I'm trying to chop an onion for dinner and the dog is jumping on the couch, stealing the boys' snacks. The boys are yelling at her, then at each other because one is stealing the other's cars or books or something. I yell at everyone and drag the dog off the couch -- and usually within a minute, we're repeating the scene. The dog is back on the couch, the oil I set to heat up in the pan is burning because the onion still isn't cut up and I've hit my limit. I glance at the clock, snatch up my phone and dial the husband as I angrily hack up the onion.
"Hello."
"YOU BETTER BE HEADING OUT THE DOOR."
I know, before the words are even out of my mouth that this call is worse than pointless. It's not going to fix the fact that I am only one person trying to do a handful of tasks. It isn't going to help the husband get out of the office; it's likely to delay his exit. It's only going to make him angry. But the phone is there and I can't resist the immediacy.
----
We went to a concert in Orlando, the Old 97's. Unexpectedly, the lead singer, Rhett Miller, who also is a solo artist, ended up opening the show. I tweeted that awesomeness and within seconds heard back from Kate, a fellow Floridian who I met at The Blathering last fall. She was there, too. Not to be cheesy, but in that moment, the world felt very small and friendly.
We chatted about Rhett Miller's hip wiggling, and introduced husbands and friends. (I also touched her pregnant belly -- and then apologized, because hello! inappropriate. Damn twitter makes you feel like you know someone better than you really do.)
----
The next morning, we showed The Boy and The Lad video on the husband's phone of Old 97's singing one of our favorite family sing-along songs.
----
The boys are playing in the tub, giggling and giving themselves bubble beards. I watch them through the door as I help the husband put away dishes or pack lunches, but then the tasks are done. Instead of focusing on the boys and their silly stories, I perch in the bathroom doorway, scrolling through twitter and facebook feeds.
The husband does the same in the yard while the boys play ball. After the boys go to bed, he takes the dog out to play fetch. He tosses the ball with one hand while his phone glows in the other.
----
We live 1,000 miles away from our parents, the boys' grandparents. But the boys know their faces and voices. We skype and do facetime with them. The boys regularly will pick up our phones and try to call their grammy or papaw -- or their cousins or aunt or uncle.
----
Another night, I'm heading out to meet friends annoyed by something the husband has or hasn't done. Who knows. Marriage is hard. I'm fuming and angry. I dial Michelle's number. Voicemail. I dial Mom's number. Voicemail. I dial my sister. Voicemail. I don't even bother leaving her a message; Lex is a notorious screener of calls. She calls back.
But in that minute before my cell rings, I think about the depressed pioneers of Willa Cather novels.
"You know," I tell my sister, "I've determined that the lack of technology is what drove pioneer women on the plains to suicide or homicide. They were 1,000 miles from home, trying to take care of a family and didn't have any other way of getting out their feelings."
----
Sometimes I feel like technology is stealing my time, stealing me. I feel as if I spend so much time receiving that I'm not sending out anything meaningful. And, while the immediacy of information and connections is what makes technology amazing, for someone with a quick temper, that immediacy can be a dangerous thing.
But thank goodness for technology that allows me to talk to my mom or my sister or Michelle any time, even if it's just an OMG! today sucks! or YAY! that's great! text. Thank goodness for technology that makes the world smaller for me and my kiddos. Thank goodness for the internet, which let's me Google anything and write this blog that has given me so many friends.
If I can just stick to texts only in the hour before the husband arrives home each night, we might be alright.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
It's hard
To the mother looking at crumbs on her floor, toys scattered in almost every room and laundry piled up, I'm there with you.
To the mother with a screaming toddler, who doesn't know why the child is crying or how to make it stop, I'm there with you.
To the mother who wants to raise empowered daughters, who reads and agrees with all the blogs blasting Lego Friends but still buys a set for her daughter because that is what she wants, I'm there with you.
To the mother who opts to go to work instead of stay home with a sick kid and feels bad about it, I'm there with you. To the mother who happily sends a child to Gramma's for the weekend and doesn't regret it, I'm there with you.
To the mother who loves her children with her entire being and would step in front of a speeding car for them but who just needs a few minutes without someone needing a diaper change, a juice, a snack, a blanket or a pacifier, I'm there with you.
This mothering thing is hard.
It's second-guessing yourself. It's dealing with others second-guessing you.
It's constantly putting yourself second or third or fourth. It's being tired all of the time no matter how much sleep you get.
It's getting the kids to bed just so you can clean the house, do the laundry, pee without anyone staring at you and then collapse in bed at midnight just to start it all over again in the morning.
It's doing what works now - breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, characters or no characters, media or no media - even if someone will be judging you for your choice.
It's realizing that most of your discussions with your husband lately revolve around poop and snot or whose turn it is to sleep in on Saturday or stay home with the inexplicably sick kid.
It's not being fazed by your own broken foot, not ever crying about it but crying when your child has a fever for 102.7 and you can't do anything to make her feel better.
It is realizing how much time you wasted when you didn't have kids. Why didn't I run a marathon instead of watching that Lord of the Rings marathon on television? Why didn't I read more, travel more, do more when I actually had the time and energy? It's wanting to punch your child-free self in the face for ever complaining about being tired or not having enough free time.
This isn't a cry for help. I'm not abandoning my quest for positivity in my life. I love my life - messy house, crying children and all. It is simply a recognition that this is hard. It is a message to other mothers so they know they aren't the only ones who look around and think, "Holy smokes I am wiped out. Can a girl get some peace and quiet around here?" and then put the television on just so they can get just that, even for 5 minutes.
Sure there are great things about being a mother. The first time you see your child, the first time they smile, hug you, say I love you, do something the first time you ask them to or better yet, do something without you asking them to do it.
The good times get you through the hard times but it doesn't make them go away.
Some days are easier than others. Some stages are harder - hello, 13-month-old who suddenly turned into a raging, tantruming toddler over night. The trade off is knowing that they will eventually grow out of it. Eventually she will turn into a lovely almost 4-year-old who wants to read books with you or quietly play Legos or something else awesome that you haven't yet experienced.
It's hard. Hang in there. Just remember, you are not alone.
And I thought of this after I posted: Do me a favor and all the mothers out there who feel alone, leave a comment even if you have never left a comment before. Let any mother who comes by to read this that yes, it is hard and that they aren't the only ones who have felt it. Sometimes, even if there is nothing you can do to change the situation, it's nice to know you aren't the only one.
To the mother with a screaming toddler, who doesn't know why the child is crying or how to make it stop, I'm there with you.
To the mother who wants to raise empowered daughters, who reads and agrees with all the blogs blasting Lego Friends but still buys a set for her daughter because that is what she wants, I'm there with you.
To the mother who opts to go to work instead of stay home with a sick kid and feels bad about it, I'm there with you. To the mother who happily sends a child to Gramma's for the weekend and doesn't regret it, I'm there with you.
To the mother who loves her children with her entire being and would step in front of a speeding car for them but who just needs a few minutes without someone needing a diaper change, a juice, a snack, a blanket or a pacifier, I'm there with you.
This mothering thing is hard.
It's second-guessing yourself. It's dealing with others second-guessing you.
