I had a bad dream last night. My mom died. I woke up this morning wondering if that was just the overload of my mind spewing into my dreams because it had nowhere else to go. Yesterday was emotional. Seven hours in a car with three kids will do that to you. I ride so many emotional roller coasters as a mom. Sometimes I wonder if my blogs could possibly make people not want to have kids. That would be so awful. But seriously, I wonder that. Then I realize, "Okay, Erica. Stop fooling yourself. Not that many people are out there reading your blog." Then I calm down.
What I have to say at this moment is that I am in awe of mothers who take care of children with disabilities, handicaps, autism, disease, illness, cancer. It is SO hard to take care of perfectly healthy, beautiful, wonderful children. Because in their perfect beauty (seriously, I look at Izzy's face and think she could not be more perfect), they cry. They scream. They teethe. Between my, "Julian is so cute. I want to eat that face!" there are "I am throwing him in the trash can!" moments. And as for Adrienne, my angel. She kicks. She says hurtful things. She is a slow potty trainer. She drives Julian up the wall. She gets cranky.
I love my kids so much. I would die. I can't express the emotions that come to me when I think about how precious they are in my life. It brings me to tears because I know people who have children who have any number of problems. And I know I am so blessed. So, so, so blessed.
What a hard job this is, motherhood.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Stupid people
There was this girl, Missy234, or something of that nature, in college. I was a junior. She was emailing me all of the time these awful, angry, bitter, hateful messages. Funny thing: I had no idea who she was or why she hated me so much.
It wasn't until tonight that I have been so pissed at someone who did something awful specifically to me. Britney Murdock. Of course, I'm sure that's not her name. I am VERY mad at her.
Back in September, this girl, Britney, came to my door. At the time, I thought she was cute, maybe in her early 20's or late teens. Perky little thing that told me my kids were so cute and I was so skinny for just having a baby. I really liked her then. But now that I recall that day, her teeth were pretty messed up and she had a very sloppy way of speaking, and I think she smelled funny. Or was hunchback. Or something.
Oh, Britney. Britney sat in my kitchen for quite sometime explaining her magazine sales to me. She talked about points and a trip and a competition - none of which I cared about at the time. But I kind of listened. And, thinking back on that day in September, I remember having an iffy feeling about the whole thing. Not an iffy "I feel stupid now so I'll pretend I knew then" feeling, but an iffy "I'm just not sure about this girl, something doesn't add up" feeling. I asked her SO many questions, just trying to figure out what she was doing. I wonder if she was nervous, or exhilarated, or just was going through the motions of her act.
I sat with Britney, mulling over which magazine I wanted to order, even though at the time, we couldn't afford any of them. I remember thinking how expensive I thought they were. As I was deciding not to get one, I text BJ to see if he wants anything. I talk to him on the phone. Britney is sitting there the whole time.
So I see this one for the kids. Britney tells me this one is great because it comes in a big box and it has activities for the kids and they will love it. She tells me that she is the oldest of 12 kids. I actually asked her to name them all, I remember. She did in a kind of slow manner, but whatever. What do you do, say, "Um, I think you are lying about that?" Whatever. I don't know. I guess I just grew up with manners and decency and trust and honesty. Those things mean nothing.
So after much ado, I order this magazine for the kids, 12 issues with a little activity in every one for $48.00. I cut her the check, tell her we may be moving and she says, "Just call the number on the receipt and they will forward it to the right address."
Three months later (tonight), I find the receipt. No phone number. At this point, I am very skeptical because I have not received anything in the mail, and there is no number on the receipt. I enter the address in Google. Lo and behold, what comes up, Ripoff Report.
So, I got over the $48.00. I waste that in a matter of two weeks here and there. I just can't get over Britney, and people like her. How a person can come into your home, lie straight to your face, and rip you off? Okay, and the worst part about it, it was for my kids. That girl sat in my house for 20 minutes while I stewed about which magazine to get, listened to me talk about how excited I was to get the activities. She talked to my kids, chatted with me, sat on my stool! She's awful. The people running the stupid thing are awful. And I am personally pissed at Britney.
It wasn't until tonight that I have been so pissed at someone who did something awful specifically to me. Britney Murdock. Of course, I'm sure that's not her name. I am VERY mad at her.
Back in September, this girl, Britney, came to my door. At the time, I thought she was cute, maybe in her early 20's or late teens. Perky little thing that told me my kids were so cute and I was so skinny for just having a baby. I really liked her then. But now that I recall that day, her teeth were pretty messed up and she had a very sloppy way of speaking, and I think she smelled funny. Or was hunchback. Or something.
Oh, Britney. Britney sat in my kitchen for quite sometime explaining her magazine sales to me. She talked about points and a trip and a competition - none of which I cared about at the time. But I kind of listened. And, thinking back on that day in September, I remember having an iffy feeling about the whole thing. Not an iffy "I feel stupid now so I'll pretend I knew then" feeling, but an iffy "I'm just not sure about this girl, something doesn't add up" feeling. I asked her SO many questions, just trying to figure out what she was doing. I wonder if she was nervous, or exhilarated, or just was going through the motions of her act.
I sat with Britney, mulling over which magazine I wanted to order, even though at the time, we couldn't afford any of them. I remember thinking how expensive I thought they were. As I was deciding not to get one, I text BJ to see if he wants anything. I talk to him on the phone. Britney is sitting there the whole time.
So I see this one for the kids. Britney tells me this one is great because it comes in a big box and it has activities for the kids and they will love it. She tells me that she is the oldest of 12 kids. I actually asked her to name them all, I remember. She did in a kind of slow manner, but whatever. What do you do, say, "Um, I think you are lying about that?" Whatever. I don't know. I guess I just grew up with manners and decency and trust and honesty. Those things mean nothing.
So after much ado, I order this magazine for the kids, 12 issues with a little activity in every one for $48.00. I cut her the check, tell her we may be moving and she says, "Just call the number on the receipt and they will forward it to the right address."
Three months later (tonight), I find the receipt. No phone number. At this point, I am very skeptical because I have not received anything in the mail, and there is no number on the receipt. I enter the address in Google. Lo and behold, what comes up, Ripoff Report.
