It’s a simple word, a word that I never gave much thought. When I was in elementary school, the teacher would call my name and I would say, “present.” Meaning, I’m right here. When I got older it was just a given that if I was somewhere then I was present. Later I realized that it was only my physical body present, my mind was moving in fifty different directions. Especially, since I’ve entered “the motherhood.”

For example, admittedly I’ve been in the car, arrived at my destination, and wasn’t really sure how I got there. I’ve also been in a store completely oblivious to everything and everyone around me. And, I’m sure that I’m not the only one that tends to zone out after playing bat cave for the fifth time in day.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be present in everything that I do. I practice it when I’m in the car driving to my destination, when I’m playing with the kids, and especially when I’m shopping. This tends to be when I’m the most rushed and have a to-do-list scrolling through my head. Luckily, I’ve been working on becoming more aware of my surroundings. I hope the rest of this blog prompts you to do the same.

Sunday evening around 5pm, I went to Target for groceries. I’m a Target addict and so I always have to do a loop around the store. It doesn’t matter if I need anything on the non-grocery side or not, the thought of passing up a bargain can literally make me ill. It’s a sickness, I know. Anyway, I make it around to the cleaning supplies when I start to notice a single guy spending way too much time looking at mops. That wouldn’t be so weird if I didn’t keep seeing him down every aisle that I was in or had just left. I am a completely unorganized shopper. There is no rhyme or reason for my method. I go from here to there and back to there again. So, to see someone follow the same unorthodox pattern seemed a little suspicious. When he spent time down the baby aisle checking out bath products I knew something was amiss. Men don’t do that. Matter of fact, I’ve never known any men that wants to shop at all, especially for groceries. Hell, I don’t even want to go shopping for groceries. 

Around this time, I sent a text message to one of my friends that I have a stalker at Target. I wanted someone to know what was happening. Of course, she called me and asked what was going on. We kind of joked about it because it seemed somewhat surreal. When I was talking to her, once again he was in another aisle across from me. I thought, okay I’m going to continue to shop and we‘d see what happens. What happened was that I guess he lost sight of me, was rushing down aisles, and almost ran into me as he came down my aisle. That was my confirmation that this was really happening and that I needed to get out of there. As I moved to another section of the store, again he almost ran into me down an aisle. I then started to freak a little and left a text message for my husband.

I start to weave in and out of aisles and departments to lose this psycho. I even went to the checkout lanes on the opposite end of the store. Mind you, no more than 10 minutes passed from the time of the phone call to when I got to the checkout lane. I’m looking around for this dude and out of the corner of my eye, I see him wheel his cart in the department across from me, ladies accessories. Now I’m starting to panic a little and I tell the woman checking me out what has been going on. I asked her if she could please call someone that can walk me out to my car. I showed her where the guy was lurking and he must have saw her watching him, because he then leaves his cart and rushes out the exit.

I finish checking out and this young male Target employee walks me out to my car and loads up the groceries for me. Of course, he has no idea why I’m totally freaking out. I jump in the van, lock the doors, and call my husband trying not to get hysterical. I have no idea if this guy is waiting in a car in the parking lot or if he took off. A 10-minute drive home took me about 25 minutes, because I took back roads and drove through random subdivisions. I wanted to make sure that this guy was not following me. Obviously, he didn’t because I’m writing this blog three days later.

As I, sit here writing this today, I’m 100% convinced that this guy was following me in the store. And I am certain that it wasn’t because he thought I was hot and wanted to ask me out. It has been a while since I’ve been on the dating scene, but I know that normal guys that are interested in you don’t stalk you down every aisle at Target. This grungy Tim Roth looking guy didn’t even make eye contact with me once. So, tell me that he didn’t have other plans. Not to mention, my gut was telling me something wasn’t quite right. My hope in sharing this with you is not to make you paranoid when you go to the store. Living in fear is not a way to live. I just know as mothers, we are always in planning mode. I have to do this, I have to do that, when I get home I have to make dinner, etc… My hope is to make sure that as much as possible you are in the present moment not only physically, but mentally as well. I am positive that being aware along with my sixth sense is the reason that I’m writing this today.