It's constantly putting yourself second or third or fourth. It's being tired all of the time no matter how much sleep you get.
It's getting the kids to bed just so you can clean the house, do the laundry, pee without anyone staring at you and then collapse in bed at midnight just to start it all over again in the morning.
It's doing what works now - breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, characters or no characters, media or no media - even if someone will be judging you for your choice.
It's realizing that most of your discussions with your husband lately revolve around poop and snot or whose turn it is to sleep in on Saturday or stay home with the inexplicably sick kid.
It's not being fazed by your own broken foot, not ever crying about it but crying when your child has a fever for 102.7 and you can't do anything to make her feel better.
It is realizing how much time you wasted when you didn't have kids. Why didn't I run a marathon instead of watching that Lord of the Rings marathon on television? Why didn't I read more, travel more, do more when I actually had the time and energy? It's wanting to punch your child-free self in the face for ever complaining about being tired or not having enough free time.
This isn't a cry for help. I'm not abandoning my quest for positivity in my life. I love my life - messy house, crying children and all. It is simply a recognition that this is hard. It is a message to other mothers so they know they aren't the only ones who look around and think, "Holy smokes I am wiped out. Can a girl get some peace and quiet around here?" and then put the television on just so they can get just that, even for 5 minutes.
Sure there are great things about being a mother. The first time you see your child, the first time they smile, hug you, say I love you, do something the first time you ask them to or better yet, do something without you asking them to do it.
The good times get you through the hard times but it doesn't make them go away.
Some days are easier than others. Some stages are harder - hello, 13-month-old who suddenly turned into a raging, tantruming toddler over night. The trade off is knowing that they will eventually grow out of it. Eventually she will turn into a lovely almost 4-year-old who wants to read books with you or quietly play Legos or something else awesome that you haven't yet experienced.
It's hard. Hang in there. Just remember, you are not alone.
And I thought of this after I posted: Do me a favor and all the mothers out there who feel alone, leave a comment even if you have never left a comment before. Let any mother who comes by to read this that yes, it is hard and that they aren't the only ones who have felt it. Sometimes, even if there is nothing you can do to change the situation, it's nice to know you aren't the only one.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Funkitified
I'm feeling funky and not in the get down with yo bad self sort of way.
I wrote a whole post complaining about all my first world problems and by the time I got done rereading it, I was annoyed with myself for being so annoyed. I'm really, really, really trying to keep a calm, Zen-like attitude about things. (See communicating with love). That's not to say I don't enjoy a good bitch session every once in awhile (um, this entire week) but at some point, I have to let it go and enjoy the good things.
Look at me. I'm growing.
So. On to things that are making me happy:
My husband. He stayed home with Gizmo today, who spiked a fever yesterday (I'm guessing vaccine reaction). He is such an involved father. I don't think I could have found anyone more compatible to spend the rest of my life with. Sure we snipe. Sure we argue. But really, he is amazing. I need to tell him that more.
The preschool teacher who knows I broke my foot and walked Peanut into school this morning so I wouldn't have to get out of the car in the rain.
Peanut who asked me if the tampons I had in my hand were popsicles this week. No, seriously. The husband had to walk out of the room he was laughing so hard. I told her no, they were something special for mommy and hauled biscuits out of the house to avoid more questions that I couldn't answer.
Gizmo because even though I know she doesn't feel well, she is trying to be perky. The husband said she was dancing this morning. And even though I'm sad she is sick, it feels so good to snuggle with her since she normally won't hold still long enough.
Roald Dahl. You know, the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The BFG, Witches, etc. I was trying to find longer books to read to Peanut at night and Hillary reminded me of Roald Dahl. He was my favorite author as a kid and I can't wait to pull out my old books and read to her.
Changes at work. I am normally a don't-move-my-cheese kind of gal but I am really excited about the changes coming at work. I'm getting new responsibilities that will challenge me and allow me to grow as a journalist.
A co-worker who inspired the whole Zen-like attitude. He is a patient, patient man who has taught me a lot. When I am at my most frustrated, he reminds me about my goal to stay calm and makes me laugh. It's so good to have a quality mentor.
What's making you happy?
I wrote a whole post complaining about all my first world problems and by the time I got done rereading it, I was annoyed with myself for being so annoyed. I'm really, really, really trying to keep a calm, Zen-like attitude about things. (See communicating with love). That's not to say I don't enjoy a good bitch session every once in awhile (um, this entire week) but at some point, I have to let it go and enjoy the good things.
Look at me. I'm growing.
So. On to things that are making me happy:
My husband. He stayed home with Gizmo today, who spiked a fever yesterday (I'm guessing vaccine reaction). He is such an involved father. I don't think I could have found anyone more compatible to spend the rest of my life with. Sure we snipe. Sure we argue. But really, he is amazing. I need to tell him that more.
The preschool teacher who knows I broke my foot and walked Peanut into school this morning so I wouldn't have to get out of the car in the rain.
Peanut who asked me if the tampons I had in my hand were popsicles this week. No, seriously. The husband had to walk out of the room he was laughing so hard. I told her no, they were something special for mommy and hauled biscuits out of the house to avoid more questions that I couldn't answer.
Gizmo because even though I know she doesn't feel well, she is trying to be perky. The husband said she was dancing this morning. And even though I'm sad she is sick, it feels so good to snuggle with her since she normally won't hold still long enough.
Roald Dahl. You know, the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The BFG, Witches, etc. I was trying to find longer books to read to Peanut at night and Hillary reminded me of Roald Dahl. He was my favorite author as a kid and I can't wait to pull out my old books and read to her.
Changes at work. I am normally a don't-move-my-cheese kind of gal but I am really excited about the changes coming at work. I'm getting new responsibilities that will challenge me and allow me to grow as a journalist.
A co-worker who inspired the whole Zen-like attitude. He is a patient, patient man who has taught me a lot. When I am at my most frustrated, he reminds me about my goal to stay calm and makes me laugh. It's so good to have a quality mentor.
What's making you happy?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
teenage dreams and real-life jobs
When I was a teenager, I daydreamed about being interviewed. In my dreams, I had written an amazing book and was being interviewed about my life and the writing process. I never wrote that book. (Maybe I might have if I had spent less time daydreaming about the subsequent interviews.) I discovered journalism, which was a way to write and get a regular paycheck, and fell in love with the idea of getting paid to talk to people and tell their stories. I love telling people's stories.
This week, doing my job, I made the dream of my teenage self come true for a different 16-year-old girl.
I don't know if this 16-year-old has ever daydreamed about being interviewed. But, like me, she wanted to become an author. In second grade, a visiting author inspired her to start writing down stories. In eighth grade, she wrote a 20-page story about magical wolves and Native Americans. In ninth grade, she revised that story into a full-length book. In 10th grade, she submitted it to a publishing contest. (Spoiler alert: she won.) In 11th grade, her book will arrive the same month she turns 17 -- and she was interviewed by me, a reporter, about her life and the writing process.