So, I got over the $48.00. I waste that in a matter of two weeks here and there. I just can't get over Britney, and people like her. How a person can come into your home, lie straight to your face, and rip you off? Okay, and the worst part about it, it was for my kids. That girl sat in my house for 20 minutes while I stewed about which magazine to get, listened to me talk about how excited I was to get the activities. She talked to my kids, chatted with me, sat on my stool! She's awful. The people running the stupid thing are awful. And I am personally pissed at Britney.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
It's quiet.
It's quiet here and I can hear the ticking of the clock. Nevermind, it's not quiet anymore. So much for that.
Monday, December 15, 2008
You know what? I'm here, today.
I used to be really bad about planning my future, meaning - I tried to do it. I wanted to map out the 'next five years' on a continual and ongoing basis so that I always knew what to expect. I think this is so true of many people in our lives as we finish college or find a significant other, or when both happen at the same time.
Once you become engaged, it's all about the wedding. So you plan that, for as long as that takes. In our case, we got engaged on January 17, 2002. We had dated just over a year. We had initially planned a May 17, 2003 wedding. I can barely remember that now. I initially didn't get placed for student teaching, so I graduated a semester later than I expected. We didn't want to be in college and married (I don't know why), so we pushed the wedding back to the following summer. July 2004. So planning began for that date. But after much frustration, more change of plans, and a sudden burst of a little thing called spontaneity, we decided to get married in December of 2003.
Once you're married, you have a little time to adjust to living together, for the eight of us in the world that didn't do that before we were married. Then everyone's asking you when you are starting your family. In our case, it didn't take too long. And it also didn't happen when I was planning for it to.
Then there is the house hunting. The ever exciting first home. I knew when I walked into our wonderful house that it was home. I knew when I walked in the door for the first time that this is a place where I could envision my children running around - which they certainly did for the next three years.
But back to the planning. I did it. Of course, God always laughed at me when I tried to plan out my life. That's why I've learned to stop doing it.
Five years ago, when I got married, I had it all planned out. I knew where I was going to work, how long. I knew when I was going to get pregnant. I knew where we would live and how things would go. And not only was I planning for these things, but I was also putting my happiness on hold until I had them.
The ever familiar, "Oh, when we get married, it will be so much better because..." or "I just can't wait to have a child, then we will really be a family." Or, "Once we get this house, then..." The list of "I'll be happy when"'s goes on. I was definitely living that life without knowing it.
It wasn't until a friend of mine, 10 years my senior, was telling me about the regrets in her young life. The precise thing I was doing, the planning my life, the I'll be happy when, is what she spoke of as her regret.
It was that moment for me, that talk with my friend, that allowed me to realize what I had been doing. Waiting for your life to start does not allow you to enjoy the day that you have. The only day that you know for certain.
So, present day, here I am in Indy. I'm living in a rental house until April, or a possibility to extend the lease. We have a home for sale/for rent in Muncie. I have had three children in three years. The most common questions I get about my life are, "Are you looking for a house?" and "Are you guys having any more kids?" As for the house, no. I'm not looking. It seems it would be exciting to house hunt, but right now, I have two houses. I don't want to look for another one. Not today. As for the children comment, I can honestly say, "I don't know." And the "If it's in God's plan," is a VERY nice comment because it takes all the pressure off of you! But seriously, I have always wanted at least four kids. Two boys and two girls. So people ask, "What if you have another girl?" So many questions that I am not prepared to answer. Two years ago, I would have told you the month that I was going to get pregnant with my fourth child. Today, I'm enjoying the day that I have, with the children that I have, and I'll worry about the rest of it when the day comes.
Once you become engaged, it's all about the wedding. So you plan that, for as long as that takes. In our case, we got engaged on January 17, 2002. We had dated just over a year. We had initially planned a May 17, 2003 wedding. I can barely remember that now. I initially didn't get placed for student teaching, so I graduated a semester later than I expected. We didn't want to be in college and married (I don't know why), so we pushed the wedding back to the following summer. July 2004. So planning began for that date. But after much frustration, more change of plans, and a sudden burst of a little thing called spontaneity, we decided to get married in December of 2003.
Once you're married, you have a little time to adjust to living together, for the eight of us in the world that didn't do that before we were married. Then everyone's asking you when you are starting your family. In our case, it didn't take too long. And it also didn't happen when I was planning for it to.
Then there is the house hunting. The ever exciting first home. I knew when I walked into our wonderful house that it was home. I knew when I walked in the door for the first time that this is a place where I could envision my children running around - which they certainly did for the next three years.
But back to the planning. I did it. Of course, God always laughed at me when I tried to plan out my life. That's why I've learned to stop doing it.
Five years ago, when I got married, I had it all planned out. I knew where I was going to work, how long. I knew when I was going to get pregnant. I knew where we would live and how things would go. And not only was I planning for these things, but I was also putting my happiness on hold until I had them.
The ever familiar, "Oh, when we get married, it will be so much better because..." or "I just can't wait to have a child, then we will really be a family." Or, "Once we get this house, then..." The list of "I'll be happy when"'s goes on. I was definitely living that life without knowing it.
It wasn't until a friend of mine, 10 years my senior, was telling me about the regrets in her young life. The precise thing I was doing, the planning my life, the I'll be happy when, is what she spoke of as her regret.
It was that moment for me, that talk with my friend, that allowed me to realize what I had been doing. Waiting for your life to start does not allow you to enjoy the day that you have. The only day that you know for certain.
So, present day, here I am in Indy. I'm living in a rental house until April, or a possibility to extend the lease. We have a home for sale/for rent in Muncie. I have had three children in three years. The most common questions I get about my life are, "Are you looking for a house?" and "Are you guys having any more kids?" As for the house, no. I'm not looking. It seems it would be exciting to house hunt, but right now, I have two houses. I don't want to look for another one. Not today. As for the children comment, I can honestly say, "I don't know." And the "If it's in God's plan," is a VERY nice comment because it takes all the pressure off of you! But seriously, I have always wanted at least four kids. Two boys and two girls. So people ask, "What if you have another girl?" So many questions that I am not prepared to answer. Two years ago, I would have told you the month that I was going to get pregnant with my fourth child. Today, I'm enjoying the day that I have, with the children that I have, and I'll worry about the rest of it when the day comes.
