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My Life Between Coffee and Wine

Humor from the Home Front

EVELYN AUCOIN

Evelyn Aucoin
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Handy Tips for Traveling with Your Spawn

05/08/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

My husband and I both love to travel, and because we had our children young, most of our traveling adventures included the kids. My youngest son had visited seventeen states before he made it to Kindergarten. Along the way, literally, we noted a few key “Do’s and Don’ts”, so in the interest of public service, I wanted to share.

  • Never give your carsickness-prone child red Gatorade the first 30 minutes you are in a rental car driving him through the mountains.  You will spend the remainder of the vacation trying to air out the smell of regurgitated Gatorade. Note, very few car interiors are red, so if the puke smell does not get you,the fumes of Spot Shot fabric cleaner may finish you off. Obviously, it is worth the risk when you consider the full price of the vehicle may be charged to your credit card when rental agency gets a sniff and a look.
  •  Always keep an eye on your children when going through security. Especially in a foreign country.  One time departing Ireland, the person in front of us going through the metal detector started screaming and created a panic. As all hell is breaking loose in the post-9/11 airport security, I looked down to see my five-year-old diving under the x-ray machine security to grab a quarter that had rolled off of the x-ray belt.
  • Ninety-nine cents ($ 0.99) worth of dishwashing detergent is not worth going to a Mexico prison. On our way back from a Cabo San Lucas family vacation, I packed the remaining dishwashing liquid I had bought there, trying to be frugal. The Mexico border patrol at the airport was very alarmed upon finding it because it was “Dawn Now with Bleach”. He opened it, smelled it, asked my intentions of bringing on the plane. Bleach is a banned substance on planes. Please note.
  • Sleep juice when traveling overseas is very important if you don’t want to waste the first day of a trip due to jet lag.  As we took off for Ireland, my kids asked for their sleep juice, and I got an alarming eyebrow raise from the flight attendant.  I explained it was Benadryl, and I wanted them to sleep on the seven hour, red-eye flight so they would be bright as daisies when we landed. When the beverage cart came around, she offered me wine, and asked if it was time for my sleep juice. Smart lady.
  • Read all warning signs.  In an animal preserve on Fota Island, I encouraged my kids to get very close to a baby wallaby so I could take their picture. As I finished, I noticed a sign next to the animal that said not to approach or get close, as they can randomly attack.  Oops.
  • Try not to look like the other tourists, except when it is too funny not to. We hiked up a hill to see a stone circle which dated to the bronze age, along with our kids and my husband’s parents. As we approached, there was a group of people, dangling crystals, dancing, and one lady throwing herself over each rock trying to find God-knows-what. Immediately, my father-in-law pulled out the rental car keys, closed his eyes, and began to hum as he twirled them over a rock. My oldest child, put a hand on top of one short rock and began dancing around it. My youngest did this:

IMG_1119

I once asked my pediatrician if he thought it was ok that we took our kids all these places, and his answer was “well, you  know they HAVE kids there, right?” Don’t be afraid to get out of the traveling comfort zone with them in tow. One my friends describes vacation as “where I do everything I do at home, but with less convenience.” Last year she took her three kids, plus a spare to Costa Rica. The memories are worth the inconvenience. Bon Voyage.

Follow me on Facebook: http://ow.ly/MGPEB

Filed Under: humor, parenting Tagged With: travel

Adventures in the Continuation of the Species

04/22/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

I’m in the process of planning a baby shower for a (much younger) friend, and this planning process plus watching her pregnancy grow on Instagram in cute clothes, with her barely-bigger-than-a-volleyball tummy has prompted me to reflect on the time I spent incubating my two favorite fetuses.

I was 26 when I got pregnant with my oldest child. After trying for a couple of years, I was actually in shock when it finally worked. The night decided we would swing by Kmart and pick up a pee stick test after dinner, I went ahead and had a second glass of wine, in case it was the last one I had for a while. I have always been quite the strategic thinker.

When I told my boss at work, he remarked that my due date falling at the end of a quarter (when many financial reports, for which I was responsible had deadlines) was terrible timing on my part. My answer, “It is continuation of the species, you know. I actually think it may be more important that the quarterly reports.” (Note: I quit that job as soon after the baby came I could squeeze my postpartum body into one of my suits to interview.)