I still want to write a book. I'm working on it. I'll be honest: A little part of me, the 16-year-old part of me, is jealous of this 16-year-old author. But the bigger part of me -- the part that is a working mother of two book-loving, story-telling preschoolers -- is just proud as hell of her and wondering how I can raise my own kids to be so well-rounded, imaginative and persistent.
And all of me feels incredibly lucky to have a job that allows me everyday to tell a story and make connections with people.
What are you loving about your job?
This week, doing my job, I made the dream of my teenage self come true for a different 16-year-old girl.
I don't know if this 16-year-old has ever daydreamed about being interviewed. But, like me, she wanted to become an author. In second grade, a visiting author inspired her to start writing down stories. In eighth grade, she wrote a 20-page story about magical wolves and Native Americans. In ninth grade, she revised that story into a full-length book. In 10th grade, she submitted it to a publishing contest. (Spoiler alert: she won.) In 11th grade, her book will arrive the same month she turns 17 -- and she was interviewed by me, a reporter, about her life and the writing process.
I still want to write a book. I'm working on it. I'll be honest: A little part of me, the 16-year-old part of me, is jealous of this 16-year-old author. But the bigger part of me -- the part that is a working mother of two book-loving, story-telling preschoolers -- is just proud as hell of her and wondering how I can raise my own kids to be so well-rounded, imaginative and persistent.
And all of me feels incredibly lucky to have a job that allows me everyday to tell a story and make connections with people.
What are you loving about your job?
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Things I want to do
Here is my to do list thanks to Pinterest. I haven't been on the site in about a month and now I remember why. That site is a wonderful, addictive, exciting time suck. I might not get any of these done because I'll be too busy pinning.
This is a do-it-yourself bathmat that is designed to reuse old towels. I like the concept but I am thinking about getting fabric (possibly fleece?) and making one for Gizmo's room. All different colors and designs. It looks time consuming so I might get it done for her second birthday:
I love canvases. Love. Them. We have canvases that I painted all over our house. I'm thinking I might combine the next two pictures. Do the fabric flower for our bedroom and then put white wooden letters over it that says, "This is our happily ever after." I fear it might be too busy though.
I have not found a good way to keep track of all of the hair things the girls have. I think I want to do a small version of this and put it in their bathroom.
I pinned this and then went to the etsy store where they are selling them for close to $200. The pin, however, said you could do it with salt clay and then paint it silver. Seems must more economical but I don't know how it will last. I want to do one with the husband's thumbprint and mine and then another one with the girls' prints. I am not a hearts kind of girl but this just is too precious.
Today is my sister's birthday, which we are celebrating this weekend. I hope to make one with her kids' thumbprints without her knowing. How I will do that, I have no idea.
Adorable. Just adorable. I hope to get this done this weekend so we can hang it up for a few week's before Valentine's Day (on a semi related note, our neighbor has fall, Christmas AND Valentine's Day decorations up outside. It makes my brain hurt every time I look out the window and see it. I forgave her - kind of - after she shoveled our driveway this weekend.)
I need to cut my hair. I was inspired by Hillary to grow our my hair so that when I cut it, I could donate it. Here are some of the styles I'm thinking of:
What has been your best Pinterest find?
This is a do-it-yourself bathmat that is designed to reuse old towels. I like the concept but I am thinking about getting fabric (possibly fleece?) and making one for Gizmo's room. All different colors and designs. It looks time consuming so I might get it done for her second birthday:
I love canvases. Love. Them. We have canvases that I painted all over our house. I'm thinking I might combine the next two pictures. Do the fabric flower for our bedroom and then put white wooden letters over it that says, "This is our happily ever after." I fear it might be too busy though.
I have not found a good way to keep track of all of the hair things the girls have. I think I want to do a small version of this and put it in their bathroom.
I pinned this and then went to the etsy store where they are selling them for close to $200. The pin, however, said you could do it with salt clay and then paint it silver. Seems must more economical but I don't know how it will last. I want to do one with the husband's thumbprint and mine and then another one with the girls' prints. I am not a hearts kind of girl but this just is too precious.
Today is my sister's birthday, which we are celebrating this weekend. I hope to make one with her kids' thumbprints without her knowing. How I will do that, I have no idea.
Adorable. Just adorable. I hope to get this done this weekend so we can hang it up for a few week's before Valentine's Day (on a semi related note, our neighbor has fall, Christmas AND Valentine's Day decorations up outside. It makes my brain hurt every time I look out the window and see it. I forgave her - kind of - after she shoveled our driveway this weekend.)
I need to cut my hair. I was inspired by Hillary to grow our my hair so that when I cut it, I could donate it. Here are some of the styles I'm thinking of:
What has been your best Pinterest find?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Weekend bits
At The Lad's 2-year well check, an intern helped the doctor determine that my baby was, in fact, perfect. She asked the doctor, as he tried to figure out the computerized growth charts, several questions about development, including when night terrors start. My inner smart kid materialized and I couldn't resist having the right answer, so before the doctor could answer, I said, "Oh, I think right about now. My older son started having nightmares just before his second birthday -- though we never had to deal with terrors, thank goodness. And this one hasn't even had nightmares."
Of course, that week, The Lad woke us up screaming from a nightmare.
The first one was about dragons eating him. And I discovered The Lad, unlike The Boy, is chatty when he has a bad dream. He doesn't want to be talked out of it. No, he just wants to repeat it over and over again. (At 3 a.m.)
This week (at 3 a.m.), he woke up again, screaming this time about an umbrella. It was 3 a.m., so I thought maybe I heard wrong.
"An umbrella bit you, Lad? An umbrella?"
"YES! Umbrella bite me," The Lad said, waving around his hand with his fingers curled down as if they'd been bitten off. "He no see me! HE NO SEE ME!"
Apparently, umbrellas are oblivious and vicious.
----
The Boy got a real bike for his birthday, with training wheels. The last two weekends, he's ridden his bike down to the park near our house while Brucie and I walk with him. It's 6/10 of a mile. He's not even winded. His legs don't get tired. Today, the whole family went and the husband and I traded duties on the walk home; he took over the leash and I grabbed The Lad's stroller. Pushing the jogging stroller The Boy has outgrown, I started thinking about the hundreds of times I pushed both the boys around the block while I was on maternity leave with them. My little newborn lumps would fall asleep in the stroller and I couldn't believe someone had entrusted me with something so helpless.
And now, those boys are climbing the tall, twisty slide at the park all alone. The Boy is riding a real bike. The Lad is telling stories. I know I've watched them grow, but I don't know when this happened.
----
The Lad has taken to announcing, "POOP COMING!"
He did it in the middle of the bookstore the other day. He did it on the patio this afternoon. He's always right. I'm hoping this is the beginning of the end of diapers.
---
The husband ran a 31-mile trail race this weekend. I don't really have a point here other than he's crazy. I'm proud of him, but I also think he's nuts.
---
While the husband was running and thanks to a rare weekend babysitter, I went to a book fair Saturday. I sat through a panel with five women authors: Erin Duffy, Marisa de los Santos, Lauren Groff, Jennifer Haigh and Jane McCafferty. De los Santos seemed like the kind of woman I would love to hang out with -- but I loved her so much, I'm a bit afraid to read her books in case I don't like them. Have you ever read her?