4:45 a.m.
So. Sometimes little Isa will wake up, fuss around, chat a little, and put herself back to sleep. At the old house, I may have been quicker to run and try to put a paci in her mouth before she woke her sister up. But I've learned that Adrienne is an exceptionally heavy sleeper. Her little sis can be chattin it up, and Adri sleeps right through it. (Although Adrienne is a clone of her father, she does have her mother's sleeping habits.)
Anyway, I hear Isa at about 4:30 this morning starting to chat. She doesn't sound too upset or too loud so I roll over in my own warm bed and see if she'll fall asleep on her own. At 4:45, after 15 minutes of continual chatting on her part, I decide to brave the cold, creaky hardwoods to see what's up. I creak into her room. There she is, happy as can be, sitting up in her crib. I look over at Adri to see if she's slept thru it. I see her in bed, then I see Julian sitting up next to her. Oh my goodness, it's a slumber party.
Luckily our house has sleeping arrangements to accommodate more people than we currently have. Adrienne sleeps in a queen bed and Isa in her crib in one room. Julian has a single bed and his own room. BJ and I have a queen bed and a pack and play in our room.
I scooped up Adri, which is becoming an increasingly difficult task - she'll be scooping me up next week, I swear. Anyway, she went into my bed with daddy and that's the end of the story for her. Good girl. Isabelle stayed in her crib. I took Julian back to his room and crawled into bed with him.
From 4:45 - 5:15: Isabelle fussed around a little more. I went from Julian's bed to her room to readminister paci and blankey a few times. Julian and I had tagteam coughing. We are both disgustingly sick with gross chunky coughs, snotty noses, a lot of the color green involved, etc. Julian got medicine, water, tissue, this is pointless. The kid is wide awake. At 5:15, another check on Isabelle and she was finally asleep.
5:29, I give up. Julian and I go downstairs. I turn on a show for him. The only reason I am awake, out of bed, and watching Lasytown right now is because I am completely banking on the fact that at about 8:00 a.m. this kid is going to crash, Adrienne will be up (up meaning, lying on the couch watching a show) and I will be able to catch a breath. The bad news about these crappy nights is that they usually produce crappy days. I mean, I won't be able to go anywhere in the morning because I am hoping someone will be asleep at that time. I won't be able to go out in the afternoon because I pray that they are all asleep at that time. It makes for a long, boring, frustrating day.
I mean, look at me now, it's 5:51 and I am wide angrily awake. Sick, frustrated, tired, defeated, blogging. Very happy to know that Christmas is coming so soon...
Anyway, I hear Isa at about 4:30 this morning starting to chat. She doesn't sound too upset or too loud so I roll over in my own warm bed and see if she'll fall asleep on her own. At 4:45, after 15 minutes of continual chatting on her part, I decide to brave the cold, creaky hardwoods to see what's up. I creak into her room. There she is, happy as can be, sitting up in her crib. I look over at Adri to see if she's slept thru it. I see her in bed, then I see Julian sitting up next to her. Oh my goodness, it's a slumber party.
Luckily our house has sleeping arrangements to accommodate more people than we currently have. Adrienne sleeps in a queen bed and Isa in her crib in one room. Julian has a single bed and his own room. BJ and I have a queen bed and a pack and play in our room.
I scooped up Adri, which is becoming an increasingly difficult task - she'll be scooping me up next week, I swear. Anyway, she went into my bed with daddy and that's the end of the story for her. Good girl. Isabelle stayed in her crib. I took Julian back to his room and crawled into bed with him.
From 4:45 - 5:15: Isabelle fussed around a little more. I went from Julian's bed to her room to readminister paci and blankey a few times. Julian and I had tagteam coughing. We are both disgustingly sick with gross chunky coughs, snotty noses, a lot of the color green involved, etc. Julian got medicine, water, tissue, this is pointless. The kid is wide awake. At 5:15, another check on Isabelle and she was finally asleep.
5:29, I give up. Julian and I go downstairs. I turn on a show for him. The only reason I am awake, out of bed, and watching Lasytown right now is because I am completely banking on the fact that at about 8:00 a.m. this kid is going to crash, Adrienne will be up (up meaning, lying on the couch watching a show) and I will be able to catch a breath. The bad news about these crappy nights is that they usually produce crappy days. I mean, I won't be able to go anywhere in the morning because I am hoping someone will be asleep at that time. I won't be able to go out in the afternoon because I pray that they are all asleep at that time. It makes for a long, boring, frustrating day.
I mean, look at me now, it's 5:51 and I am wide angrily awake. Sick, frustrated, tired, defeated, blogging. Very happy to know that Christmas is coming so soon...
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The guilt
So, the guilt that I wrote about in the nap post is lingering. Here's how it goes. No matter what you do (I do, I'll speak for myself)...as a mother, I always feel that something could have been done better. Even, alas, in my blog posts I feel guilt. I always feel like I need to say, "Oh wait, but I do love my kids. I do love being a stay at home mom. I'm not crasy. I'm not a bad parent." Here's a blog to prove it!!
I love my kids! Let's face it, the "I'm going to lose my mind" blogs are fun to read. And they are true, and authentic, and written in the moment. And, they are therapeutic for me.
I would hope that of the handful of people who read this blog would know that I love my kids.
Okay. I love my kids. I love being a mom. I'm feeling better. Don't judge.
I love my kids! Let's face it, the "I'm going to lose my mind" blogs are fun to read. And they are true, and authentic, and written in the moment. And, they are therapeutic for me.
I would hope that of the handful of people who read this blog would know that I love my kids.
Okay. I love my kids. I love being a mom. I'm feeling better. Don't judge.
My nap
I RARELY nap at home during the day. The kids are actually good sleepers. They don't all three sleep at the same time every day, but sometimes they do. During that time, I will generally clean a little bit, and take some time for myself. It usually consists of a load of laundry, tidying up the house, watching tevoed Oprah, and playing on facebook. Just about the time when I start to relax, someone's crying.