In case, anyone is wondering if I’m going back to that particular Target anytime soon. Probably not. Although I refuse to live in fear, I also am not ready for the possibility to see that psycho again.

That I have a personal landscaper to take away all of my wrong decisions and the bug bites I obtain when making them.

That I am Samantha on Bewitched and can wiggle my nose and turn things around instantaneously.

That flies talk to each other and know they face certain death when coming into my house, so they don’t dare try. (Although, I am able to practice my ninja moves on the unsuspecting disease carrying buggers.)

That one morning I will walk downstairs and the dishes are clean, toys put away, and the floors cleaned.

That all of my photos stored on the computer will magically make it to print and a photo album before my kids go away to college.

That my baby will sleep through the night, every night.

That I have all of the time I need to work on my current passion, JustBreatheMom.com.

That the expression “shear exhaustion” doesn’t apply to me.

That I have quality time for myself.

That no person, place or thing can irritate or annoy me today or any other day.

That every mom & child knew that his or her dreams were only a thought away.

My burning question is, Why me? Why am I inundated with everyone else’s dirty truth? Is it because between three dogs, three cats, and three kids that I clean-up so much of it I’m an expert? Is it because I give so much attention to it each day that I’m bringing more of it into my life via the Law of Attraction? Why has my life all of a sudden become about that dirty four-lettered word? Please tell me that I’m not the only one that scoops the litter, cleans the backyard, changes a pull-up, a diaper, and wipes a pint-sized butt (not mine, at least not since I’ve had 3 kids in 4 years) all before 10 am.

I can’t seem to get away from it. My boys don’t make it any easier with their obsession with the stuff. Oftentimes when I clean the backyard, they are there pointing out the different piles. It’s a competition on who can find the most. They act as if they scored the winning point with each find. One day, my oldest did show a little sportsmanship when he said, “I hope Hayden finds some.” Ahhh, brotherly love. Unfortunately it doesn’t stop there, my almost 3-year-old has to draw dog p**p on all of his pictures that include a house. He wants you to draw the house and he likes to draw circular objects falling from the sky that represent, well you know. Yeah, it’s going to be fun explaining that in preschool.

Oh well, if you need someone to lay your p**p experiences on, I’m here. There’s nothing I haven’t heard or seen. (Read It Was A Poop-tastrope.) After all, when you have three babies, your modesty has been thrown out the window. More people have seen me naked than when I was a single girl in my twenties. Go ahead and write on my tombstone…

Beloved wife, mother, daughter, and friend…
She really gave a crap.

Let me start with my not so Roger Ebert mini-review of the movie… I loved it. It was very funny and I would definitely go see it again. If you were a fan of the series, then you will not be disappointed with the movie. However, if you never connected with the series, then I doubt you will neither understand nor like any of the raunchy humor in the movie. Case in point, Mr. Ebert, a 66 year-old-man will never understand the importance of a bikini wax or what it’s really like to be a single woman. The only character he liked was the only one I didn’t, Carrie’s assistant Louise played by Jennifer Hudson. I hate to say this, because I really respect what Jennifer Hudson has accomplished in her career, but that girl cannot act. Grant it, I didn’t see her in Dreamgirls, so I can only judge her performance in this movie. Enough of my review, moving on to more important things, namely, what I took away from this movie.

What I took away from the movie is that I’m missing three things: my style, independence, and relationships with my girlfriends.