I had read Groff's first book, The Monsters of Templeton, years ago and loved it. Hearing her speak made me love it more, and I totally turned fan girl and had her sign a copy. We had some nice chitchat about our small boys.
Jennifer Haigh also made me like the one book of hers I have read, The Condition, more. I picked up her latest, Faith, and it's promising.
Years and years ago, when I was maybe 12 or 13, I wrote a fan letter to Tamora Pierce. I loved her Song of the Lioness series so much. Loved it. So, I wrote to tell her that and ask her advice about being an author -- and she actually wrote me back. I don't know where that letter is now, but I remember being so giddy about receiving it. I sort of felt like that at BookMania! Some girls write fan letters to cute boys; I've always been the kind who geeks out over authors.
Have you ever written a fan letter? To whom? Did they write back?
Of course, that week, The Lad woke us up screaming from a nightmare.
The first one was about dragons eating him. And I discovered The Lad, unlike The Boy, is chatty when he has a bad dream. He doesn't want to be talked out of it. No, he just wants to repeat it over and over again. (At 3 a.m.)
This week (at 3 a.m.), he woke up again, screaming this time about an umbrella. It was 3 a.m., so I thought maybe I heard wrong.
"An umbrella bit you, Lad? An umbrella?"
"YES! Umbrella bite me," The Lad said, waving around his hand with his fingers curled down as if they'd been bitten off. "He no see me! HE NO SEE ME!"
Apparently, umbrellas are oblivious and vicious.
----
The Boy got a real bike for his birthday, with training wheels. The last two weekends, he's ridden his bike down to the park near our house while Brucie and I walk with him. It's 6/10 of a mile. He's not even winded. His legs don't get tired. Today, the whole family went and the husband and I traded duties on the walk home; he took over the leash and I grabbed The Lad's stroller. Pushing the jogging stroller The Boy has outgrown, I started thinking about the hundreds of times I pushed both the boys around the block while I was on maternity leave with them. My little newborn lumps would fall asleep in the stroller and I couldn't believe someone had entrusted me with something so helpless.
And now, those boys are climbing the tall, twisty slide at the park all alone. The Boy is riding a real bike. The Lad is telling stories. I know I've watched them grow, but I don't know when this happened.
----
The Lad has taken to announcing, "POOP COMING!"
He did it in the middle of the bookstore the other day. He did it on the patio this afternoon. He's always right. I'm hoping this is the beginning of the end of diapers.
---
The husband ran a 31-mile trail race this weekend. I don't really have a point here other than he's crazy. I'm proud of him, but I also think he's nuts.
---
While the husband was running and thanks to a rare weekend babysitter, I went to a book fair Saturday. I sat through a panel with five women authors: Erin Duffy, Marisa de los Santos, Lauren Groff, Jennifer Haigh and Jane McCafferty. De los Santos seemed like the kind of woman I would love to hang out with -- but I loved her so much, I'm a bit afraid to read her books in case I don't like them. Have you ever read her?
I had read Groff's first book, The Monsters of Templeton, years ago and loved it. Hearing her speak made me love it more, and I totally turned fan girl and had her sign a copy. We had some nice chitchat about our small boys.
Jennifer Haigh also made me like the one book of hers I have read, The Condition, more. I picked up her latest, Faith, and it's promising.
Years and years ago, when I was maybe 12 or 13, I wrote a fan letter to Tamora Pierce. I loved her Song of the Lioness series so much. Loved it. So, I wrote to tell her that and ask her advice about being an author -- and she actually wrote me back. I don't know where that letter is now, but I remember being so giddy about receiving it. I sort of felt like that at BookMania! Some girls write fan letters to cute boys; I've always been the kind who geeks out over authors.
Have you ever written a fan letter? To whom? Did they write back?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Lessons learned
Here are a few of the lessons I have learned in breaking my foot:
Don't run in heels. A little rain won't kill you.
Don't play Dr. Google. Just because WebMD describes a foot exam doesn't mean you should perform it at home and declare yourself fine.
Related, don't listen to people who tell you to walk it off.
Do listen to co-worker who tells you to go to the doctor after you almost jump out of your skin when she brushes her finger over swollen part of foot.
I would have never survived a plaster cast. My foot is claustrophobic in this damn boot. I don't sleep with it on, which is nice. But wearing it, especially in the car, makes my foot cramp up. I've adjusted it a million times and can't seem to get comfortable. I've had thoughts of ripping my whole leg off.
There is no way to make this look sexy:
About a month ago, I fell down the stairs because I was rushing in the morning. Then I break my foot because I am rushing. I get it. I need to slow down. Lesson learned the hard way.
Don't run in heels. A little rain won't kill you.
Don't play Dr. Google. Just because WebMD describes a foot exam doesn't mean you should perform it at home and declare yourself fine.
Related, don't listen to people who tell you to walk it off.
Do listen to co-worker who tells you to go to the doctor after you almost jump out of your skin when she brushes her finger over swollen part of foot.
I would have never survived a plaster cast. My foot is claustrophobic in this damn boot. I don't sleep with it on, which is nice. But wearing it, especially in the car, makes my foot cramp up. I've adjusted it a million times and can't seem to get comfortable. I've had thoughts of ripping my whole leg off.
There is no way to make this look sexy:
About a month ago, I fell down the stairs because I was rushing in the morning. Then I break my foot because I am rushing. I get it. I need to slow down. Lesson learned the hard way.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Pros and cons of getting a puppy ...
... with small children in the house.
Pro: We can train the dog to behave around children/protect the children.
Con: We have to train the dog to behave around children/protect the children/not eat the children.
Pro: The dog's activity level matches the children's.
Con: The dog's activity level matches the children's.
Pro: The dog is ridiculously cute.
Con: The dog digs holes in my backyard.
Pro: When the dog's not trying to herd the children or lick them to death, she keeps them -- and us -- amused. (Chasing a tail is always funny.)
Con: The dog needs to get up in the middle of the night.
Pro: The dog chews up stuffed animals/small toys that I don't like.
Con: The dog chews up stuffed animals small toys that the kids love.
Pro: The children are learning responsibility.
Con: We have to nag the children to play with/feed/water/not tease the dog.
Pro: The dog potty-trained a helluva lot faster than the toddler.
Con: Though the piss and shit in the house ended pretty quickly, we still are cleaning up puke occasionally -- in addition to changing diapers and wiping butts -- and cleaning poo up from our yard.
Pro: This will all be over soon.
It's like ripping off a bandage, right? All the potty-training, night wakings and temper tantrums will be over with in one fell swoop (that takes a couple years to get through, but whatever. We're being positive here).
When I first took Brucie to the vet, our appointment ended and the vet said, "So, you have two small children and a puppy? You're going to lose 20 pounds and gain a lot of gray hair." I thought it was a rude thing to say -- but that was before I dealt with a straight week of the "crazy hour" with The Boy, The Lad and the dog. All families know the crazy hour; it's the one right before supper. I had figured out how to handle it with two kids. I also know how to handle a puppy. So, in my head, I thought it would be easy to do all three. Reality proved me wrong. I've got it mostly sorted out now -- dog outside for a few minutes with me to pee and play, The Boy inside getting a snack for him and The Lad, dinner at least prepped, a little more TV than I would like -- but it was a long couple weeks before we got there.