I RARELY nap. Okay, I think I said that already. It's not that I'm not tired enough to, it's just that if I nap, one of the kids will wake me up from that nap, and I will be groggy, and feel unrested and that time was wasted. So. There will be a day every now and then, whether it be because of a long week, a long night, a combination of things, that I just feel like I need a nap. Here's the kicker. If my mind ever, ever thinks, "I'm going to take a nap today," I'm doomed. It's like my kids read my mind and decide to be bad.
Here's how my nap went today. We get home from running errands, I make a phone call to the church to cancel BJ's lectoring, Adri and Jupa start the war while I'm on the phone. Get off the phone. Angrily tell the kids to get upstairs and go to bed. Adrienne obediently goes and lays in bed and is asleep within five minutes. Julian goes to his room and screams. It was wonderful when Julian was still in a crib and couldn't get out. You could let a kid cry, you know. Then he started climbing out of his crib and I endured fits of insanity because he just wouldn't nap and we'd both pay for it later. Enter: New house is an old house with old door handles. Julian is, for the time being, stuck in his room until I open the door. I know eventually he will get the door open, his confidence restored and he will go back to being 100% ornery boy that he is. Okay, I'm digressing. My nap...where was I, oh yeah...So I change Isabelle's poopy diaper, wipe her snot, drool and lay her in her crib. This is all at 2:00, by the way. She fusses a bit but seems to be calm. I make a cup of tea for my sore throat and grab the book that my dear friend gave me to read. I put on comfy pants, snuggle under the covers in my bed and start reading. I read four pages, set the book down, take off my glasses, fluff the pillow and close my eyes. Julian is still talking but the crying has calmed.
Now, in the back of my mind, I know this nap isn't going to pan out because I actually thought about it in advance. But I gave it my best shot. 2:12. Oh my gosh, I think I'm actually falling asleep. Dreams begin to formulate, I'm starting to relax, 2:24, Isabelle is crying. I get up, try to put the paci in her mouth and she's not having it. On my way to her room, old house comes through for me and floors creak loud enough to wake the neighbors, who probably have no problem napping except for my exceptionally creaky floors, and Julian starts up again.
Now Isa and Julian feed off of each other's crying, they always have, so they are both screaming. Not fussing, but 'get me the hell out of this bed now,' kind of crying. In my desperation, I set up the pack and play in my room, put Isa in there and shut the door. I leave Julian in his room, but I can tell that he has gotten into his closet because there are thumps and thuds and loud scary noises coming from his room.
I leave my two screaming kids and crawl in bed with the angelic sleeping Adri, who doesn't budge, even though the sun is blasting through the windows on her face and her mom is in bed with her. I lay down. 2:30. I laid there and listened to them both scream for 10 minutes. During that ten minutes I become overcome with guilt that I am not taking care of my children, I'm being selfish, and other self-loathing thoughts. I'm also so upset, uptight, angry, frustrated, tired, guilty, whatever, that it's over.
I get Isabelle, I get Julian. We go downstairs. They are sitting and playing on the ground and I'm here blogging about my wonderful 12 minute nap.
Every mom should be so lucky.
I RARELY nap. Okay, I think I said that already. It's not that I'm not tired enough to, it's just that if I nap, one of the kids will wake me up from that nap, and I will be groggy, and feel unrested and that time was wasted. So. There will be a day every now and then, whether it be because of a long week, a long night, a combination of things, that I just feel like I need a nap. Here's the kicker. If my mind ever, ever thinks, "I'm going to take a nap today," I'm doomed. It's like my kids read my mind and decide to be bad.
Here's how my nap went today. We get home from running errands, I make a phone call to the church to cancel BJ's lectoring, Adri and Jupa start the war while I'm on the phone. Get off the phone. Angrily tell the kids to get upstairs and go to bed. Adrienne obediently goes and lays in bed and is asleep within five minutes. Julian goes to his room and screams. It was wonderful when Julian was still in a crib and couldn't get out. You could let a kid cry, you know. Then he started climbing out of his crib and I endured fits of insanity because he just wouldn't nap and we'd both pay for it later. Enter: New house is an old house with old door handles. Julian is, for the time being, stuck in his room until I open the door. I know eventually he will get the door open, his confidence restored and he will go back to being 100% ornery boy that he is. Okay, I'm digressing. My nap...where was I, oh yeah...So I change Isabelle's poopy diaper, wipe her snot, drool and lay her in her crib. This is all at 2:00, by the way. She fusses a bit but seems to be calm. I make a cup of tea for my sore throat and grab the book that my dear friend gave me to read. I put on comfy pants, snuggle under the covers in my bed and start reading. I read four pages, set the book down, take off my glasses, fluff the pillow and close my eyes. Julian is still talking but the crying has calmed.
Now, in the back of my mind, I know this nap isn't going to pan out because I actually thought about it in advance. But I gave it my best shot. 2:12. Oh my gosh, I think I'm actually falling asleep. Dreams begin to formulate, I'm starting to relax, 2:24, Isabelle is crying. I get up, try to put the paci in her mouth and she's not having it. On my way to her room, old house comes through for me and floors creak loud enough to wake the neighbors, who probably have no problem napping except for my exceptionally creaky floors, and Julian starts up again.
Now Isa and Julian feed off of each other's crying, they always have, so they are both screaming. Not fussing, but 'get me the hell out of this bed now,' kind of crying. In my desperation, I set up the pack and play in my room, put Isa in there and shut the door. I leave Julian in his room, but I can tell that he has gotten into his closet because there are thumps and thuds and loud scary noises coming from his room.
I leave my two screaming kids and crawl in bed with the angelic sleeping Adri, who doesn't budge, even though the sun is blasting through the windows on her face and her mom is in bed with her. I lay down. 2:30. I laid there and listened to them both scream for 10 minutes. During that ten minutes I become overcome with guilt that I am not taking care of my children, I'm being selfish, and other self-loathing thoughts. I'm also so upset, uptight, angry, frustrated, tired, guilty, whatever, that it's over.
I get Isabelle, I get Julian. We go downstairs. They are sitting and playing on the ground and I'm here blogging about my wonderful 12 minute nap.
