Monthly Archives: June 2009

Debbie Downer

I’m a bit of a Debbie Downer today, I’m afraid. For some reason I’m in a slump, and I can’t get out.

I know why, of course. I’ve been mainly useless all week. I am home alone, which you’d think would be awesome, but has not been awesome, at all. It’s just a lot of bad TV, soreness, guilt and frustration. Add to that an unhealthy paranoia about the sounds and thumps and bumps of an apartment building and bad weather…. well, I’m not exactly a barrel of laughs this week.

My mother has been stressing me out tremendously. My girls are growing up and I’m afraid, deep inside, of losing them, of missing something, of forgetting these days. I want to blog about their lives and so many funny things they do but I stop, because I can’t say it right or it’s not quite long enough, because I am somehow holding on to this idea that my writing has to be better. I shouldn’t care. This is my space and I shouldn’t care.

This post certainly isn’t a winner.

I have so many things on my to-do list that have remained untouched for so long… it seems I will never get to it. When I finally have the time, they’ve sat for so long I am daunted by the task, and I put it off or avoid it entirely. Ugh. A week of no laundry, no dishes, no cleaning… my apartment is a disaster and I hate that. I hate it when it’s completely out of control and I know I’m the one who is going to be cleaning it all, because though my husband is a dear, he can’t clean worth a damn.

Oh, he tries. It’s just a big fail. Sorry honey. I love you. But it’s a fail. (FAIL!) (Ok, that made me smile.)

I’ll leave on the smiling note. Maybe tomorrow I can get my shit together and post about the adorable outfits I got second-hand yesterday, or the awesomeness that is my oldest daughter’s bedroom, finally the bedroom she deserves, thanks to my mother. (See, it’s not all bad with her.)

Thanks for letting me vent, internet.

Brutally Honest.

I had started a post rehashing my adventure in the ER/hospital/surprise! Gallbladder Surgery! Many of you follow me on Twitter, though, and provided much-needed and much-appreciated support during that ordeal. Good thing, because I had the post almost finished, with Twitter excerpts and everything, when my computer shut down due to low battery power because plugging the cord into the computer is NO GOOD if it’s not also plugged into a power source. Ahem. Let’s blame the drugs, shall we?

Thus, I tip my hat to the universe and the blogging gods and whomever else controls such catastrophes, and say – Touche! I obviously should not be rehashing this series of events. Instead, let it suffice that I am home, relatively healthy minus one apparently unnecessary gallbladder, and that I damn thankful that I was able to pee twice today without someone measuring my urine ouput (In case you were wondering, I pee an average of 6-7 ounces per trip to the bathroom when I am drinking water throughout the day (and also receiving IV fluids). ).

(Yes, I know that period looks awkward sandiwiched between the parenthesis. That’s why double parentheticals aren’t grammatically correct.)

Let me, instead, tell you a little bit about some of the emotions and events of today. We will imagine that you are me, yes? Yes. You will.

First of all, being an adult and being in the hospital sucks. I mean seriously S.U.C.K.S. There is no other way to explain it. You feel alone. You want your mommy. You want your teddy. You want the nurses to stay and talk to you because jeez, the TV doesn’t even have a guide to flip through, you have to channel surf retro-style. In an effort to avoid these feelings of loneliness and depression, you will sleep more. They’ll tell you it’s the drug and that you’re sick and that you just had surgery but really it’s escapism.

This is actually a smart course of action and if you can spend your entire stay sleeping, I would strongly suggest it. I say this because when you are not sleeping, you may or may not call your husband and mother incessantly, annoying them. Also, if you are a mother, you may feel as though you are being crushed under the weight of the guilt you feel, having gotten sick and now sitting on your arse doing nothing at all except healing, which is ridiculous, you should be able to multitask that shit because your kids? They need you. Obviously. (Even though they are doing fine and hardly miss you.)

Once you’re done being crushed by guilt over being sick, you can wrestle with the almost as daunting guilt over being sort of glad that you are alone at the hospital, knowing that you are almost enjoying this, because damnit you can blog and watch TV and snack and Twitter and the only people who bother you are nurses offering you happy juice. Two words for you – AWE SOME.