One night, covered in dog shit, herding a Lad in muddy, poopy socks and a dog covered in poo and mud and dealing with a whining almost 4-year-old and a husband on the phone who couldn't understand why I needed him to bring home dinner, I seriously considered divorce. (He didn't bring home dinner. He's lucky he survived.) And I still spend a lot more time than I would like shouting things like, "Off! Down! Get up! Lad, GET UP! BRUCIE GET OFF! BOY! Play with the dog!"
But, it's like I told Brucie the other night, some day she's going to be a very good dog.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Laugh, cry or puke
So I broke my foot yesterday morning. How you ask? Well, it was raining and I had a bunch of stuff to carry into the babysitter's house and didn't feel like messing with the umbrella. So, while running back to the car in my heels, I rolled my ankle and broke my foot.
It didn't really bother me at first. I walked Peanut into preschool, walked up two flights of stairs at work, and walked to a meeting. While I was in some pain and had to walk very, very slowly, I just figured it was a bad sprain. But after walking to the bathroom and realizing how bad the pain was, I decided I need to go home and rest it.
Not go see a doctor. Not go the emergency room or urgent care. Just go home and put some ice on it.
When it wasn't any better this morning, I figured I should probably have it looked at. First I took Gizmo to her one-year check up (she's in the 95 percentile for head size, 90th for height and just below 50th for weight). After dropping her off at the babysitter's, I headed over to a new urgent care.
Had I known what an awesome experience - broken foot aside - it would have been, I would have gone yesterday. I was in and out, with xrays done, in less than 30 minutes. The doctor looked at my films and said "eww" twice, told me my foot was broken, wrapped me up, put me on crutches and set me up with an appointment with an orthopedic doctor in the morning. She said I will probably end up in a walking cast.
I feel like a badass that I've been walking on a broken foot for 24 hours. I also feel a little concerned about how I am going to take care of two small people while on crutches.
Hillary's mom says in tough times, you can either laugh, cry or puke. Crying and puking are no fun so you might was well laugh. So go ahead and laugh. I have many times.
It didn't really bother me at first. I walked Peanut into preschool, walked up two flights of stairs at work, and walked to a meeting. While I was in some pain and had to walk very, very slowly, I just figured it was a bad sprain. But after walking to the bathroom and realizing how bad the pain was, I decided I need to go home and rest it.
Not go see a doctor. Not go the emergency room or urgent care. Just go home and put some ice on it.
When it wasn't any better this morning, I figured I should probably have it looked at. First I took Gizmo to her one-year check up (she's in the 95 percentile for head size, 90th for height and just below 50th for weight). After dropping her off at the babysitter's, I headed over to a new urgent care.
Had I known what an awesome experience - broken foot aside - it would have been, I would have gone yesterday. I was in and out, with xrays done, in less than 30 minutes. The doctor looked at my films and said "eww" twice, told me my foot was broken, wrapped me up, put me on crutches and set me up with an appointment with an orthopedic doctor in the morning. She said I will probably end up in a walking cast.
I feel like a badass that I've been walking on a broken foot for 24 hours. I also feel a little concerned about how I am going to take care of two small people while on crutches.
Hillary's mom says in tough times, you can either laugh, cry or puke. Crying and puking are no fun so you might was well laugh. So go ahead and laugh. I have many times.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The birthday party in pictures
We celebrated Gizmo's 1st birthday with a family party this weekend. It was a ladybug extravaganza complete with homemade ladybug cakes, sequin t-shirts, tutus and leg warmers.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Up your nose
The Boy at 4 has outgrown the jogging stroller. Beyond the fact that he's so heavy that pushing him hurts the husband back, his legs are so long that he must pull them up to his chin to keep them from getting tangled in the front wheel. So, the husband declared his riding days over and said The Boy could have on his birthday one last goodbye run. It was uneventful but pleasant, and The Boy returned from his last run cheerful enough to share bits from his snack bag with his brother.
We decided to carpool that day so we all would be home early for The Boy's birthday dinner. When I strapped The Lad into his seat, I noticed he had a half-eaten pecan from the snackbag. Eat it, I said, and then promptly forgot about the nut until we were almost to the boys' daycare. As we pulled up to a traffic light, I heard snuffling, sneezing and then crying from the backseat. I turned around to see The Lad rubbing his nose -- and no pecan in his hand.
"Did you put the nut up your nose?"
No response, but more snuffling and crying and rubbing his nose.
"He's put a nut up his nose."
"Can you see it?" the husband asked.
"No. Lad, what did you do with the nut?"
"Nose hurt," he cried, snuffling some more.
The Lad puts everything up his nose. Peas and beans have been soft enough to squeeze out and shoot across a table. Straw and crayons are large enough to just look silly. Fingers have a purpose. And all of it is guaranteed to get a laugh, at least from his brother and, if I'm being honest, sometimes from us. Have you seen a bedimpled toddler with crayons up his nose? It is funny.
A nut up his nose was less funny. At the daycare, we dropped The Boy off then tried to see, for sure, if the nut was in his nose. Every time we asked, The Lad just looked out the window. It reminded me of a dog I had years ago who got a bone stuck over his jaw. When we took that dog to the vet to have the bone cut off, he refused to look anyone -- human or dog -- in the eye, as if he were ashamed of himself. The Lad had the same hangdog look as he rubbed his nose, snuffled and whined.
We called the pediatrician who said if we couldn't see the nut, we should take him to the ER and, on our way there, we asked the Lad one last time what he put in his nose.
"Nut," he said sheepishly.
At the ER, The Lad became his usual cheery self as we waited, checking out the aquarium full of fish and grinning at others in the waiting room. The only sign of his ailment was a red spot on his left nostril.
The doctor who saw us was jovial and asked if I wanted to try an old home remedy -- blowing into The Lad's mouth while plugging the unblocked nostril to force out the foreign object. I did not. The Lad is enough of a Beast that I was afraid of getting bitten. The husband tried, but The Lad wiggled too much to create a seal and we were left to the doctor's second plan: swaddling The Lad in a sheet, holding him down (it took three nurses, me and the husband) and having the doctor hook out the nut with the bent end of a hemostat. Within seconds, the doctor held up a slimy quarter of a pecan victoriously. The Lad screamed at the indignity of it all and the husband and I got to work only 90 minutes late.
Now, you might think The Lad learned his lesson about sticking things up his nose. We certainly thought so, however, that night at The Boy's birthday dinner, I saw The Lad mess with his face out of the corner of my eye. Then, he snuffled.
"What did you stick up your nose?" I said, eyeing his mac and cheese and nostrils suspiciously. "Did you put a noodle up your nose?"
"No." Snuffling.
"I saw you, Lad. DID YOU PUT A NOODLE UP YOUR NOSE?"
"No. Hot dog."
He had stuck up a bit of hot dog bun, which we still could see. The husband fetched tweezers and we held down The Lad. He was so angry about being pinned on the floor, he screamed and snorted and the hot dog bun bit flew across my living room.