Every mom should be so lucky.
Monday, November 17, 2008
The new house
I should start crapping my pants again. Everyone else is. I'm so tired. Last night wasn't great. I slept in Adrienne's bed with Adrienne and Julian, and Izzy was in the crib next to us. By the way, that's the last time I am typing her name. The last letter of the alphabet key on our keyboard is broken thanks to Julian so typing that letter is extremely difficult, seeing as how the actual key is not on it and you have to forcefully push down on this little button. From now on, she will affectionately be known as Isa. Or I guess I could use her real name. But who does that? And by the way, if I say I'm going crasy, or we're going to the soo, so sip up your coats, you know what I mean.
It is 10:00 a.m., not really a nap time for us in this family, but all of the kids are upstairs. We've been awake since 5:30 this morning. I was trying so hard to get them in nap mode so I could clean like a crasy woman since my house looks like a bomb hit it. But here I am blogging. I need to get some stress out, seriously, and I think 10 a.m. is a little early for a beer. (BJ says lay low on the alcohol references, but I know a few of you momma's would give that one an Amen, sister!)
Anyway, I think I am going to be a ghost writer for blogs. BJ was telling me about it. I told him I needed a ghost chef. Someone who could come into my house, cook meals for the family, and get absolutely no credit, but would be paid, of course. Oh well.
Today is the 8 year anniversary of BJ and my first date. (How do you say that? Mine and BJ's, BJ and I's first date?) How sweet is that, people.
I'm so tired. Why did I title this The new house? I need to get off of this computer if I am not saying anything worthwhile. I've probably already lost my 5 blog followers. Sorry guys.
More next time from crasyland. ...
It is 10:00 a.m., not really a nap time for us in this family, but all of the kids are upstairs. We've been awake since 5:30 this morning. I was trying so hard to get them in nap mode so I could clean like a crasy woman since my house looks like a bomb hit it. But here I am blogging. I need to get some stress out, seriously, and I think 10 a.m. is a little early for a beer. (BJ says lay low on the alcohol references, but I know a few of you momma's would give that one an Amen, sister!)
Anyway, I think I am going to be a ghost writer for blogs. BJ was telling me about it. I told him I needed a ghost chef. Someone who could come into my house, cook meals for the family, and get absolutely no credit, but would be paid, of course. Oh well.
Today is the 8 year anniversary of BJ and my first date. (How do you say that? Mine and BJ's, BJ and I's first date?) How sweet is that, people.
I'm so tired. Why did I title this The new house? I need to get off of this computer if I am not saying anything worthwhile. I've probably already lost my 5 blog followers. Sorry guys.
More next time from crasyland. ...
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Growing up
I've always said I'm never going to be able to have a last child. Just when the baby starts doing something that outgrows baby-ness, I start yearning. My husband really hopes I will 'out grow' this yearning. But I haven't yet.
Last night, I laid in my bed with Adrienne. After a hellacious and exhausting day, she was just a little angel lying there. We spent about twenty quality minutes together. We prayed the Hail Mary and Our Father, we held hands, clapped our hands together, talked and laughed and made cute jokes. All the while, as she was completely unaware, I adored her, reveled in her innocent beauty, and allowed tears to silently travel from my eyes down to the pillow. That's a mom thing, I guess. Looking at a child with such overwhelming affection and abounding love that it makes you cry. I think I also was crying because she is growing up so fast.
I can see Julian growing. Moreso now that I am home. He wakes up in the morning, bigger, more like a little boy and less like a baby boy. This saddens me terribly as I love babies so much. Julian is such a little doll face. I woke up this morning and Julian said, "Mommy, Iwanshum oatmeal." You wanshum what?! You didn't say oatmeal. Yes, he said oatmeal. If you have read the eatmeal post, you understand how heartbreaking it was for me to hear him say oatmeal. Oh, you're growing up. I'm still clinging to him calling it his 'big girl bed.'
Isabelle fell asleep on my chest tonight. We were watching Dancing with the Stars. This doesn't happen - the falling asleep on my chest thing. Not at all at her age, 6 months. Izzy was in bed at about 8p and just screaming. Poor kid (oh no, there she goes again as I type this), she's teething. I could actually feel her first tooth coming through on the bottom tonight. So, we've had a few rough nights. She was just fussy and wanted to be held. I was holding her on my lap, she kinked her head up at me with drowsy eyes and a half smile. She said 'I love you' with that look. I stroked her hair and kissed her. She had fallen asleep. I held her with me for a little while and just loved the moment. Loved the fleeting moment. Tried to burn the moment into my memory to take out again when she's 12 and I want to kick her out of the house for being so sassy.
Growing up. When I see that Adrienne has changed in the smallest of ways on any given day, I'll tell her, "Stop growing up!" to which she always replies, "I'm trying to!" Keep trying, baby, I want to freeze time.
Last night, I laid in my bed with Adrienne. After a hellacious and exhausting day, she was just a little angel lying there. We spent about twenty quality minutes together. We prayed the Hail Mary and Our Father, we held hands, clapped our hands together, talked and laughed and made cute jokes. All the while, as she was completely unaware, I adored her, reveled in her innocent beauty, and allowed tears to silently travel from my eyes down to the pillow. That's a mom thing, I guess. Looking at a child with such overwhelming affection and abounding love that it makes you cry. I think I also was crying because she is growing up so fast.
I can see Julian growing. Moreso now that I am home. He wakes up in the morning, bigger, more like a little boy and less like a baby boy. This saddens me terribly as I love babies so much. Julian is such a little doll face. I woke up this morning and Julian said, "Mommy, Iwanshum oatmeal." You wanshum what?! You didn't say oatmeal. Yes, he said oatmeal. If you have read the eatmeal post, you understand how heartbreaking it was for me to hear him say oatmeal. Oh, you're growing up. I'm still clinging to him calling it his 'big girl bed.'