Sometime in the afternoon, if you are me, you will also deal with the crushing guilt over knowing that your husband’s long-planned trip to Florida for a few days with his guy buddy and godfather to your most recent daughter J, will be cancelled. J will still need to go and get things out of storage, but DaddyGeek won’t be able to, because you can’t be left alone with the kids so soon, and there’s only so much your family can pitch in to help – they have jobs and committments, too. (Which, for the record, they would drop in a heartbeat if absolutely necessary, but the two of you decide together that it is not in fact necessary).

Then you are released, and you try to hide your shame over the fact that the eighteen year old hottie who is wheeling you down to the valet parking just graduated from HIGH SCHOOL, has freaking awesome hair and a gorgeous face and you checked her out and DaddyGeek didn’t (he was getting the car) (oops).

Also, eighteen-year-old-hottie has better hair than you right now, and you feel shame that you washed your hair yesterday with combination “Hair, Body and Perineal Shampoo”. Yeah, that’s right. Delicious, eh?

Finally, though, you will arrive home. J arrives shortly after while DaddyGeek goes to get the kids. DaddyGeek hasn’t broken the news to J yet. When that DOES start to happen, J gets an attitude. Shit. DaddyGeek is likely to cave under this pressure from his friend of 20 years, and you know it. You tell DaddyGeek and J to go get some dinner and work it out (read: DaddyGeek, go tell J somewhere else, I don’t want this awkward attitude BS in my home right now, I just had effing surgery.) You believe DaddyGeek understands you. Besides, you already decided on a course of action this morning, so it’s all good. J will get over it – life happens.

You are on the phone with your mother when DaddyGeek beeps in — on her line. You already know what’s coming. You advice your mother not to give in to DaddyGeek’s requests, and get off the phone. DaddyGeek calls shortly after. DaddyGeek wants to know why your mother is being so difficult.  You explain to DaddyGeek that you told her to -because there was already an agreement.

One of the larger fights of your marraige ensues, over the phone at first, while you hold the baby you aren’t supposed to be picking up and feed her a bottle you weren’t supposed to make while awkwardly clutching her to your sore stomach.

When DaddyGeek gets home, J peels off in anger (unacceptable, we live in a family community of apartments and not only would we be possibly partly liable for any damage/injury/death that ensued as a result, damage/injury/death are also completely uncalled for. So is childish screeching of tires.) and DaddyGeek comes in. He knows he is in trouble.

More of one of the largest fights of your marraige continues, as quietly as possible, in front of the children.

There is crying.

Finally, DaddyGeek understands where you are coming from. (You are angry, by the way, that DG went behind your back and talked to your mother about a plan, also that he reneged on your original plan, also that you were not consulted and isn’t this a goddamn partnership?!?!? and also that a little pressure from J made him change his mind, and ultimately that he attempted to choose J over you and your recovery and your family. Attempted, because like any good wife/mother/partner, I steered him not-so-gently in the right direction. Perhaps with my fist and a bucketful of well-placed guilt.)

Once DG is facing solidly in the right direction and has fully understood the potential and actual consequences of his actions, apologies are made and we kiss smile at each other and make up go about the business of bedtime preparation.

Now it is bedtime. You are sore because you spent the afternoon and evening at home doing all the things you were NOT supposed to do post-op, and you are writing a quick, brutally honest, unedited blog post before going to bed. Well, you might watch The Closer before going to bed. But that’s neither here nor there.

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Also, you really missed your kids. A lot. And you have no idea how you are going to survive BlogHer.

Coming of Age

Cupcake is going to be three on Monday.  One day, I’ll tell her birth story here. Nevertheless, she will be three years old, and she has certainly become a big girl. I feel as though we are hitting new milestones each and every day.

Today, she learned how to put on a long sleeve shirt. Two or three days ago, she learned how to put on pants – leggings, even! A few days before that, she realized she could put on her tank tops by herself by stepping into them and pulling them up. She has started drawing with purpose, as well. Last evening she told me she would draw my picture – a few hasty pen strokes later and there it was: a circle, two slashes/scribbles for eyes, a scribble for a nose and a dash for a mouth.

Is it foolish to look at this simple pen drawing on scrap notebook paper and feel awe?

Me, according to my toddler.

Me, according to my toddler.

