One of my new obsessions is www.totsy.com. Totsy is an online shopping store that has exclusive name-brand items on sale everyday! There is a limited amount and a limited time, which if you as me, makes the already very exciting process of online shopping even better! At any given time they are having sales up to 85% off on all different types of items ranging from baby clothes, supplies and toys. They’ve got moms covered too! Items ranging from clothes to glassware will have you perusing Totsy for quite some time! And the best part – you can always view upcoming sales so if you’ve had your eye on something super-chic it may just be half-off tomorrow!
Are you looking to get out and meet other moms in your area? If so, I know the feeling. Shortly before the arrival of my son, my husband and I decided I would start my new job as a stay-at-home-mom. It was the job of my dreams and I was ecstatic. However, reality quickly set in. I don’t know about you, but I can’t just stay at home all day or the walls start creeping in and I go stir crazy. On top of that, I knew that our decision to have my stay at home would also mean we would be on a much tighter budget, so no, I would not be out shopping the day away or lunching with friends at the country club (wait, I’ve never lunched at the country club, dreaming again…). Most, if not all of my friends work, so I knew I needed to get out there and meet some new stay-at-home-moms, but YIKES, that’s scary.
I sat down at the computer one night and was determined to find inexpensive activities in the area where I could meet other moms and get.out.of.the.house. Lo and behold I found this wonderful organization, the MOMS Club. It is an international club, separated into chapters according to neighborhoods. Could this really be true? Was this the answer to all of my prayers? Yes, yes it was. Here are a few of the benefits of joining your local MOMS Club:
The MOMS Clubsm offers the following, free of charge to its registered chapters on an on-going basis:
* We organize and conduct support groups for all at-home mothers;
* We offer educational services, classes, on-line programs, seminars and workshops for support groups for at-home mothers, and we develop formats for monthly meetings, casual get-togethers, outings, family parties, playgroups, babysitting co-ops, activity groups and service projects for at-home mothers and their children;
* We offer extensive on-going management consulting services for support groups for at-home mothers, and we develop formats for monthly meetings, casual get-togethers, outings, family parties, playgroups, babysitting co-ops, activity groups and service projects for mothers and their children.
I have met some amazing women through this group. We get together for weekly playdates, meet-ups, book clubs, organize fundraisers, family events, mom’s night out, set up babysitting co-ops and more than anything bond with other moms. It’s wonderful to know such amazing women within my community. Click here to search for your local chapter!
We are so excited to announce our very first guest writer, Ellen Brosnahan! This special lady is a former middle school English teacher, a Chicago-area native, a mother of two, a grandma to four, a talented writer and the best aunt I could ask for. All of you mommies out there will relate to this story!
Evening the Score
Ellen Brosnahan (July 2011)
My sister-in-law was the kindergarten helper mom when my nephew piped up, “I love you so much, Mommy, that I want to have sex with you!” “No,” she assured his teacher, “I have no idea where he heard such a thing.”
To this day, she slumps under the weight of her Mommy Trophy of Embarrassment. But what mommy hasn’t stepped up to the podium to accept hers? We’ve crammed our imaginary display cases with tarnished statuettes and loving cups.
Even my grandmother. Long, long ago, Grandma led her neighbor into her baby‘s room to show off the little cherub. Behold! My aunt, diaperless, was adorning the wall above the crib with her feces.
My mother took my three-year-old self on a long bus ride up Western Avenue, where I was curious about another passenger. “Mommy, why is that man’s face brown? Is his face dirty?” I boomed. Our stop wasn’t for miles.
Another friend’s three-year-old Picasso decorated a neighbor’s car, using a Sharpee as his medium.
And what is it about retail that makes kids pull out all the stops? Moms amass Trophies of Humiliation by the cartload, right in front of neighbors. Enough to make one plant a For Sale sign in the yard, and high-tail it to points unknown.
A friend left her youngest of seven at the Jewel, drove home, sent the brood off to the neighborhood pool. She never missed him until the store manager called her. Her little boy greeted her with, “Why did you leave me here?” She hadn’t meant to, she explained, and narrowly avoided a DCFS report.