Isabelle fell asleep on my chest tonight. We were watching Dancing with the Stars. This doesn't happen - the falling asleep on my chest thing. Not at all at her age, 6 months. Izzy was in bed at about 8p and just screaming. Poor kid (oh no, there she goes again as I type this), she's teething. I could actually feel her first tooth coming through on the bottom tonight. So, we've had a few rough nights. She was just fussy and wanted to be held. I was holding her on my lap, she kinked her head up at me with drowsy eyes and a half smile. She said 'I love you' with that look. I stroked her hair and kissed her. She had fallen asleep. I held her with me for a little while and just loved the moment. Loved the fleeting moment. Tried to burn the moment into my memory to take out again when she's 12 and I want to kick her out of the house for being so sassy.
Growing up. When I see that Adrienne has changed in the smallest of ways on any given day, I'll tell her, "Stop growing up!" to which she always replies, "I'm trying to!" Keep trying, baby, I want to freeze time.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I'd rather poke a needle in my eye.
As I was sitting in the patient room with my three crying children, in a moment of desperation and temporary (up for debate) insanity, I thought to myself, "In this very moment, If I had a choice, I would prefer to poke a needle into my eyeball than to be right here, right now." Now, if someone handed me a needle, I may have chickened out. But if they handed me a needle in exchange for my children, owey kazowey baby, that thing was going in!
I think I made the first mistake. I showed up to the doctor's office at 11:55. Julian's right foot had been bothering him so badly, so I thought we better get it checked out. I showed up to the pretentious, I think I'm better than you, you look like a slob and your kids are annoying, why don't you know basic protocol you're a grown woman, type of receptionist. What the hell ever happened to people being helpful in life? Whatever, another post altogether. Anyway, I inquired about a few things I should already know about clinic time, if my insurance would cover this visit, etc. Turns out, clinic opens at 1:00. Mind you 11:55, three kids. Ms. Sassypants said I needed to call the number on the back of my insurance card and ask if the doctor is in the network.
Here I am, one hour till clinic. I take the kids to the waiting room with the standard broken ass abacus kind of thing that no one really likes, and sat down. I had three pb & js in the bag, which Adrienne, Julian and I scarfed down in seconds. The kids sat and ate pretzels while I called the insurance Member Service. Okay, Dr. Makestoomuch is part of this plan, whatever. He's covered, we're covered, I don't know I should kill me for it. (That day I would have let you.)
Okay, here we are, one hour to go. Kids are now fed, but starting to get tired.
Just imagine the 5 worst scenarios that could have possibly happened at the doctor's office in the waiting room with a 3 1/2 year old, 2 year old, and 6 month old....did you imagine them? Okay, those 5 things happened and then a whole bunch of other crazy, awful, embarrassing shit.
At 1:00, we went to a room to give someone information, then to another waiting room, then to patient's room for more waiting, then nurse, then more waiting, then doctor. During the more waiting part is where I had the needle fantasy, by the way. When the doctor arrived, who was the nicest of all the people I had met, I thought, "If this person tells me to just keep an eye on it and he's going to be fine, he's getting a needle in his ass. Hard." As he walks in, I'm holding Julian and Isabelle in my arms. Adrienne is lying on the floor with her blankey and I am near tears. "Looks like you got your hands full, mom," Dr. Imsofunny says to me. Good thing he was nice. And helpful.
So, he looks at Julian's red, puffy, bruised, sore little foot. He pushes on it in a few places and gets some pretty good reactions from the little guy. We get x-rays, stickers, and it's a fractured bone. Okay, now, all good moms shield your eyes and plug your ears. I was SO HAPPY to hear that my son had fractured a bone in his foot! I mean, after two hours of hell on Earth, at least there was something to show for it!
Julian got a soft cast wrap and some more stickers and we were outta there! 2:09. 11:55-2:09. NEVER AGAIN! I know I left out all of the juicy specifics and fun laugh out loud stories about children behaving badly. I think we are all better people because of it.
Home. Naps. Beer. I'm feeling a little bit better...
I think I made the first mistake. I showed up to the doctor's office at 11:55. Julian's right foot had been bothering him so badly, so I thought we better get it checked out. I showed up to the pretentious, I think I'm better than you, you look like a slob and your kids are annoying, why don't you know basic protocol you're a grown woman, type of receptionist. What the hell ever happened to people being helpful in life? Whatever, another post altogether. Anyway, I inquired about a few things I should already know about clinic time, if my insurance would cover this visit, etc. Turns out, clinic opens at 1:00. Mind you 11:55, three kids. Ms. Sassypants said I needed to call the number on the back of my insurance card and ask if the doctor is in the network.
Here I am, one hour till clinic. I take the kids to the waiting room with the standard broken ass abacus kind of thing that no one really likes, and sat down. I had three pb & js in the bag, which Adrienne, Julian and I scarfed down in seconds. The kids sat and ate pretzels while I called the insurance Member Service. Okay, Dr. Makestoomuch is part of this plan, whatever. He's covered, we're covered, I don't know I should kill me for it. (That day I would have let you.)
Okay, here we are, one hour to go. Kids are now fed, but starting to get tired.
Just imagine the 5 worst scenarios that could have possibly happened at the doctor's office in the waiting room with a 3 1/2 year old, 2 year old, and 6 month old....did you imagine them? Okay, those 5 things happened and then a whole bunch of other crazy, awful, embarrassing shit.
At 1:00, we went to a room to give someone information, then to another waiting room, then to patient's room for more waiting, then nurse, then more waiting, then doctor. During the more waiting part is where I had the needle fantasy, by the way. When the doctor arrived, who was the nicest of all the people I had met, I thought, "If this person tells me to just keep an eye on it and he's going to be fine, he's getting a needle in his ass. Hard." As he walks in, I'm holding Julian and Isabelle in my arms. Adrienne is lying on the floor with her blankey and I am near tears. "Looks like you got your hands full, mom," Dr. Imsofunny says to me. Good thing he was nice. And helpful.
So, he looks at Julian's red, puffy, bruised, sore little foot. He pushes on it in a few places and gets some pretty good reactions from the little guy. We get x-rays, stickers, and it's a fractured bone. Okay, now, all good moms shield your eyes and plug your ears. I was SO HAPPY to hear that my son had fractured a bone in his foot! I mean, after two hours of hell on Earth, at least there was something to show for it!