She has become such a big helper, too. It’s amazing. I can convince her to do almost anything if it involves doing it herself. Lately, she does not want to get changed in the morning… but if I tell her she can pick out her clothes, put her pajamas into the laundry bin and get dressed herself, she’s running towards her closet like it’s a chocolate chip factory. At dinnertime, she wants nothing to do with eating until I let her put the food on the plate herself, or, better yet, “cut” her chicken nuggets or “spwinkle” cheese on her food. Turns out that everyone is right – that kid will eat anything if we can sprinkle a little parmesan cheese on it!

She’s a great help to her little sister, too. Geeklet just loves Cupcake — loves to see her smile, loves to watch her move around and walk and run and basically do everything and anything that Geeklet wants to do one day! I know that I can step out of the room to go the bathroom or switch the laundry with little to no tears if I tell Cupcake to go make funny faces at her sister.

Yes, it’s true that the temper tantrums try my patience. Yes, you are correct if you believe that the whining will likely cause me to start twittering things along the lines of “who wants to drink the Kool-Aid with me?” But!

Tell me, how on earth do you stay mad at the little girl who just kicked you repeatedly while you changed her poopy diaper (because we are not potty trained because have a new baby sister and we just moved, so all progress? Halted. Reversed. Sigh) when, at bedtime, she runs up to you and yells “Kisses!” proceeding to hug your legs and kiss you until her little lips can’t kiss anymore? How do you stay irritated that she made a strange moose noise all through dinner because she “wants IT down” (But Honey, I don’t understand what you’re asking?!?!!?!) when you remember this:

Mommy is hanging a picture of Mommy pregnant with Cupcake. Cupcake asks, “Mommy, is that me in your tummy? Is that baby in your tummy?” Mommy smiles indulgently and says “Yes, sweetie. That’s Cupcake in my tummy when you were just a little baby! Before you were born!”

The picture in question. Get outta my belly!

The picture in question. Get outta my belly!

She cocks her head to the side, taps her chin and says, “Ummm, Mommy? I think I wanna get out.”

We died laughing. How, how how how! am I supposed to stay frustrated at the whining and the kicking and the screaming when she is penning our portraits, learning to be independent, acting so damn cute?!

I can’t. And that, my friends, is why the human race is not yet extinct due to lack of procreation/new generations.

A few more of her artistic creations, purely for your viewing pleasure.

The Finger

The Finger. I swear, this is a picture of someone flipping me (you) off.

Either a person in a car, or a rhino. I can't decide which.

Either a person in a car, or a rhino. I can't decide which.

Children. Marraige. Naptime. It's all connected.

I just can’t muster up the energy.  Of course, the energy required to post on the blog is of a different sort entirely, and so thus, here I am. Sam I am. (Ok, my name isn’t Sam. You’ve outed me. Oh wait, that was my previous post. )

Yesterday The other day I took a vacation day to try and do some more packing, spend some time with the kiddos and give my mom a chance to switch her cable service (seriously, those guys take forever and a day. And a half.) Since I’m on the subject of confessions lately, and also riding the high of a new, undiscovered-by-my-family-and-I-pray-to-God-it-stays-that-way blog, let me admit that sometimes, when I am going to be alone with the children all day, I feel intimidated.

It’s not really the whole day that gets to me. It’s naptime. I’d written about this on my previous blog — naptime scares the hell out of me. I both adore and loathe naptime. It depends on the day/hour/minute/week which side (adoration or loathing)  is winning.

Things have been getting better lately — Cupcake has successfully fallen asleep in her bed at naptime and bedtime several times.. unfortunately, just as many times saw us still awake and fighting to get her to sleep at 9:30, 10:00 and even 10:30 pm (last night. sigh).

Here’s hoping that the new apartment makes a big difference in our sleeping habits coming up. At least I’m finally sleeping in the bed next to my husband again – something we haven’t done in almost a year. One of us always slept on the couch to be closer to Cupcake just in case she needed us — we needed to establish a feeling of security for her, so that she wouldn’t be afraid to go to sleep. So she would know that Mommy and Daddy were there if she needed us.  It was the right thing to do, but man did it suck. So we are finally sleeping next to each other (I’ve missed it, which is surprising, because my darling, dearest DG does snore quite a bit) (love you, babe!) again! Yay!

