialist? Isn’t this literally the oldest story in the book – the workaholic mom who never misses a beat when it comes to her kid’s health, but neglects her own body?

Yep, so I am guilty as charged – the ultimate Womo horror story cliché. Here’s the lowdown. About three weeks ago, on a Friday afternoon about ten minutes before some friends were due to arrive at our house for a BBQ, I reached down across my belly and allowed myself to notice the hard bulge across my abdomen Nate had been pointing out to me for months. At night, once in a while he had mentioned that I had something “hard in there” … but, thinking I was simply bloated or getting embarrassingly fat, I kept blowing him off, attributing the bloat to a full bladder or part of my disgusting umbilical hernia. I had noticed that my once flat belly now protruded a bit and that I didn’t seem to be able to lose a pound, despite following a strict low-carb diet for months (the same one my husband followed to shed 20 pounds, by the way). However, I was used to being disappointed by my body these days, and who had time for those worries when work was such a whirlwind. And besides, I reasoned, I would just ask my doctor when I saw her for that annual physical in May.

Wouldn’t you know it? The doctor’s appointment conflicted with the lunch I finally – after a year of begging and scheming – had gotten my USA Today reporter friend to take with my biggest client. Annual Pap could wait, bloated belly be damned. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get back on the docket until July – oh well.

Yet, that Friday afternoon I couldn’t deny something was wrong … and then suddenly I panicked. Unfortunately, it was too late to go anywhere but an ER, so I waited. When Monday rolled around, I called in sick for the first time in ten years, and got into the only doctor who would see me. Literally five minutes into the visit, after a quick caress of my belly and a peek in “there,” she pronounced, “yep, you have something really big in there” and ordered me to get X-rays that afternoon. By 5 p.m. the same day, I learned there was about a football-sized tumor growing on my left ovary and wrapped around my uterus. Within 48 hours, I had been scheduled to undergo surgery – a three-hour operation in which the determination would be made by doctor while I was under anesthesia whether the excised tumor was all that needed removal or whether a complete hysterectomy was in order. Oh, and also whether or not I was looking at a cancer diagnosis.

Fast forward a week and here I am – drugged up, couch-bound and cancer-free. The tumor (no one is bothering to refer to it as a “cyst” anymore) was benign I learned upon opening my eyes from surgery to a surge of relief. No hysterectomy had been needed, though my appendix had come out along with the “mass,” an ovary and a tube. And for now at least, a crisis has been averted.

I know with every bone in my body that I need to view this event as a sign that it’s finally time to slow down to listen to my body and take the damn pedal off the gas. I know it won’t kill me to stay off work email and indulge in binges of crappy TV, chick lit and cuddle time with my little dude for a few weeks. In fact, it may even save my life.

Pinterest Stress? Uh, Yeah …

June 6th, 2013, posted by Aimee

“Pinterest stress afflicts nearly half of moms, survey says.” Wow. Leave it to the TODAY Show’s “TODAY Moms” blog to cover the really hard-hitting issues. In a recently released study of 7,000 mothers across the U.S. (yes, you read that right – three zeros), a whopping 42 percent admitted to feeling anxious when flipping through the photo-filled social network and seeing the elaborate crafts and homemade dishes and desserts from other moms.

Good god, people. Get a life. That was my first reaction when seeing those headlines. I mean, come on – Pinterest stress? These simply could not possibly be working moms they surveyed. Sure, we all love a little mindless scrolling through pretty pictures online every once in a while. However, none of my Womo cohorts have a spare minute to fret over the lack of perfectly decorated cupcakes or mason jar gerber daisy arrangements in their lives.

I mean, let’s face it: most of us long ago surrendered to the world of “BIY” (buy it yourself). I recall one Halloween when a good friend, when asked if she made her child’s costume, quipped without an ounce of guilt, “I made it, yeah, and by that I mean, I made the money to pay someone else to make it.”

However, when I read on in the article and began to think about it a little more, I had to admit that Facebook is a bit of a different matter. Lately more and more I hesitate a few minutes before clicking on that bookmark or checking the notifications on my phone. Why does everyone else always seem to be on fantastic vacations in Europe or skiing with the kids in Tahoe? How come all my friends’ kids seem to say and do the sweetest, smartest things? Why does everyone else seem to have a constantly revolving stream of flattering and fun profile pics, when I struggle to find one decent shot every two years to post? And how does everyone seem to have such clever comments to make about things in the news before I have even heard about them?

And Twitter? Don’t even get me started. In my business, Twitter followings and “engagement” (i.e., how active you are and how often your tweets get “retweeted”) are the ultimate currency. Going on Twitter is an angst-ridden exercise for me the majority of the time as I eye the stagnant number of followers on my profile and struggle to find something original or clever to compose in 140 characters or less.

Damn, so I really am a cliché after all. Social media, once such a source of pleasure, is now starting to become a bit of a drag. If only there were a few other places to get my daily fix of celebrity gossip headlines, ex-boyfriend family photos and “Mad Men” recaps, I’d be in business. Until then, guess I’ll just take another Ativan and dig in.

