Uggs Squared
So I fully understand that it’s not Maya’s fault she has 50 times more stuff than I did when I was a kid. It’s also not her fault she has very generous grandparents. And it’s obviously not her fault she’s the only grandchild her grandparents can spoil.
Because we all know that’s my fault.
Anyway, I know all this and yet as Maya tried on the two pairs of Uggs she was recently gifted, I had this sudden urge to:
- Yell at her for being so spoiled.
- Lecture her about how name brands are completely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
- Bundle her onto the first plane to India so she could see that some kids don’t even have a pair of shoes, nevermind two pairs of ridiculously expensive boots.
- Take a picture of my cute kid in her expensive boots.
So what did I end up doing? Well I yelled at her for throwing her Uggs haphazardly into her closet, I lectured her on how lucky she is to have generous grandparents, I researched ticket prices to Delhi but decided instead to make a donation on her behalf to the earthquake victims in Turkey, and then I took this picture.
And now I’m contemplating selling Maya’s Uggs on eBay to pay for therapy to help me become a normal, functioning human being who doesn’t make a mountain out of a molehill.
the elevator: a “how to”
To the lady at the Beverly Center who drove me batsh#t crazy with her elevator antics a few days ago: this post is dedicated to you.
How to Ride an Elevator: in 4 Easy Steps
1. Getting On. I know how overwhelming it can be to choose an elevator but here’s a tip: simply decide if you’re going up or down and once you find an elevator going in the direction of your choice step inside. Just do it. I promise you’ll be okay.
2. Choosing a Destination. Decisions…decisions. Here’s a thought: how about pressing the button that corresponds to the floor you’re going to? This foolproof strategy will ensure that you won’t waste electricity on 10 unnecessary stops, nor will you further inconvenience the other passengers who’d prefer to get to their destination in this century.
Up Next: a "How-To" on filling the parking meter so you don't get exorbitant parking tickets.
3. Managing the Trip. (This one is dedicated to my husband). There is no cell phone reception in an elevator. None. I assure you that the person on the other end of your phone can’t freaking hear you repeating “Hello? I’m in an elevator and there’s no reception!” Please, for the love of God, put the phone DOWN for 30 seconds. I guarantee you’ll live to tell about it.
4. The Exit. I realize how confusing it can be when you arrive at your chosen floor. Is it really your chosen floor? Did we really get there so quickly? Is the digital number in bright red on top of the door really telling the truth? Yes, yes, and yes. So please get out. And move on with your day so I can move on with mine.
And from the bottom of my heart? Thank you.
milestones
You know how some mothers sweetly reminisce about the days their kids were toddling around in bibs and diapers?
Yeah. That’s not me.
The truth is that I’ve been hurrying Maya along from one milestone to another since the day she was born. And really, the only thing that’s stopped me from throwing a party when Maya achieves another step towards independence is the fact that I fear people will think I’m totally inappropriate.
But really, how could I not want to celebrate retiring the enormous car seat that took up half my car? And is it crazy that saying goodbye to the giant Bugaboo Stroller
Six years ago I didn't have a single gray hair. My how things have changed.
In any case, the milestones continue: just this past week I could barely contain my excitement because not only did Maya put on her own lotion and pajamas after I gave her a bath, but her teacher told me that Maya is now supposed to do her homework independently!
Imagine that.
I realize this post probably makes no sense to people who don’t have kids. It probably makes even less sense to all the dedicated and loving mothers who accidentally stumbled across my blog. To everyone else? Thank you for understanding where I’m coming from.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 