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I held up a card, and Gabriel took a minute, before confidentially saying, “That’s a A. It makes the sound “ah“, like in the word “apple.”
“Great job, Gabriel. What’s this one?”
“B, and it says “buh, just like ball.”
Great. Next one? What’s this letter?”
“C, and it makes the KKK sound.”
“Can you think of a word that starts with that sound.”
“Yep. Crap.”
I am soooo busted as a good parent.
I pushed away from the dinner table, and stood. "Ok, guys, Dad wants us to bring him some dinner. Go upstairs and get into warm pj's if you are under 8 years old. Nikolas, you clear the table. Allegra, you take Emma up and get her ready for bed."
Dinner was pizza on paper plates, so clean up was minimal. I put the cups into the dishwasher, added the soap, and started it. A little peppermint soap on a cloth, and the counters and table were wiped. I surveyed the kitchen. Not bad for less than ten minutes work.
I headed upstairs to get myself ready to go out. As I walked by Gabriel's door, which was closed, I heard wild giggling. Hmmmm. I opened the door, and saw a flash run past me - it was Gabriel, with a look of terror on his face, as he thrust his hands under his bed. "I didn't do it!!"
Umm, WHAT? "Let me see your hands."
Gabriel has eczema. Parts of it, especially on his legs and the backs of his hands, are fairly thick, and sometimes bleed, and the allergist recommended that we coat those with Vaseline before bed. It's an inexpensive treatment that has worked really well. We have three tubs of Vaseline; two downstairs and one upstairs. The one upstairs has a fairly cloying baby powder scent to it. What can I say, I'm a cheap shopper sometimes, and it was on sale.
He slowly pulled his hands out from under the bed, and I gasped. He had easily a cup of Vaseline in each hand. Upon inspection, it was all over his face and clothes.
"What is going on in here?" I turned around to see Emma, who should have been in her room getting ready, standing in the closet with a guilty look, and a coat of Vaseline, on - and not much else. No pj's, no pants, but Vaseline in the hair and on her face as well.
Where was Allegra, who should have been getting Emma ready? She was in the shower, because, you know, she's ten, and she requires a shower before we drive dinner to her father. A ride in which she won't be leaving the car.
I looked around the room. The bed frame was covered in Vaseline, as were the walls of the closet. The bureau was shiny, evidence of fingerpainting done in petroleum jelly medium. The bedding was gooey, the stuffed animals glistened, and the door frame and handle were cloudy with the stuff. Both kids had it in their hair, and on their clothes, and even in Emma's ear and under Gabriel's armpits. The powder scent was overwhelming.
I yelled, and scrubbed, and yelled some more. "Gabe, I am really mad at you."
"I'm sorry, Mommy." "Yes, but I'm still angry." "I'm more sorry than you are angry."
I doubted it, but it was a nice theory.
Finally, the room was clean, and the kids were ready to go. We got into the car, and Gabe started crying. "I don't want to go see Daddy! He's gonna yell at me, and spank me!"
"Good. It serves you right.", mouthed Nikolas, with the smugness that comes from being almost 13, and certain in the knowledge that I needed his input.
"Shut up."
We arrived at work, and Nikolas went in to get The Hubster. I listened to the conversation in the back seat.
"I'm afraid!" whispered Gabriel to Mackenzie.
"Gabe, don't worry about it. Daddy gets mad at me all the time, and he yells. He's pretty loud, and it's scary. But then he stops, and he gets quieter."
I looked out the window, and smothered a laugh. The Hubster came out, grabbed his dinner, kissed everyone, and went back in.
"Hey! He didn't yell at Gabe!" my older kids said.
Oh, the disappointment that comes from a child, waiting for punishment for another.
Emma wanted to change her undies. That's a new excitement 'round these parts. She's got Blue's Clues, Dora, ugly old padded gerber pants, and Elmo to choose from. Sometimes, she just.can'tdecide, so she wears three or four at once.
So, she sat down to change, and instructed me, "Don't look at my penis."
Excuse me? Um, last time I checked, she was female. "Emma, no penis. Boys have those, and you aren't a boy."
"I no penis? I have penis. Right here. I a boy with a penis to go pee pee."
"Emma, you don't have that. You have a vagina, like all girls - remember?"
"I be a girl with a penis."
Whatever. You can't reason with her.