The Summer Scramble

May 15th, 2013, posted by Aimee

Balmy nights, strawberries in season, strappy sandals, salt-rimmed margaritas and poolside playdates … what’s not to like about summer? Well, if you’re a working mom, there’s one worrisome wrinkle in what is otherwise the most glorious time of year – school’s out and you’re left scrambling to find both childcare and somewhat intellectually stimulating or at least physically challenging activities for your kids.

As if it weren’t stressful enough simply supervised activities to occupy those precious daytime hours formerly filled by teachers and recess, there’s also anxiety around the dreaded “summer slide,” i.e., all the brain cells junior is going to lose while vegging out in front of a TV or on the trampoline between June and August. According to the National Summer Learning Association, students who do not participate in enrichment and learning activities during the break can lose roughly 22 percent of the knowledge and skills they gained during the previous school year. Damn. Talk about pressure.

Thus begins the mad dash to line up and map out as many week by week camps, tutoring and team sports as you can afford to fill up those 8-10 weeks before the new school year begins. The choices seem endless and overwhelming … science camp? Basketball camp? How about Lacrosse? What about swim team? What’s the deadline for soccer? What about that children’s theater? How about art or music lessons? And, oh yeah, where or who will pick them up since most of these camps let out by noon or 3 p.m. without any option of aftercare. Figuring out the puzzle and stitching together a roadmap of activities without spending thousands of dollars is enough to blow any Womo’s mind.

University of Phoenix College of Education Assistant Dean Dr. Ashley Norris recently reached out to offer me some advice on how even a busy working mom can squeeze in some learning during the summer months in between the camps and sporting activities. Here are some of her tips:
• Look for learning opportunities in your own backyard. Open the morning newspaper and choose an adventure for the day. See what is happening in your community and find learning opportunities in your own backyard, e.g.:
o Visit the farmer’s market to learn about vegetables. Take pictures and continue your research online or at the library. Then have your child create a presentation about what he/she learned.
o Attend concerts in the park or other community music events. Inspire children to research and explore different types of music or the history of a specific instrument.
• Turn everyday activities into learning opportunities. Children need to engage in writing, reading, and math with a purpose – they need to understand the real world applications of their studies. Kids can assist parents with making grocery lists, counting money, determining restaurant tips and measuring for recipes or calculating sale prices.
• Embrace technology and create interactive projects and activities.
o Involve children in digital storytelling, using computer-based tools (video, photos, and text). For instance, your children can use family photos and videos to tell a story about summer activities.
o The perfect summer project for a child of any age is to research something that is of interest to them. For instance, a child can get creative taking photos, then research the topic online and build an interactive presentation. The added benefit is this can become a brag book for mom or dad or grandma.
o Involve children in local geo-caching (high-tech treasure hunting) activities.

What about you? Do you worry about summer “slide,” and what are your tips for preventing that while balancing everything else as a working mom? Tell me what you think.

Yep, I’m a Boy Mom

May 3rd, 2013, posted by Aimee

There is no doubt that motherhood in general is a universal sisterhood. Once you become a parent, you realize the shocking fact that a huge majority of the people in your daily life and walking past on the street have shared the terror, awe, pain and joy of bringing a new human being in this world … and enduring the same endless sleepless nights and frustrating days as you.

However, much we moms all like to celebrate the joint sisterhood of motherhood’s trials, tribulations and triumphs, I have to admit that from my son’s earliest days, it became apparent that other “boy moms” and I shared much more in common. Who knows whether some of the earliest patterns we discussed in those new mommy groups were actual differences or those we attributed to the male sex (e.g., “he’s a typical boy – nurses for 30 minutes straight, not a snacker like the girls,” etc.). The key thing is that we all began to draw the lines and paint the picture of our experience as different from those of the “girl moms.”

Now that my son is six, the differences really are hard to dismiss, as are my own experiences as distinct from my friends with female offspring. And as an extremely “girly girl” myself, it cracks me up that I have thoroughly embraced my role as a “boy mom” in all of its absurdities. Are you a boy mom? Here’s how to tell:

10 Ways to Tell You are Definitely a “Boy Mom”
o At a party with friends, it’s natural to lose sight of your child for long stretches of time while he’s running around outside … while your friend’s girls are still clinging to her legs.

oTiny Lego pieces have found their way into every corner of your home and into the heating vents, bathtub, and even the cat’s litter box once or twice.

o You’ve actually started researching “bearded dragons” and “reptile pets” online for a possible addition to the family home.

o You can hardly imagine the day when your child is going to have an opinion about what he wears to school (let alone dresses himself).

o No sand toys needed for a day at the beach – hands work just fine for finding those ubiquitous sand crabs.

o Crafts? What are crafts? Your child never sits still long enough to draw a stick figure, let alone complete a painting or collage.

o “Run ‘em until they drop” is your motto on weekends and after school, and rainy days are your worst nightmare.

o You find yourself sitting in pee on a fairly regular basis.

o Hearing moms (of little girls) brag about their children potty training before three years old makes you want to gnash your teeth.

o You’ve watched the movie, “Cars,” so many times, it’s hard to imagine Owen Wilson as anything other than a smiling NASCAR character.

Unloading zone

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