But still. Naptime and bedtime come around and I feel a little tinge of nervousness — which is foolish, because most of the time, DG is taking care of it! When I am doing the bedtime routine, though… still a teensy bit of nervousness that it will end up a disaster.

I don’t want to get frustrated and be harsh with her. I don’t want to get tense and stressed and have bedtime associated with something negative.

We’ll keep taking baby steps. DG and I will still practice a zen-like calm in the face of toddler bedtime tantrums and chatty Cathy-ness, wide-awake eyes at 10pm and general tomfoolery at an time that we should be cuddling (or at least tap-tap-tapping on our respective laptops while sitting next to each other on the couch) and enjoying some togetherness.

Children sure do put a strain on marraige, huh?

Feels Like Hope

Hope.

It’s a powerful thing. Hope can get us out of bed in the morning. Hope can push us past exhaustion for one more try, or one more box unpacked, one more hour worked.  One more lap around the room with the squalling infant. One more day lived.

We live on Hope. Some of us more than others – for some of us, Hope is all we have.  Hope is what drives each breath. Hope is what keeps our hearts beating.  I am lucky. My family is lucky. We don’t have to live only on Hope. We have so much.

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I never realized that our previous apartment was such a great source of stress and frustration.  Funny how a bit of distance, a bit of perspective, can show things so clearly.  Our new apartment is wonderful. Perfect, for us.  When we walked in that first day, with a load of our precious personal belongings, I felt something. I felt uplifted. I felt brighter. I felt cleaner. I felt more relaxed, despite the stress of a family move. I felt Hope. It made it easier to unpack. It made it possible to stay up past midnight most nights sorting through boxes and bags.

No longer does my daughter wake up at night screaming because the assholes above us are stomping, yelling, dragging, dancing, piano-playing and vaccuuming above her head at all hours of the night.

No longer do I have to lug my children and the groceries and the diaper bags and my laptop and the various miscellaneous crap that seems to follow us like a messy dark cloud through two heavy doors before getting to our apartment door.

No longer do I feel as though the space in our apartment is ill used, ill planned and basically – a total waste of money.

No longer do I feel as though I am drowing in toys and crap and ohmygodIhavenoplacetowalk because we have huge closets but no living space.

It’s wonderful.

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I realize these are petty complaints and subtle differences. I do. There are many folks dealing with much heavier burdens than mine. But home is a haven, a safe place, a place to relax. Our old apartment had become something of a burden but now, despite all the boxes and the unpacked but not quite put away stuff that we have laying around, I am happy to come home.

Not Me! Monday

Not Me! Monday
I am not penning this Not Me Monday post, led by MckMama over at My Charming Kids, while at work. Nope – not me! I would never waste precious company time on something as frivilous as that. Especially when I’m leaving early today.

I did not reneg on my promise to myself of unpacking all the remaining boxes of crap err, valuable possessions this weekend in favor of sitting on my tuckus.  Definitely not me!

While we’re at it, let me just say that there is no way that I booked a plane ticket to Chicago for BlogHer this July but failed to buy a conference pass, thus leaving me with plane tickets to a conference I can’t actually attend. No way would I be that idiotic. Not me!

And to be very clear, I did not fail to test the blog comment plugin on my fancy new WordPress blog, thus making my commenters feel unloved and appearing unresponsive because I’m apparently one of those stupid end-users that I get frustrated with. No. Not me!

Comment *love*

So. It appears that once again, I have made a complete ass of myself. I’ve been dutifully responding to all of your comments here on the blog, feeling very pleased with myself that I’d found a plug-in that would allow me to comment here AND have the comment response sent back to you via email! It was amazing!

I should know better. I didn’t test it. And I believed you were all receiving my responses.

It wasn’t working, obviously, and those of you who did receive a reply had simply subscribed to follow-up comments, and didn’t receive mine through the plug-in functionality at all. Therefore, none of you realized I was sending you a little comment-reply love.

So here it is — a summary –

Thank you! No, you’re awesome! You’re hilarious! Yes, that sucks! Yee-haw!*

From now on, you can expect that I’ll be commenting to you directly via email. Unless of course you don’t leave your email, in which case I’ll leave a response here. :)

*Ok, the “Yee-haw” might be overdoing it, but you catch my drift.

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