I tucked Gabe in, tucked Mackenzie in, and tucked Emma in. It was 7, I had had no sleep the night before, and I was d-e-a-d. I put a movie on for Nikolas and Allegra (Sky Captain and the world of tomorrow) and went up to rock Riley. She was just dozing off, and I was fantasizing about my trip to the bed, when Gabriel started screaming. "Mom!!! MOM!!!!"
He was loud enough that every tucked in child jumped out of bed, and the two downstairs came running.
"I think my hair is dirty. Do you think we should wash it tonight?"
I now know why mothers have been known to drink.
I feel grumpy, oh so grumpy
It's alarming how grumpy I feel
from the baby, who isn't sleeping
to the Hubster who wants sex.
I feel grumpy, oh so grumpy
Does anyone else know how I feel?
I haven't slept in 24 hours
and my house is a wreck.
Ok, so song writing won't make me any money. My house is a shambles, I have friends coming over today, my kids are big slobs, I've got projects up the wazoo, and The Hubster just wants some action. Riley was up every half hour last night, screaming her brains out.
I'm grumpy, so I won't drag you all down with me.
I forgot, one of my fellow bloggers asked what I was giving up for Lent. I was planning to give up yelling at my kids, but that didn't last Ash Wednesday. Riley apparently gave up sleep - oh, wait, you can't give up what you never had - and I must have given it up along with her. I think I gave up being pleasant to people today.
Mix together in your crockpot:
1 can cream of celery soup
3 cans creamed corn
1 can cream of potato soup
1 pt heavy whipping cream
1 soup can full of milk
1 1/3 stick butter
As much chopped chicken breast meat (cooked) as you want - I use 3 or 4
Cook in your crockpot on low for 3 or 4 hours.
This is soooo good. You can make it lower in fat by using the healthy choice line of soups, but the cream is pretty much mandatory.
Uuuummmmmmm.
Guess which house has the stomach flu, again, for the third time this year?
And, go on, just guess which child has been diagnosed with wheezing and coughing and given albuterol every four hours, the medication that makes her cranky, irritable and unable to sleep??
I'll wait while you figure it out.
Could you please get the Kick Me sign off my back? I'm really tired of being tossed around.
I've been following Tertia's predicament for a while now. She was faced with infertility, and ultimately - just recently - gave birth to gorgeous, healthy twins. She's struggling, though, with a lack of, shall we say, enjoyment in the whole thing.
I've been there, and so have you. Everyone else looks more together, more advanced, has it easier than I do.
Never compare your insides to their outsides. No one shows their worst, ever. It's easy to say, when asked how you are doing, "Oh, I'm fine. Great, in fact!" when, in reality, life is about to come crashing down on your head. Realize that everyone says that. When asked, no one answers, "Well, life sucks about now. I'm not sleeping, the baby's crabby, and my mortgage is late."
The best thing I ever did for myself was to adopt the philosophy "No insides to outsides.". Case in point: I went to the home of one of my friends for a birthday party. I walked in her house with a sleeping Riley, and was impressed with how tidy her house was. There were no toys out of place, no dishes on the counter, everything not only had a place but was in that place. She offered the use of her baby's crib for Riley, and I went upstairs to lay her down. What a different scene! Laundry baskets overflowed in the hall, the bathroom was in shambles, toys and papers were all over the floor. Every room upstairs looked the same - a disaster. I was so glad to see this - she was human, after all!
We all have spots like this: maybe we make our kids clothes, but they eat hot dogs for dinner three times a week. Maybe we homeschool, but the last time the bedsheets were changed was during the first Bush presidency. Maybe the kids get all their vitamins and supplements and drink lots of organic milk and eat lots of organic veggies, but they watch too much of the wrong kind of television. Never compare what is inside you, your reality, to what is the other person's outside, their put upon reality.