---
I am happy to report we're on day four with no foreign objects in The Lad's nose.
We decided to carpool that day so we all would be home early for The Boy's birthday dinner. When I strapped The Lad into his seat, I noticed he had a half-eaten pecan from the snackbag. Eat it, I said, and then promptly forgot about the nut until we were almost to the boys' daycare. As we pulled up to a traffic light, I heard snuffling, sneezing and then crying from the backseat. I turned around to see The Lad rubbing his nose -- and no pecan in his hand.
"Did you put the nut up your nose?"
No response, but more snuffling and crying and rubbing his nose.
"He's put a nut up his nose."
"Can you see it?" the husband asked.
"No. Lad, what did you do with the nut?"
"Nose hurt," he cried, snuffling some more.
The Lad puts everything up his nose. Peas and beans have been soft enough to squeeze out and shoot across a table. Straw and crayons are large enough to just look silly. Fingers have a purpose. And all of it is guaranteed to get a laugh, at least from his brother and, if I'm being honest, sometimes from us. Have you seen a bedimpled toddler with crayons up his nose? It is funny.
A nut up his nose was less funny. At the daycare, we dropped The Boy off then tried to see, for sure, if the nut was in his nose. Every time we asked, The Lad just looked out the window. It reminded me of a dog I had years ago who got a bone stuck over his jaw. When we took that dog to the vet to have the bone cut off, he refused to look anyone -- human or dog -- in the eye, as if he were ashamed of himself. The Lad had the same hangdog look as he rubbed his nose, snuffled and whined.
We called the pediatrician who said if we couldn't see the nut, we should take him to the ER and, on our way there, we asked the Lad one last time what he put in his nose.
"Nut," he said sheepishly.
At the ER, The Lad became his usual cheery self as we waited, checking out the aquarium full of fish and grinning at others in the waiting room. The only sign of his ailment was a red spot on his left nostril.
The doctor who saw us was jovial and asked if I wanted to try an old home remedy -- blowing into The Lad's mouth while plugging the unblocked nostril to force out the foreign object. I did not. The Lad is enough of a Beast that I was afraid of getting bitten. The husband tried, but The Lad wiggled too much to create a seal and we were left to the doctor's second plan: swaddling The Lad in a sheet, holding him down (it took three nurses, me and the husband) and having the doctor hook out the nut with the bent end of a hemostat. Within seconds, the doctor held up a slimy quarter of a pecan victoriously. The Lad screamed at the indignity of it all and the husband and I got to work only 90 minutes late.
Now, you might think The Lad learned his lesson about sticking things up his nose. We certainly thought so, however, that night at The Boy's birthday dinner, I saw The Lad mess with his face out of the corner of my eye. Then, he snuffled.
"What did you stick up your nose?" I said, eyeing his mac and cheese and nostrils suspiciously. "Did you put a noodle up your nose?"
"No." Snuffling.
"I saw you, Lad. DID YOU PUT A NOODLE UP YOUR NOSE?"
"No. Hot dog."
He had stuck up a bit of hot dog bun, which we still could see. The husband fetched tweezers and we held down The Lad. He was so angry about being pinned on the floor, he screamed and snorted and the hot dog bun bit flew across my living room.
---
I am happy to report we're on day four with no foreign objects in The Lad's nose.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Happy Birthday, Boy!
Four years ago today, The Boy arrived.
Every day, his gift to me is a reminder that life is not all about me.
I was never the girl tossing a football with the guys.
But I play ball -- any kind of ball, every kind of ball -- with The Boy in our backyard.
I want my time with my coffee in my book in the morning.
But instead I find myself sipping coffee over The Boy's head while we read his books.
(I am unable to resist a squishy toddler begging to read.)
I wanted to not raise a brat.
But The Boy -- and my own behavior toward him, lord help me -- reminded me everyone has bratty days.
I struggled to deal the "right" way with every tantrum and trial
But The Boy showed me kids don't conform to "what the book says."
(We're still working on finding our right ways. I suspect we'll never stop.)
I used to say I wouldn't run if my life depended on it -- and even then I'd try to talk my way out of the mess. But I run races with The Boy and trot alongside the big-boy bike he got for this big-boy birthday.
When I imagined having a child, I always pictured a well-behaved, dark-haired girl.
But I can't imagine anything better than my dirty, stinky boys.
The Boy is serious, funny, silly, sweet, fearless, cautious, thoughtful, tricksy, bossy, athletic and witty.
He demanded a doughnut cake for this birthday.
He voluntarily waited two weeks to start the next Harry Potter on his birthday.
He fights with his brother, but giggles at everything The Lad does.
He's never seen a ball he didn't want to throw.
He is my favorite little Rhys Monkey.
I am a better person for being a mother.
My life is better for having this Boy in it.
My life is better for having this Boy in it.
*I'd put a picture on this post, but The Boy recently declared we only could take pictures of him on holidays. I'm going to respect his privacy.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Do you have friends?
This is a potentially embarrassing or potential bonding opportunity kind of post. I've been kicking around writing this for months so here goes ...
Do you have friends? I ask because my husband mocks me for not having any. To which I say, not true. I have Hillary. He says she doesn't count because she lives in Florida. I then list two or three other women that live in town and he asks when I last spent time with them. Usually it has been an embarrassingly long time. Like months. And when we do get together, it involves kids.
Sometimes I feel bad about this but most of the time I'm too tired or busy to notice. Between work, a house, two kids, the husband and our family to whom we are close and spend many weekends with, I don't have a lot of extra time. And with that extra time I do have, I like to be alone. Spending quiet time.
I actually have two girls trips (defined as away from the husband and the girls) planned for this year, one to my alma mater and another to The Blathering in New Orleans (someone please remind me to go register soon.) Other than that, nothing.
I wouldn't mind connecting with a mom or two at preschool but I already don't have much time for my friends now so what's the point? When I need to talk about something, I talk to the husband, my sister, my parents or Hillary. When I do have time, I try to spend it with the moms in the area or with family.
Do you have a lot of people you consider friends? Do you hang out a lot? Talk on the phone?
If not, do you feel like something is missing in your life?
Do you have friends? I ask because my husband mocks me for not having any. To which I say, not true. I have Hillary. He says she doesn't count because she lives in Florida. I then list two or three other women that live in town and he asks when I last spent time with them. Usually it has been an embarrassingly long time. Like months. And when we do get together, it involves kids.
Sometimes I feel bad about this but most of the time I'm too tired or busy to notice. Between work, a house, two kids, the husband and our family to whom we are close and spend many weekends with, I don't have a lot of extra time. And with that extra time I do have, I like to be alone. Spending quiet time.
I actually have two girls trips (defined as away from the husband and the girls) planned for this year, one to my alma mater and another to The Blathering in New Orleans (someone please remind me to go register soon.) Other than that, nothing.
I wouldn't mind connecting with a mom or two at preschool but I already don't have much time for my friends now so what's the point? When I need to talk about something, I talk to the husband, my sister, my parents or Hillary. When I do have time, I try to spend it with the moms in the area or with family.
