The World of Author/Mom Alicia Murphy!

My 3-year-old son told me I sound like a boy.
Possible responses that flooded my head included:

“Yes, I’ve been sleep-deprived since you were born,
first because of your need to eat all night, and
now because of your ability to make me worry about you.”

“Yes, I consume massive quantities of alcohol these days,
which isn’t good for the throat.”

“Yes, I used to be a man, but Shhhhh, Daddy doesn’t know.”

None of these replies seemed appropriate, so I just said,
“Yes, Mommy has a low voice.” Then I took my hair out of
the ponytail and put on a little more makeup.

Anyone have a lawn mower I can borrow?
The weather is finally nice, and I think I should probably shave my legs …

Moms cut the crusts off sandwiches and the skin off of apples, because their children like them better that way.
Moms leave the house unshowered and looking dumpy, but their kids are dressed to the nines.
Moms (sometimes) turn off their workout DVDs and exercise in front of Dora the Explorer, because their kids want to watch it.
Moms go out of their way to pack yummy lunches and keep their kids’ favorite clothes clean.
Moms say the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and ….
Moms drink cocktails. Often. They need them. Often.
Moms melt at the sight of their children’s smiles.
Moms’ favorite sounds are their kids’ laughter.
Moms love their children constantly and unconditionally.
Moms say things they never imagined they’d have to say.
Moms clean things they never imagined they’d have to clean.
Moms define love.
Moms are FAB!

True love: leaving the house to drive
your son to his karate lesson with the
desire to punish him as soon as you return
home because he has given you such an attitude.
You try to make friendly small talk in the car so he
will be relaxed and in a good mood before
his karate class.

As the lesson begins, you sit down and take a deep
breath. Glancing into the classroom, you catch your
son turning around to look at you. He smiles and
winks. Your heart melts.

True love is so forgiving. True love is the
way we love our kids.

So … A few weeks ago, I checked out this cool new girly boutique today called Charming Charlie’s. It’s basically an explosion of costume jewelry (available in EVERY color imaginable), purses, scarves, some shoes … an accessorizer’s dream. In my quest to remove “frump” from the middle of my name, I went there for the first time. Only mistake? Had my 3-YEAR-OLD BOY with me. “Why are we here, Mommy?” left his lips more than once … but then he discovered a pyramid of nail polish bottles in assorted colors. Then his repeated question of choice changed to, “Can I have one, Mommy? Pleeeeeeeease?” It didn’t seem TOO hard to convince him that no, he wasn’t getting any nail polish from me in this lifetime.

When we got home, I unpacked everything from the car, and my little guy disappeared. The house got eerily quiet. He didn’t respond to my calls at first … Then he appeared with his hands behind his back and asked me to turn on the bathroom sink. Ummmm, clue #1.

I looked at his hands and saw bright red nail polish all over the tips of his fingers. I first began to panic thinking about the rugs and furniture (a little slow on the uptake …), which of course I found on the carpeting that goes up our staircase. I found the bottle on a bookshelf in his room, and as I was calling to him “Where did you find this?” I saw that the label said Charming Charlie’s. AAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!@#@$%$#@#$%%#@@@!

Trying to remain calm, I rushed back downstairs to explain to him that we don’t just take things from a store – or anywhere. We have to pay for them. Telling a 3-year-old that stealing is against the law is what you might call … pointless. How is he supposed to process that? The most humorous part of the whole scenario was pulling out of the garage to go right back to the store and return the stolen goods. As if on cue, a cop car drove slowly past our house and turned around in the cul-de-sac. Perfect timing for me to say, “Wow, here’s the police man. Do you think he knows you stole something that didn’t belong to you?” The kid’s eyes got so wide I thought they might pop off his face. I know it sounds awful, but a little fear can go a long way!

At the store, my litle guy buried his head in my shoulder to avoid the eye contact of the salesgirl as I explained what had happened. Looking extremely shocked that I had actually brought the nail polish back, the girl thanked us, and we left.

The local police officer drives down our street every afternoon, making sure everything looks normal (whatever normal is these days). My son continues to ask, “Do you think he’s looking for me, Mommy?” I keep saying, “NO, buddy, you went back to the store and told the truth. You did the right thing.” He doesn’t seem convinced. I hope this means his clepto days are over.

The definition of being a good mom is going out to play in the cold and snow (even though you absolutely DETEST it — yes, I am YELLING that) with your 3-year-old (who absolutely loves it), and then coming inside hoping to snuggle on the couch with hot chocolate, but instead filling the request of said 3-year-old and running around the house dressed like (and acting like …??????) Batgirl. One pat, two pats, three pats …

Okay, in my heart and head I still feel like I’m 18. Yet I just somehow pulled a muscle in my back whilst applying dye to my otherwise grandma-white hair. WTH? I’m also having a little trouble walking today — too many squats yesterday during my Lose-the-Baby-Weight-Your-Youngest-is-Almost-4 Workout. My head is fuzzy this morning from the TGIF wine I guzzled last night at a party (at my kids’ school … I know, seems wrong on so many levels). This afternoon I’ll take my daughter to a birthday party sporting my newly- dyed coiffe and something sharp on my old, creaking body.  Maybe if I stand still in a corner somewhere, no one will be able to tell that I can barely move. 40’s, you will NOT crush me.