Julian got a soft cast wrap and some more stickers and we were outta there! 2:09. 11:55-2:09. NEVER AGAIN! I know I left out all of the juicy specifics and fun laugh out loud stories about children behaving badly. I think we are all better people because of it.
Home. Naps. Beer. I'm feeling a little bit better...
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
It's all in a day, Part 1
I wake up to a number of different things on any given day. Sometimes it's my husband wanting to know where the clean socks are. Sometimes it's my son creeping out of his newly acquired "big girl bed" (don't ask). Sometimes it's my baby daughter fussing around in her crib because she's peed through her onesie and sleeper. Sometimes it's my eldest child, age 3 for the record, who crawls up to my bed and purrs. It's usually somewhere between 6:00 - 6:30 when someone chooses, or is awarded the position of ringleader for that day.
Breakfast. 22 month old Julian always wants oatmeal, which he affectionately calls it either o-mote, or eatmeal. I think he graduated from o-mote to eatmeal, actually. So, he's getting there. Julian gets his eatmeal. Adrienne gets her chocolate cereal (Cocoa Pebbles) with milk in it, she requests. Then, as she is eating her chocolate cereal, she asks, "Is this breakfast or dinner?" She asks this because she knows that after dinner, if you eat well, you get dessert. Of course you would eat well, Adri, it's chocolate for breakfast. No chance at dessert after this meal, sweetie. And as for baby Izzy, well, she gets her bottle.
Julian screams at the top of his lungs and Adrienne cries because it hurts her ears. I say, "IGNORE" to Adrienne, and Julian screams louder. They sit together at the table and throw Fruit Loops at each other (Julian gets Fruit Loops while his eatmeal is cooling.) By the end of breakfast, the kitchen floor is littered with smashed Fruit Loops, lumps of eatmeal and drippy sippys. Julian has red burns on his chin from the eatmeal, Adrienne has chocolate milk down the front of her shirt, and Izzy has puked on herself, or me. So we change. We all change.
Somewhere in there, I try to get my coffee. And when I do, and feel sick and jittery because I haven't eaten, I throw two frozen waffles in the toaster. And it's 7:30 a.m.
Breakfast. 22 month old Julian always wants oatmeal, which he affectionately calls it either o-mote, or eatmeal. I think he graduated from o-mote to eatmeal, actually. So, he's getting there. Julian gets his eatmeal. Adrienne gets her chocolate cereal (Cocoa Pebbles) with milk in it, she requests. Then, as she is eating her chocolate cereal, she asks, "Is this breakfast or dinner?" She asks this because she knows that after dinner, if you eat well, you get dessert. Of course you would eat well, Adri, it's chocolate for breakfast. No chance at dessert after this meal, sweetie. And as for baby Izzy, well, she gets her bottle.
Julian screams at the top of his lungs and Adrienne cries because it hurts her ears. I say, "IGNORE" to Adrienne, and Julian screams louder. They sit together at the table and throw Fruit Loops at each other (Julian gets Fruit Loops while his eatmeal is cooling.) By the end of breakfast, the kitchen floor is littered with smashed Fruit Loops, lumps of eatmeal and drippy sippys. Julian has red burns on his chin from the eatmeal, Adrienne has chocolate milk down the front of her shirt, and Izzy has puked on herself, or me. So we change. We all change.
Somewhere in there, I try to get my coffee. And when I do, and feel sick and jittery because I haven't eaten, I throw two frozen waffles in the toaster. And it's 7:30 a.m.
It's all in a day, Part 2
So, it's 7:30 a.m. and we all need to change. Give that a good 30 minutes. Adrienne wants to dress herself, of course. Now if anyone is reading this, if anyone is out there, and you have, have had, or know someone who has a three year old girl, getting dressed is a fiasco! If I know we won't be leaving the house for over two hours, go for it girl. Find every pink, floofy, fluffy, skirt, flowery, necklace, pink thing you can find and put it on. And your Hello Kitty socks. They are sitting at the foot of my bed with blackened bottoms and sandy innards. Gotta have those.
Julian, a little less maintenance. Shirt from drawer, over head, arms through. Pants on.
Izzy is like a revolving door when it comes to clothes. Clean on, dirty off, clean on, dirty off, dirty on when I get too tired.
As for me, I throw on the one pair of jeans that somewhat fit and hope they don't have visible puke or jelly on them and whatever shirt is in view in my room. On the bed, floor, closet, doesn't matter. Seeing a burnt toast, mom's last kind of theme festering? Me too.
Okay, we're dressed. For the first time, at least.
Julian, a little less maintenance. Shirt from drawer, over head, arms through. Pants on.
Izzy is like a revolving door when it comes to clothes. Clean on, dirty off, clean on, dirty off, dirty on when I get too tired.
As for me, I throw on the one pair of jeans that somewhat fit and hope they don't have visible puke or jelly on them and whatever shirt is in view in my room. On the bed, floor, closet, doesn't matter. Seeing a burnt toast, mom's last kind of theme festering? Me too.
Okay, we're dressed. For the first time, at least.
Monday, September 29, 2008
George Jetson meets Wilma Flinstone.
What an embarrassment I must be to my husband. From a technology standpoint, he's George Jetson, I'm Wilma Flinstone. Let me explain.
BJ has been savvy since I've known him. But as technology advances, get this, so does he! My husband is the guy sitting in the coffee shop with a laptop (oh my gosh, I don't think they are even called laptops anymore!) in front of him, who appears to be talking to himself, but after taking a closer look, he has some kind of communication device in his ear and other various multifunctional devices in front of him at the table. He's always connected, always working, always online. Email, gps, calendar, all a click away, or a touch away on his Iphone. The guy was working at a company with 'blog' in the name before I even knew what a blog was.
As for me, I'm very 'old school'. Age 28, college graduate, former high school teacher for five years; one might think I would have some blogging experience, or at least knowledge. Oh, who am I fooling, it's not just blogging that I'm a little slow with. You could pretty much categorize it as technology altogether. If this doesn't give you enough insight, let me also express that as recently as last year I was teaching 'photojournalism' with 35mm manual cameras, black and white film and a darkroom. No, that's not a joke.