Do you have a lot of people you consider friends? Do you hang out a lot? Talk on the phone?
If not, do you feel like something is missing in your life?
Monday, January 9, 2012
Peanutisms
Peanut has been cracking me up lately. I love, love, love how her little mind is evolving. She is a hoot and she makes me laugh every day.
Here are some of her best recently:
Upon realizing that Santa did not make a return appearance on Dec. 26: Awww. Santa didn't bring me any toys last night. (She also spent a week asking if she would be getting presents every time we visited someone.)
Upon seeing that people still have Christmas decorations up outside: Momma, those people still have wreaths and lights up. Christmas time is over. It's just weird.
Upon being tackled by her baby sister: Gizmo, you are like a dinosaur on a lion. (I think she is trying to saying, she is like a dog on a bone, a phrase her father uses. While her phrase doesn't exactly make sense, a dinosaur on a lion does describe Gizmo pretty well.)
Upon feeling the wet spot her sister left after chewing on the Cabbage Patch Kids belly button: Momma, this doll peed.
Upon seeing the Lego creation I made for her: Rock on, Momma.
Rock on, indeed.
And this is worth a 1,000 words:
This was during a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. Two hours of play made for an hour earlier bed time in our house. Can you tell she was a bit excited?
This has been hung prominently at my desk and it makes me smile every time I look at.
Here are some of her best recently:
Upon realizing that Santa did not make a return appearance on Dec. 26: Awww. Santa didn't bring me any toys last night. (She also spent a week asking if she would be getting presents every time we visited someone.)
Upon seeing that people still have Christmas decorations up outside: Momma, those people still have wreaths and lights up. Christmas time is over. It's just weird.
Upon being tackled by her baby sister: Gizmo, you are like a dinosaur on a lion. (I think she is trying to saying, she is like a dog on a bone, a phrase her father uses. While her phrase doesn't exactly make sense, a dinosaur on a lion does describe Gizmo pretty well.)
Upon feeling the wet spot her sister left after chewing on the Cabbage Patch Kids belly button: Momma, this doll peed.
Upon seeing the Lego creation I made for her: Rock on, Momma.
Rock on, indeed.
And this is worth a 1,000 words:
This was during a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. Two hours of play made for an hour earlier bed time in our house. Can you tell she was a bit excited?
This has been hung prominently at my desk and it makes me smile every time I look at.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
I love 2-year-olds
Or at least mine.
I love the silly, sweet things that come out of their mouths as they really get into the groove of language. I love how squishable they still are. I love how they run on their sturdy little legs. I love how they give honest-to-goodness hugs and fall into your body for comfort. I love how their sense of humor starts to appear. I love that they suddenly want to do things on their own, even if they can't quite yet.
When The Boy turned 2, he was going through the sometimes rough transition from only child to big brother. But still, he was the perfect mix of boy and baby. Yes, he was whiny and angry with me when I came home from the hospital with The Lad, but he also introduced himself to his little brother in a way that made my heart flutter. He danced to the "music" of the breast pump and started telling us his stories about California. He said things like, "I your boy."
And now, The Lad is 2 and he is just as perfect. I miss the baby days sometimes, the milky breath and the weight of a baby on my chest. But I have a feeling that when the boys are grown and, lord help me, I'm the old lady in the grocery store, it's going to be the adorable 2-year-olds who make me blurt out to their young mothers, "Enjoy it while you can! It goes so fast!"
The Lad at 2 is all squishy cheeks and rubberband wrists. He flashes his dimples and sparkles his eyes while he sticks a bean up his nose. He demands to "climb myself, buck-el myself" when we get in the car, even though his fingers aren't quite strong enough to do the straps. He tells fart jokes and stories about his condo, taking his cue from The Boy. He wants to snuggle and hug and whenever he's hurt -- physically or emotionally -- he comes running for me, rubbing his head on my leg until I smooth his hair and pick him up. He wakes up happy and doing a family inventory: Where Daddyman? Boy-y? Brucie? Josephine? (That's the cat.)
He loves everything The Boy does, which causes fights sometimes, including tonight when The Lad and The Boy both wanted the T-Rex pieces in a game they were playing. When the boys started fighting for the umpteenth time over the T-rex, I intervened and whisked the frustrated and over-tired Lad off to rock and read before bed. "Bunnies," he said. "Read bunnies." This is the book where the Daddy Bunny one-ups the Baby Bunny about who loves whom more. At the end, the Daddy Bunny says he loves the baby "right up to the moon and back."
We read the book. And then we had this conversation.
Momma: What made you happy today?
Lad: Granny and PaPaw.
M: What made you angry?
L: Boy-y did. Take T-rex. ... Try bite him.
M: No. We don't bite people, even if we're angry. What else made you happy today?
L: T-rex did. (Spies the robot T-rex Granny and Papaw got him for Christmas) Play T-rex lil bit.
M: No, it's bed time.
L: T-rex go bed. Go bed, too.
M: Yes. Time for bed. (Kissing him) Who's my favorite Beastie Beast? (this is a nightly question)
L: ME!
M: Who's your favorite Mommalady?
L: YOU!
M: I love you.
L: Moon, back!
I love 2-year-olds.
I love the silly, sweet things that come out of their mouths as they really get into the groove of language. I love how squishable they still are. I love how they run on their sturdy little legs. I love how they give honest-to-goodness hugs and fall into your body for comfort. I love how their sense of humor starts to appear. I love that they suddenly want to do things on their own, even if they can't quite yet.
When The Boy turned 2, he was going through the sometimes rough transition from only child to big brother. But still, he was the perfect mix of boy and baby. Yes, he was whiny and angry with me when I came home from the hospital with The Lad, but he also introduced himself to his little brother in a way that made my heart flutter. He danced to the "music" of the breast pump and started telling us his stories about California. He said things like, "I your boy."
And now, The Lad is 2 and he is just as perfect. I miss the baby days sometimes, the milky breath and the weight of a baby on my chest. But I have a feeling that when the boys are grown and, lord help me, I'm the old lady in the grocery store, it's going to be the adorable 2-year-olds who make me blurt out to their young mothers, "Enjoy it while you can! It goes so fast!"
The Lad at 2 is all squishy cheeks and rubberband wrists. He flashes his dimples and sparkles his eyes while he sticks a bean up his nose. He demands to "climb myself, buck-el myself" when we get in the car, even though his fingers aren't quite strong enough to do the straps. He tells fart jokes and stories about his condo, taking his cue from The Boy. He wants to snuggle and hug and whenever he's hurt -- physically or emotionally -- he comes running for me, rubbing his head on my leg until I smooth his hair and pick him up. He wakes up happy and doing a family inventory: Where Daddyman? Boy-y? Brucie? Josephine? (That's the cat.)
He loves everything The Boy does, which causes fights sometimes, including tonight when The Lad and The Boy both wanted the T-Rex pieces in a game they were playing. When the boys started fighting for the umpteenth time over the T-rex, I intervened and whisked the frustrated and over-tired Lad off to rock and read before bed. "Bunnies," he said. "Read bunnies." This is the book where the Daddy Bunny one-ups the Baby Bunny about who loves whom more. At the end, the Daddy Bunny says he loves the baby "right up to the moon and back."