Now I’ve always loved food, so I took this opportunity as a license to eat and I managed to gain 56 pounds which, with my first, was basically a 6 pound baby and 50 pounds of human bubble wrap. I gained as much the second time, but the baby was a more respectable size at nearly eight pounds. At one point I was waiting for an elevator at Enron, where I worked, and an elderly gentleman walked up to me when I was about seven months pregnant and said “Oh my God! Somebody must be having twins!” I replied enthusiastically, while gesturing to my large tuhkis, “Yes, I’m caring one in my a** so I don’t tip over.”

When thinking about pregnancy, the thing that scared me the most was the actual the birth experience.  I had heard multiple horror stories: emergency C-sections, episiotomies (google it, but not while you are eating in case there are pictures), a birthing mom who refused the episiotomy and then had her birth canal rip into third degree lacerations through her rectum, etc.. These stories haunted me while in conception mode, and obviously still lingered as my first due date approached.

That is I was scared of giving birth until I got to be about eight months pregnant. Due to my enthusiastic weight gain, it was impossible to rollover without assistance.  I even got trapped in a bathroom stall when I  could not open the door due to my tummy. I was only able to exit the stall by turning around, leaning my belly over the toilet, and using my heel to pull the door open. Now that I think of it, that is probably the first yoga type move I ever attempted. There comes a point in pregnancy, no matter how much you “Love being pregnant,” where you are no longer scared of giving birth; the thought of actually staying pregnant is more anxiety provoking. God knows what he’s doing, because by that point you don’t really care how they get it out, as long as the kid gets evicted.

With my first child I pushed for two and a half hours, and he finally decided to make us parents as I laughed between pushing, and relaxed a little. Why was I laughing? Because David Letterman’s monologue came on the TV.  I have always wanted to tell David that he helped me give birth. That darling 6 pound baby boy manage to come out face up, and break my tailbone upon exit just to add insult to injury. (There is my honor story to add to the list. You are welcome!)

My second child, even though he was nearly 2 pounds larger, I only pushed nine minutes.  He was born shortly before noon, and I believe he was simply afraid he would miss lunch. Sixteen years later, and I do not recall him skipping a meal yet.

Now, my baby making days are behind me. It is teenagers, dogs and looking forward to being a grandma, but not for a few more years. I am glad I still hang around with fertile people, so I can snuggle babies when they are not crying, and generally avoid projectile vomiting. And if I never find under a car seat, a three-week old bottle, with formula molded into solid black block, it will be fine with me.

Filed Under: humor, parenting Tagged With: pregnancy

When Mom is Away : A Handy Guide

04/12/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin 1 Comment

At sometime, most moms leave the homestead for a night or two, for work, a retreat or a short stint in rehab (don’t judge). This departure is always preceded by furious, turbo-nerve fueled list making and notes for those left behind. I recently left for three nights (!) to go speak at a conference, and my dear husband looked into my eyes as he said goodbye, and asked “How will I know what to do?”

So, I have a created this handy template for you to print out, fill in and help get you started. I suggest you print it now, and put it in a safe place, like your chocolate drawer (don’t act surprised – Even Gabby Reese has a chocolate drawer).

While I am Away

Hi all my loved ones! I have narrowed down the house rules to only TWO when I am gone:

1) Keep all children and pets alive.

2) Do not misplace (even temporarily!) a child or pet.

Here are some Household Operating Best Practices to refer to in my absence:

Pets:

1) If they whine in the kitchen, feed them and fill the water bowl.

2) If they whine inside the back door, let them out.

3) If they whine outside the back door, let them in.

Kids:

Items 1 to 3 – same as above

4) Make them do homework, if they dwaddle, threaten them with no TV.

5) If they fight while watching TV, threaten them with early bedtime.

6) If they are complaining or bickering after you put them to bed, threaten them with no TV.

(Note: This is referred to professionally as a Threat Loop – I may trademark the term.)

Kid Specifics

Remind (child) to take a shower.

Remind (child) to brush teeth.

Remind (child) to take medicine.