My level of technological understanding rests comfortably somewhere in the middle of the 1980's. I can proudly type nearly 70 words a minute. I can address an envelope like a pro, and know the current cost of a postage stamp (42 cents). I am quite comfortable with email, and thought I was perfectly fine until people started talking facebook, myspace, blogging, ipods, iphones, ibooks, ihavenoideawhatyouaretalkingaboutpeople.
So, my George comes home every once in awhile with a new gadget for his Wilma to try out. The first thing he got me was a cell phone with a querty keyboard, which I used to send my first text message. That was, oh, about two years ago. Next he gave me his 'old' ipod. This tiny little clip of a thing plays more songs than I would ever listen to at one time. I still don't really understand how to put songs on it. I know it is George's greatest desire for me to just get it already, but there is a big chunk of my brain that is missing, I guess, because none of it makes sense to me.
So, George brings home an iphone for me last month. Holy technology at your fingertips! As amazing as it all is to me, and as fun as it is to get email to my phone, I'm a little freaked out that I am a little blue dot on the screen and when I go to the bathroom, the dot moves. I'm truly convinced that we are nowhere near as 'alone' as we sometimes think we are. So anyway, George asks me if I've synced it up lately? What language of the future are you speaking to me? Dumb it down, Jetson!
Am I proud of this lack of withitness? Not really, but I'm not really ashamed of it either. Because I don't really like it. We don't even talk to each other anymore. We text. We don't have to figure it out 'old school' anymore. We google it. We're lazy. We're privileged, spoiled, linked in, connected, and a little less real, in my perspective.
BJ has been savvy since I've known him. But as technology advances, get this, so does he! My husband is the guy sitting in the coffee shop with a laptop (oh my gosh, I don't think they are even called laptops anymore!) in front of him, who appears to be talking to himself, but after taking a closer look, he has some kind of communication device in his ear and other various multifunctional devices in front of him at the table. He's always connected, always working, always online. Email, gps, calendar, all a click away, or a touch away on his Iphone. The guy was working at a company with 'blog' in the name before I even knew what a blog was.
As for me, I'm very 'old school'. Age 28, college graduate, former high school teacher for five years; one might think I would have some blogging experience, or at least knowledge. Oh, who am I fooling, it's not just blogging that I'm a little slow with. You could pretty much categorize it as technology altogether. If this doesn't give you enough insight, let me also express that as recently as last year I was teaching 'photojournalism' with 35mm manual cameras, black and white film and a darkroom. No, that's not a joke.
My level of technological understanding rests comfortably somewhere in the middle of the 1980's. I can proudly type nearly 70 words a minute. I can address an envelope like a pro, and know the current cost of a postage stamp (42 cents). I am quite comfortable with email, and thought I was perfectly fine until people started talking facebook, myspace, blogging, ipods, iphones, ibooks, ihavenoideawhatyouaretalkingaboutpeople.
So, my George comes home every once in awhile with a new gadget for his Wilma to try out. The first thing he got me was a cell phone with a querty keyboard, which I used to send my first text message. That was, oh, about two years ago. Next he gave me his 'old' ipod. This tiny little clip of a thing plays more songs than I would ever listen to at one time. I still don't really understand how to put songs on it. I know it is George's greatest desire for me to just get it already, but there is a big chunk of my brain that is missing, I guess, because none of it makes sense to me.
So, George brings home an iphone for me last month. Holy technology at your fingertips! As amazing as it all is to me, and as fun as it is to get email to my phone, I'm a little freaked out that I am a little blue dot on the screen and when I go to the bathroom, the dot moves. I'm truly convinced that we are nowhere near as 'alone' as we sometimes think we are. So anyway, George asks me if I've synced it up lately? What language of the future are you speaking to me? Dumb it down, Jetson!
Am I proud of this lack of withitness? Not really, but I'm not really ashamed of it either. Because I don't really like it. We don't even talk to each other anymore. We text. We don't have to figure it out 'old school' anymore. We google it. We're lazy. We're privileged, spoiled, linked in, connected, and a little less real, in my perspective.
George and Wilma have a baby.
Our first offspring definitely has daddy's genetics. Not only does this little creature look like a mini-me version of her father, except with long curly hair, she shares daddy's love of adventure, zest for life, and technology.
Oh, technology. I watch as this child plays with daddy's iphone during Sunday mass. She is pinching the screen to shrink the image and pulling her fingers away to expand. Um, she's three. I sit her down in front of the computer to nickjr.com, Nickelodeon website, and she can navigate herself around the site for up to 20 minutes. She is completely engaged, learning on many levels, and certainly entertained. At one point, I walked up behind her and found her watching video clips. I think to myself, How in the hell did she get here?
Our children are worlds away from our childhood experiences. Yes, we always joke about mom's arm being our seatbelt, running around in the neighborhood until dark, and generally just living a much more play-dateless life than our children lead now. But are our kids smarter than we were or just more technologically advanced? Or does one produce another?
My daughter is so smart. I keep thinking, You've only been on this earth for three years! You have learned a hell of a lot more in three years than I have, little one. But I guess this is the point: This is what we want, what we strive for as parents. We want our children to be smarter and better off than we were. We hope, pray, and do our best as parents to see that it happens.
Oh, technology. I watch as this child plays with daddy's iphone during Sunday mass. She is pinching the screen to shrink the image and pulling her fingers away to expand. Um, she's three. I sit her down in front of the computer to nickjr.com, Nickelodeon website, and she can navigate herself around the site for up to 20 minutes. She is completely engaged, learning on many levels, and certainly entertained. At one point, I walked up behind her and found her watching video clips. I think to myself, How in the hell did she get here?
Our children are worlds away from our childhood experiences. Yes, we always joke about mom's arm being our seatbelt, running around in the neighborhood until dark, and generally just living a much more play-dateless life than our children lead now. But are our kids smarter than we were or just more technologically advanced? Or does one produce another?
My daughter is so smart. I keep thinking, You've only been on this earth for three years! You have learned a hell of a lot more in three years than I have, little one. But I guess this is the point: This is what we want, what we strive for as parents. We want our children to be smarter and better off than we were. We hope, pray, and do our best as parents to see that it happens.
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