My granddaughter warred with her brother over a Trader Joe’s kiddie cart. My daughter- in- law carried both combatants to the car, one under each arm. No groceries that day. Maybe it’s in the DNA. When their daddy was a toddler, he waged a sit-down strike in a cereal aisle over a box of Count Chocula.
Mommy Embarrassment takes no vacation. When a now-respected architect was five, he helped himself to coins in a hotel’s fountain, then treated himself to candy bars at the gift shop, before his mother caught on to his scam. At least no one there recognized the perpetrator or his family.
Yep, we‘ve all earned a trophy or two. Today, I saw a mom in church earn a Stanley Cup.
It was 7:30 Mass, and an all-American family — husband and wife, three well-scrubbed kids –arrived, a bright spot in a sea of gray-haired empty-nesters.
In no time things went south. Little Boy marched a Poke-mon on the kneeler until Bigger Boy wanted a turn.
They crashed on the oak pew, scuffled and snatched at the prize. Mom grabbed Bigger Boy and planted him on her other side. Wrestling match ended; peace restored.
But the little guy had more mayhem in mind. He slid down the pew, bounced into the aisle and high-tailed it to the front… just as the priest approached the pulpit to speak the Gospel . Run-run-run to the front, run-run-run to the back. Front, back, front, back.
Mom slipped to the rear of the aisle to grab the little imp when he got close. But no luck, and he dashed off once more.
What Would Mommy Do? Would she scream, “Get back here, you little beast.” Play Wile E. Coyote to his Roadrunner? Leave church and hop in her minivan, never to be seen again? I mentally spun through my dusty old Mommy rolodex of solutions, until I remembered that this was not my problem.
The priest sermonized; no one listened. Raucous giggles and the thunk-thunk of sneakers muffled the message, but who cared? The bright-eyed little spawn of the devil was directing a real-life drama. He had Mommy right where he wanted her – helpless.
Mommy hissed and “Come here,” but ha! As if! She paced behind the pews, up one aisle, across the back, then up the other aisle, signaling “Get back here!” He paid no mind. She wiped a tear.
The fugitive’s daddy, flanked by his two perfect progeny, stared straight ahead as if transfixed by the Word of the Lord, while Mommy whispered “sorry, sorry” to the congregants she passed.
Finally Mom hatched a plan and whispered to her husband. The reluctant draftee to the front line slid into position. Mom advanced up the aisle, like Uhrlacher bearing down for a tackle. The escapee eyed her and darted hither and yon at the altar steps. Here she comes! She’s getting closer! The boy about-faced down the aisle. Interception! Dad swooped in, hoisted him over his shoulders, and carried him out of church. Nike-ed feet kicked the air.
The show was over.
Mom slunk back to her seat, and I could almost see her heart hammering. Eventually her blood pressure must have hit normal, and with arms encircled the shoulders of her other two, she prayed. Was it Give me strength, dear Lord, or Don’t let me kill him?
Dad and the renegade never returned. Finally, the priest said, “Go, the Mass is ended,” and Mom’s shoulders slumped in relief.
So, Mom, you did your best. At the next girls’ night out, sip your chardonnay and show off your hardware. “Wait ‘til you hear…”
And here’s a suggestion.
One day, your little boy will be a teenager.
He’ll expect you to drive him somewhere. He’ll slump in the back seat, rolling his eyes and grunting at your attempts at conversation.
“Have fun,” you’ll say.
He’ll snort. “Whatever.” Without a thanks or a wave, your young man will slither out of the car.
Watch him saunter up to his friends, a bunch of uber-surly boys and maybe a pretty girl or two. Now’s your chance.
Roll down the car window. Hang your head all the way out.
Yell, and I mean yell, “Yoohoo, sweetie-pie!”
Keep hollering until he looks our way. He won’t want to, but someone will nudge him. “Hey, dude, isn’t that your mom?”
He’ll be forced to peek out from under his shaggy ‘do.
When you have his attention, along with that of every other kid, yell one more time. “Yoo hoo,sweetie! You look so cute today! I love you, snookums!”
Wave – both hands. Blow kisses, lots of them.
Honk a peppy little “Shave and a Haircut.”
And drive away.
You’ve waited years to exact your revenge.
Savor it, sister.