1. When I was single, I could see bits and pieces of myself in each one of the four characters. Now, one husband and three kids later, I can see the pieces of myself that I have lost. Being a mom and going through three pregnancies in four years, I’ve lost my sense of style. I have traded fitted clothing, heels, and a seamless backside for track pants, tennis shoes, and comfortable underwear. This never became so apparent to me until I saw Carrie running in the snow in stilettos. Obviously, this is an extreme example. My feet are way too wide for stilettos, not to mention I would look like a thirteen-year-old girl trying to walk in them. And when it comes to snow, all bets are off. I’ll wear whatever it takes not to fall on my ass. My point is that I hate my current style. I want to feel good in what I put on my body. Instead, I’ve become accustomed to hiding it until I burn off the last few inches the last kid left behind. Time to add some more flavor.

2. In the movie, Samantha realizes that she has given up her sense of self and independence. In a sense, she lost herself and forgot who she was. Something that is so easy to do when you become a mom. Although, Samantha isn’t a mom in the movie, the idea is still the same. Very often, women tend to give up a part of themselves for everyone else. By the end of the movie, Samantha remembers who she is and acts on it. The storyline reminds me of a scene in The Incredibles between Edna and Helen Parr (Incredible), a.k.a. Elastigirl. Helen is upset because she’s full of doubt about her husband and Edna slaps her in the face and says, “Pull-yourself-together! What will you do?” Is this a question? You will show him that you remember that he is Mr. Incredible, and you will remind him who *you* are.” I can’t believe that I just quoted a line from The Incredibles as a source of inspiration, but I swear that line invigorates me every time I hear it. And trust me I hear it a lot.

3. That brings me to my last lightbulb moment of the movie. (Hopefully, someone is still reading this after the ‘Incredible’ thing.) No matter which direction life has taken these four women, they remain close friends and get together to just hang out. Now, I still have close relationships with many of my girlfriends, but it’s more though the phone, email, or occasional kid birthday party. I don’t remember the last time I just hung out with one or two of my friends that didn’t involve a kid. Okay, I do, it was when I saw this movie with a new friend of mine, but it was only a couple of hours and no Cosmo’s were involved. Therefore, I’m asking myself, “Is it really that difficult to schedule at least one night a month to just hang out?” There are always the excuses of not enough money, time, babysitters, etc… C’mon! Wouldn’t we be better mothers, wives, and women if we started to do a little something for ourselves? Like fostering the relationships, we have or had with our friends. If the desire and intent is there, anything can happen, no excuses.

Whew, all of this from a movie a critic at the New York Times dubbed as “…vulgar, shrill, deeply shallow…” Oh well, it’s all subjective anyway.

Side note: I hope that it is understood that all of the examples I used in this blog are just that examples and generalities. I live in the Midwest not Manhattan, so I’m not saying that I should be wearing Manolo Blahniks. I’m also being general about Samantha and her situation and not comparing her personality to mine. Matter of fact, I took a Sex in the City quiz and it turns out that I’m most like Miranda. I don’t know what to think about that. Maybe someone who knows me could comment and tell me what they think.

If you haven’t seen the movie yet, catch this quick clip. Or if you have seen the movie, relive it and want to go see it again.

The day started out great with a trip to the park. My 4-year-old and 2 ½-year-old listened and had a great time going up and down the slides. There was only a slight problem with the youngest when I told him it was time to go. He decided that he would rather crash the party in shelter #2 than go to the grocery store. After a slightly embarrassing chase through the shelter, I caught the party crasher and we were off. Little did I know that the real fun was on it’s way.

When we got to the store, I thought that it would be a good idea to give them each a little cart that they could fill with groceries. Who knew their minds would be able to keep a running total of who has what in each other’s cart. If only I had realized this before we got to the cookie ailse. So, I put a container of $3.99 cookies in my youngest son’s cart. The older one promptly takes it out and declares that it is his. The little guy isn’t going for this and takes them back. I’ve witnessed this scene before and know that it’s about to get ugly. My boys are small, but very scrappy. They don’t take any crap, especially from their brother. Before I know it, fists and food are flying. They’ve turned delirious and are acting as if they are famine stricken beings fighting over the last morsel of food. I wish I were exaggerating, but this shopping excursion has turned into a knockdown, drag-out fight. Somehow, amidst the stares of less than sympathetic shoppers, I’m able to pull them apart and grab a second package of cookies. This was my bribe to get them to the checkout lane.