We read the book. And then we had this conversation.
Momma: What made you happy today?
Lad: Granny and PaPaw.
M: What made you angry?
L: Boy-y did. Take T-rex. ... Try bite him.
M: No. We don't bite people, even if we're angry. What else made you happy today?
L: T-rex did. (Spies the robot T-rex Granny and Papaw got him for Christmas) Play T-rex lil bit.
M: No, it's bed time.
L: T-rex go bed. Go bed, too.
M: Yes. Time for bed. (Kissing him) Who's my favorite Beastie Beast? (this is a nightly question)
L: ME!
M: Who's your favorite Mommalady?
L: YOU!
M: I love you.
L: Moon, back!
I love 2-year-olds.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Communicating with love
I have been thinking a lot lately about how people communicate. What is the best way to get your point across with our friends, our families, our coworkers?
I've seen some poor communication, as I'm sure you have as well. I've been a poor communicator, as I'm sure you have been as well.
But as I get older, I am learning how to do it better. To be better.
I have been quick to judge, quick to be angry over small things, quick to focus on the negative. All of those things have made my communication with others more negative than needed.
I snapped at my husband over small annoyances instead of focusing on all the wonderful things he does for me. I let little things at work spill over so that I was still irritated when I got home. And I haven't always modeled the behavior that I want my daughters to see.
Being annoyed and irritated by everything did nothing but make me tired.
So I am trying to change. Instead of being annoyed with a coworker for not doing something exactly how I would do it, I will be happy they did it. Instead of being irritated that no one has started a project, I will just start it. Instead of arguing with my husband over small things, I am going to find the solution and move on.
I have jokingly called my new quest communicating with love, even if that is tough love sometimes.
I am not turning into Pollyanna where I think the world is filled with sunshine and lollipops but I am going to try to be more optimistic (with a small dose of cynicism to maintain my old charm.)
I've realized that I can't change everything but (to totally be cliche) I can change my attitude.
I've seen some poor communication, as I'm sure you have as well. I've been a poor communicator, as I'm sure you have been as well.
But as I get older, I am learning how to do it better. To be better.
I have been quick to judge, quick to be angry over small things, quick to focus on the negative. All of those things have made my communication with others more negative than needed.
I snapped at my husband over small annoyances instead of focusing on all the wonderful things he does for me. I let little things at work spill over so that I was still irritated when I got home. And I haven't always modeled the behavior that I want my daughters to see.
Being annoyed and irritated by everything did nothing but make me tired.
So I am trying to change. Instead of being annoyed with a coworker for not doing something exactly how I would do it, I will be happy they did it. Instead of being irritated that no one has started a project, I will just start it. Instead of arguing with my husband over small things, I am going to find the solution and move on.
I have jokingly called my new quest communicating with love, even if that is tough love sometimes.
I am not turning into Pollyanna where I think the world is filled with sunshine and lollipops but I am going to try to be more optimistic (with a small dose of cynicism to maintain my old charm.)
I've realized that I can't change everything but (to totally be cliche) I can change my attitude.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Bits to start 2012
The husband's cell phone ring is Neil Young's "Hey Hey My My." The Lad is convinced it's "Hey Hey, Mom-Ma." (I am the one calling about 75 percent of the time.)
---
When we're trying to get the boys jammied up, we often have them race each other. Trying to wrangle The Lad the other night, the husband said, "You better hurry up if you want to beat The Boy."
The Lad looked at the husband and then at The Boy, who was getting dressed on the floor -- and then he knocked the child-sized rocker over onto The Boy's head.
Kid's no dummy.
---
Another funny Lad story: He is showing some interest in the potty because a little girl at school is being potty-trained and receiving M&Ms for her efforts. So, tonight, he asked to poo in the potty after bath. He was making real effort and sat there for a good five or 10 minutes. At one point, he looked up at me and said: "Momma, hug me."
I obliged.
"Thank you."
We gave him one M&M for trying. And for being cute.
---
While Christmas was wonderful, even the kiddos were ready to get back to normal. The Boy asked to go back to school two days before we could send him. Only the dog, who returned to a 9-hour stretch in her crate, is unhappy about the return to routine.
---
We're having a cold snap in Florida. It might get down to the 20s tonight. That's like below-zero weather in the Midwest. COLD. I, of course, am all giddy because it means I can break out my wool skirt and tights. The boys, my little Florida babies, are less thrilled.
The Boy, upon getting in the car this afternoon, said, "I smell hot." The heater was on, and I told him so.
"I don't like the hotter."
Meanwhile, The Lad wanted his hood up even in the car. His ears were cold.
---
I started filling in my 2012 planner. Only three of the 12 months are without some sort of big event, and conveniently the slow months are at the height of hurricane season when I always fret about leaving home and it's too damn hot to do anything anyway. We've got concerts lined up for this month and February, a marathon for the husband in March, a trip to Ohio in April, a trip to St. Louis in May, the vacation with Michelle's family in June, our Pumpkin Party in October, The Blathering for me and Thanksgiving for everyone in November and then, of course, Christmas in December.
It's exciting to have so much to look forward to.
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What are you looking forward to in 2012?
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When we're trying to get the boys jammied up, we often have them race each other. Trying to wrangle The Lad the other night, the husband said, "You better hurry up if you want to beat The Boy."
The Lad looked at the husband and then at The Boy, who was getting dressed on the floor -- and then he knocked the child-sized rocker over onto The Boy's head.
Kid's no dummy.
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Another funny Lad story: He is showing some interest in the potty because a little girl at school is being potty-trained and receiving M&Ms for her efforts. So, tonight, he asked to poo in the potty after bath. He was making real effort and sat there for a good five or 10 minutes. At one point, he looked up at me and said: "Momma, hug me."
I obliged.
"Thank you."
We gave him one M&M for trying. And for being cute.
---
While Christmas was wonderful, even the kiddos were ready to get back to normal. The Boy asked to go back to school two days before we could send him. Only the dog, who returned to a 9-hour stretch in her crate, is unhappy about the return to routine.
---
We're having a cold snap in Florida. It might get down to the 20s tonight. That's like below-zero weather in the Midwest. COLD. I, of course, am all giddy because it means I can break out my wool skirt and tights. The boys, my little Florida babies, are less thrilled.
The Boy, upon getting in the car this afternoon, said, "I smell hot." The heater was on, and I told him so.
"I don't like the hotter."
Meanwhile, The Lad wanted his hood up even in the car. His ears were cold.
---
I started filling in my 2012 planner. Only three of the 12 months are without some sort of big event, and conveniently the slow months are at the height of hurricane season when I always fret about leaving home and it's too damn hot to do anything anyway. We've got concerts lined up for this month and February, a marathon for the husband in March, a trip to Ohio in April, a trip to St. Louis in May, the vacation with Michelle's family in June, our Pumpkin Party in October, The Blathering for me and Thanksgiving for everyone in November and then, of course, Christmas in December.
It's exciting to have so much to look forward to.
---
What are you looking forward to in 2012?
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