Wake (child/ren) at _____, and then again at ______ when they go back to bed the first time. Beg them to eat, help them find their book bags and shoes (which are never on the handy bench and hooks in the mudroom for these things). Bonus points: you can time the race to the bus and see if any of them have a future in track.

Remember that (child1) must be at (location 1) by (x) o’clock, and don’t forget to take their (music, cleats, bible, trumpet, helmet, etc..)


If you are reviewing my list and wondering why all the other household responsibilities are not outlined, I will explain that I simply don’t shoot that high. But again, with an all male household, I have an ADD infused audience, so I need to focus on the basics. And in my maturity (or exhaustion) my level of perfectionism with respect to the house has softened. And I am not satisfied if they don’t miss me just a little when I am out of town. I haven’t gone so far as to hide the toilet paper, or bribe the dogs to lay near my side of the bed and cry softly, but it is a thought.

Filed Under: humor, parenting Tagged With: dogs

There Is No “I” in Team – But There Is “M” & “E”

04/03/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

My kids are a perfect experiment of how diverse children’s personalities can emerge. They swam out of the same gene pool, were reared in the same home, attended the same schools, experienced the same vacations –  and yet they are as different as night and day.

My Soccer Kids - Early Start

There is no greater example than their aptitudes with regard to sports. My three brothers played every sport imaginable, including practicing pole vaulting in our front yard over my Volkswagen rabbit. My husband played football and basketball through high school, so introducing our boys to the world of athletics was a given.

Have ball, will play

My youngest could throw a ball – any ball – ambidextrously, even though predominantly left-handed. He is gifted at soccer, golf, – you name it. My eldest must have been reading a book when the universe handed out sports talent.

My oldest attended Montessori school, and we became close friends with several parents of boys his same age. Collectively, mostly likely over cocktails, we decided that when they were three we would all sign up for a soccer team through the local YMCA. We live in the suburbs, which are flooded with kids. So if those poor soccer fields could talk, it would be an extended soliloquy of observations concerning the thousands of kids, parents, and coaches that had stomped across them.

We all excitedly get signed up, attend practices, and get their little uniform, cleats and shin guards. The parents are ready: video recorders fully charged, and in hand for the kids’ first game.

Now these kids are three-years-old.  So during most practices there was more picking of flowers, spinning in circles, and other toddler antics. We were sure the two, thirty minute halves of this game might be “America’s Funniest Home Video” gold, and a winning video was a strategy for funding college some day – so we were ready.

Finally, the referee (very experienced, he must be 14) blows the whistle on this warm fall morning.

Let the games begin

Three year olds don’t really play in formation – it is more like a herd of puppies, in controlled chaos, stumbling all over each other. They are all bunched together, randomly kicking with very little ball contact occurring. Shin guards don’t get this much action during a World Cup match.

All of sudden, my child turns toward me, and breaks out the pack.. Heading for the goal with the ball? No, trotting over to his beaming mother, who is following his beeline to her with the video camera.

Mom: “Honey, is everything ok?”

My Son, putting his pudgy little hands on his hips, and rolling his eyes: “Mom, this is ridiculous. We need another ball, NO ONE is sharing.”

Apparently through all the practices, and excitement around this amazing opportunity, the entire concept of a team sport failed to register. But fear not, his skills in leadership and persuasion soon blossomed from the experience.

Let me explain..

Two weeks later, I arrive at the Montessori school to pick up my children, and my eldest and his two soccer peers are on their hands and knees inside a large wood barrel designed for the kids to crawl through. The headmistress struts up to me and I know I am in trouble. She explains that during recess, she heard girls squealing like pigs caught in an electric fence. When she investigated the source of the ruckus, she sees the three amigos had opened their pants, and were urinating into the open barrel of the play equipment. In front of EVERYONE at recess.

Of course they were

My mind quickly flashes to a passing comment my husband had made. He and the other dads supervised soccer practice earlier this week. When the kids had to pee, the husbands thought it was stupid to hike all the way back to the YMCA building. So he and the other dads shuffled the boys to the tree-lined edge of the soccer field, and “taught” the boys to pee outside. This is apparently a rite of passage to which I was not privy. In my mind, I spike a football and dance in the parent-end zone – “This is not my fault!”