Now they each have their own container of cookies, they act as if nothing ever happened. As if, they didn’t totally mortify their mother in the middle of the grocery store or try to rearrange each other’s face just seconds earlier. I did learn an unexpected lesson from the battle’s aftermath. I learned that it’s not worth holding a grudge. Kids don’t, why should we?

In retrospect, I’ve figured out that it’s not the taking them somewhere that is so difficult, it’s the combination of the two of them together and the competition that ensues. Unfortunately, I had to figure it out over a container of organic chocolate chip cookies in the middle of Trader Joes. The funny part is that the cookies weren’t even that good.

Incidentally, I didn’t actually buy the second tub of cookies. I made sure the cashier hid them. I use this tactic often with my youngest son, because he usually forgets about the item he wanted so badly. My oldest son on the other hand doesn’t forget a thing. It took approximately five times before he quit asking me if he was getting a cookie from his container or his brother’s. I think this is the exact situation where it is perfectly acceptable to lie to your child. “Of course, these are your cookies, dear.”

When I was pregnant with each of our kids, my husband referred to me as a “name bully”. Towards the end of my pregnancies, I knew what their names were supposed to be. I can’t explain how I knew, I just knew. Some would say that was insightful (me) and others would say that was stubborn (my husband), but in the end there is no denying that each of my children look like the name they were given. We did end up giving them the names I chose, even though my husband fought a good fight all the way to the operating room. I think seeing me cut open helped him throw in the towel.

I will say that I am a firm believer that the mother should make the final call on the name, for many reasons: mothers carry the baby for 10 months, go through the birth process (pleasant or not), have to recover, and are then the primary caregivers (at least in the beginning). Okay, maybe that makes me a slightly stubborn name bully, but my husband wanted to name my boys “Lou” and my girl “LuLu”. Seriously. No really, seriously. No offense to all the Lou’s and LuLu’s out there in the world, but those weren’t supposed to be the names of my kids. At least give me a name that I can work with. All right, whom am I kidding? I’m a complete name bully and I own up to it. It doesn’t make it right, but I will own up to it.

So, what is in a name?

• Meaning
• Purpose
• History and
• Sometimes a little of just because you like it

For instance, my daughter has my grandmother’s first name as her middle name and my second son’s middle name helps keep our Polish heritage alive. I came up with my oldest son’s name by watching ER. I loved how a certain character evolved on the show and I imagined that my son would also grow to be a compassionate man. Yes, I realize that it is only show, but I also just liked the name.

My point is… name your kids what you want to name them. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of the name, whether it be friends, family, or your stepdaughter’s impolite mother. (Oops, did I just write that?) On the other end, if you don’t like someone’s name choice, sometimes it’s just better to keep it to yourself. What is in a name is between the child and the people who named him or her.

Check out this comprehensive list of baby names, rankings, and meanings on JustBreatheMom.com.

So, how does a mother of a preschooler, toddler, and newborn accomplish this? Good question. I’ve been trying to figure that out myself as my two boys have been auditioning for the TV show “Super Nanny” over the last two weeks. (No doubt, a delayed reaction brought on by the birth of their 6-week-old baby sister.) However, last Friday I did stumble upon my moment of peace.

Miraculously, all three of my kids were asleep at the same time. And it wasn’t during the middle of the night. At precisely 3:23 pm, I found a little bit of peace. I sat there smiling and wondering what I should do with my newfound silence. After about a minute, I decided that I would wash the dishes, relax with my muffin, and listen to Oprah & Friends on XM Radio. Unfortunately, baby girl had other plans and woke up 15 minutes later. Therefore, I didn’t get to finish the dishes, eat my muffin, and only heard bits and pieces of the words of wisdom on the radio I desperately needed.