When I arrived home with my child, who luckily had avoided being labeled a pervert, I got the trademark “What did I do that was wrong?” look on my spouse’s face when I relayed the day’s events.

So that afternoon at the school, the headmistress shared something else with me. When she asked Friend #1, whose idea it was, he said my son. Friend # 2 also said it was my dear boy’s brainchild. And when questioned, my spawn volunteered he had thought the whole thing up. At least they are honest.

Fear not, he continued to play soccer for another decade, so it was a good start. Eventually, he stopped asking for his own ball during a game. Progress not perfection, people.

Filed Under: humor, parenting

I Swear I Skipped the Poison Apple

03/27/2015 by Evelyn Aucoin 2 Comments

I swear i skipped the poison apple
No Poison Apple Needed
No Poison Apple Needed

As a working mom, I had a key concern during my two maternity leaves. My babies were going to be in daycare, so I was very, very anxious about them coming home cranky if they were unable to nap with background noise.

So embracing my über-mom mode, I came up with the answer. I left a television or radio softly playing in their nursery while they napped and slept so they would get “conditioned” to sleeping through some noise. We did not co-sleep unless the kid was attached to a boob, usually mine

Let’s just say I overshot my goal. I am a perfectionist, but I hit this sh*t out of the park.

Our house security alarm is 110 decibels, and the horn is in the attic between my kids two bedrooms. Sleepy, pre-coffee mom has, at times, forgotten to turn off the alarm before letting the dogs out early in the morning. They have slept through it every time. When they do wake, and I ask if the alarm scared them, and they both look at me with no point of reference.

In college, my oldest has one 8 o’clock class. I asked him if he has been getting up one time, and he explained that he sets the alarm clock, and then 6 more alarms on his phone random minutes apart (3 minutes, 5 minutes) because he can “off” an alarm in his sleep so proficiently, he needs redundancy. I am proud to say he has only overslept one class this freshman year! Note it was a 10 am class.

My youngest, now 16, should be a lab somewhere. He also sleep-walks. And doesn’t sleep *fully* dressed. Let’s just say we will have to vet the future college roommate carefully.

He started walking at 8 months old, and quickly thereafter, the little acrobat started jumping out of his crib. He didn’t have the verbal skills to shout “Geronimo” but the effect was the same. We moved him into a regular twin bed to avoid both 1) an emergency room co-pay and 2) Child Protective Services investigation. Overall, I would say these two objectives became my main goals of my child rearing.

So at 8 months old, we also discover he is a sleep-walker when he keeps magically appearing in our room in the middle of the night, and doesn’t respond to us when we talk to him. Creepy. We were concerned with a kid less than one year old wandering around the house and down the stairs. Not to mention our shared angst anticipating his perfect timing interrupting “Mommy and Daddy time”

So, we bought a white knob cover that “a child’s dexterity and fine motor skills prevent the turning of the knob.” Well, these college graduate parents spent the better part of 30 minutes getting the damn thing on the inside knob of his bedroom door. We kissed him “good night”, closed the door and before we made it to the top of the stairs in our modest home, the kid was standing behind us like a scene from The Shining.

He is now 16, and the sleeping adventures continue. He has an alarm clock next to his bed, with an 103 decibel alarm and an attachment that goes between the mattresses (pull your mind out of the gutter, please) that shakes the bed. For reference, that is louder than a motorcycle, but slightly less than a power saw. My son’s response? In one seamless, sleeping-olympics qualifying move, he turns off the alarm, flips over, adjusts his pillow and pulls the quilt up over his head.

He blinks at me like I am pathological liar, he has never met, when I appear at his bedside 20 minutes later explaining the time. I often do this slightly louder than 103 decibels, with a bonus expletive creatively inserted into my rant. And my husband wonders “what I do all morning” before I leave for work. Now you know.

Filed Under: humor, parenting

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Welcome

As the mom of two boys, I have learned that a sense of humor is one of the most important parenting skills you should master. I share my stories (including my missteps) to hopefully lighten the load of parenthood, helping other look for the humor – even if only in hindsight. Since my kids are now legally adults, I figure CPS won’t come after me as I share the reality of raising boys.

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