In retrospect, I should have left the dishes and been present in my moment of silence. Lesson learned. I guess that’s all part of evolving as a mother. Utilize a quiet moment in time for yourself when it comes your way.

But…

I’ll keep it real and simple by saying, some of us were just not born with bodies made to birth babies. The last few weeks have been the toughest. Top that with two little active boys that won’t cut their momma any slack. However, throughout this whole pregnancy I keep telling myself that this is it. This is the last time you’ll ever get to experience this again.

I’ve tried to envision myself as the mom in the Suave commercial that starts out independent and single, engaged, married, has a couple of kids and lets herself go by dressing up as the Easter Bunny. She then gets her old self back and looks glowing and beautiful pregnant with her third child. I love that commercial just for the inspiration and sheer accuracy of what happens to so many of us when we have kids.

If you haven’t seen this commercial, you can view it by:

1. Visiting www.suave.com
2. Click on “Our Story”
3. Click on “Advertising”
4. Click on “Anthem”

I decided to preserve myself in history as the “Suave Mom”; I had pregnancy pictures of the boys and me taken. I did this with my older son when I was pregnant with my second. The picture is adorable of him holding on to my stomach and looking up at me. Things didn’t go as smoothly with the addition of my second son. I tried to get the same shot with both boys hanging on to my belly and me out of the picture. That didn’t work, so I sat down clutching on to the youngest in a very uncomfortable position. Everyone is halfway smiling. Fine, I’ll take it. Then when I get the pictures back, I notice what my oldest son is doing with his hand. Nice.

Oh well, I guess this is my perfect and it doesn’t really matter anyway. In retrospect, having a baby is one of the biggest miracles of life. And, how lucky am I that I’ve had the opportunity to experience it three times?

Check out Pregnancy & Baby on JustBreatheMom.com.

Here’s my story…

My 3-year-old comes into my bedroom and tells me that his little brother took his diaper off and put poop on the floor. Ok, not so bad I thought. I can handle a little poop on the floor. After all, it’s not as bad as my friend’s son who smeared his poop all over her wall. Oh, but how wrong I was. I walk into the room and see my curious little 2-year-old poking at the dark round pile on the floor with hands covered in what I would’ve given my last girl scout cookie to be chocolate. But, it wasn’t chocolate all over his hands, shirt, chubby butt, or stocky thighs. Yes, once again, it was a poop-tastrophe.

I immediately picked him up and put him in the tub. Off went the shirt, in went the bubbles, and within 10 minutes all was well again in the household. That is until 1 hour later when the stinker came running in my office once again without a diaper. It turns out that he doesn’t like anything rubbing against his pint sized penis or plump rear, so he takes off his diaper. He then proceeds to tell me what he did in his pants. Now if only he could only get the concept of sitting on the potty before he does his business. Then life would be good, with two down and one to go in the messy world of potty training.

**Warning** The pictures that you are about to see do not contain chocolate.

Last Sunday I happened to catch a glimpse of E!’s Live on the Red Carpet special for the Oscars. Of course, Ryan Seacrest was one of the hosts, because he hosts just about everything these days. The unsuspecting young, pregnant, Jessica Alba was the next unlucky victim of his series of ridiculous questions. He started off with the standard, “Who are you wearing” I can live with that question; it was the next one that left my mouth wide open. “Would you be breastfeeding? Or how would the process be” asks the dense Seacrest. Being young and a little thrown off, Alba does graciously answer the question rather than punch him or walk away.

I won’t go into all of the reasons why that was such a stupid question, because as mothers we all know how personal our bodies and babies are. A question like that coming from a young single guy without kids just makes it even more annoying. I would have liked to see him ask Cate Blanchett the same question. A woman in her late thirties working on her third child would have known exactly what to say to clueless Ryan Seacrest.

Catch a snippet of Ryan’s red carpet faux pas here.

You can also find more entertainment news on JustBreatheMom.com.