This mothering stuff is hard. I wish someone had told me that. Sure, I heard all the horror stories. The 26 hour labor, the colicky baby who never slept, the shower that went untaken for three days. The PJ’s that were worn to the store, just because it took too much energy to get dressed. But, I never believed the experienced mothers. When my child was born, I foolishly thought that I wouldn’t be like that. I’d have it together. I’d be perfect. I did learn the basics. I can feed, burp and diaper with the best of them. I can even pin a diaper on a moving target. I know that every home with a toddler needs to contain Bac-Out. I know that WD-40 takes sticker residue off my tables, and that Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are my new best friend. I can install car seats with my eyes closed. I know how to cajole a preschooler into eating her green vegetables, and how to convince a ten year old that deodorant is a good idea. The list of things I don’t know, though, is astounding. I don’t know how to make grilled fish taste like chicken nuggets, or how to make plain milk as yummy as chocolate. I don’t know how to solve dating dilemmas, or how to keep my child from becoming the target of a school bully. I didn’t know that there would be some days that I would want to hide in the laundry room and cry behind closed doors. I didn’t know that I would be so tired, so bone deep tired, that I’d fall asleep at the computer. That I’d go to the next room and forget why I went there. I wish someone had told me that it’s going to happen that you, one day, would love your child, and not like him at all. I didn’t know that, no matter how together the “other” mothers looked, all of us felt the same way. We all questioned our every move. I thought I was the only one. An African proverb intones: “It takes a village to raise a child.” I say, “It takes a village to raise a mother.” Without the help of my girlfriends, I never would have become the mother that I am. Today’s society, even with the advances of the Internet, and cell phones, is more isolated than ever for mothers. Everyone has their best face forward, all the time. There are very few people one can complain to - and, for you, that person can be the most important person in the world. After all, when a mom complains, she hears the same response, time and again: “Well, you wanted to have the child. This is how it is.” When a friend has a baby, or even an acquaintance, go over and help. DON’T offer to hold the baby - unless it’s so the mother can shower. Bring dinner, clean the toilet, pass the vacuum, and leave. It’s the best gift you could ever give. We, as women, need to be certain that we are not setting each other up for failure. We need to be kind in our actions and thoughts. We are all doing the best that we can, and that’s hard. Work out of the home mom, or stay at home mom, it’s all the same. Raising these little people is the hardest job, and yet the most thankless. It’s a job with no training, and yet you are expected to know everything about any subject at any one time. Is it any wonder that we feel pressured, and pulled upon? We need to be there for each other. We need to be the sounding board for each and every mom. Let’s tell the truth about motherhood - it’s really the hardest job ever. Just like any job, it’s ok not to like it all the time.
But it's been a real shitter of a day. It started off with a restless sleep again - what IS it with me lately? I've cut all caffeine after 4 and my sleep still sucks - mouthy kids, a Hubster who doesn't know when he's got it good and should just shut the hell up, a million errands that I saved to do on his day off and yet STILL had to do with the two little girls, yadda, yadda. The Hubster finally got wise at 3:15 and called me, while I was in the pickup line at school, to see if there was anything he could do to make my life better/easier. Yeah, you're about 9 hours too late, buddy, but the thought was there.
I've got a few things to post, but my black mood isn't conducive to good posting. I know it's Lent - I always struggle during Lent. Always have a hard time with day to day life. I feel more pressure, more stress, more anxiety. I have more ugly feelings, less love for the other person, less patience and peace in my life. It's a rough 40 days.
I'm really having a hard time with Riley lately. She is so strong willed. I thought I had two strong willed children - they are mere shadows of this one. She throws honest to God temper tantrums at 13 months of age. She slams her head into whatever body part of mine she can connect with, if I try to pick her up and do something she's not excited to do. At the same time, she lifts her legs and slams them down, connecting with either my groin or my legs, depending upon her position. Today was especially pleasant. She got my chin and my crotch at the same time. She screams, she yells, she cries. She throws herself on the floor and, I swear to God, sometimes I laugh because it's so funny. But, she's a stress filled handful sometimes, and....
I'm just a whiner lately. Forgive me. Hopefully I'll have something more upbeat to post later. It's terrible when you love your children and yet occasionally can't stand them.
I served fettuccini with cream sauce for dinner tonight, with broccoli and apples, and italian sausage for those who wanted. It was a good dinner, and I was sitting next to Emma while she was eating. I was staring off into space, ruminating on the child molestation class that I had to take today - yeah, I'm weird that way - when it occurred to me to listen to the ramblings coming from Emma. She had taken three small pieces of noodle from her bowl and laid them on the table. She was making them "speak" to each other.
"I'm the mommy, and you go over here." "Over here, mommy?" "Go get in your bed. This is my bed." "Ok, now I want to be the mommy."
It was pretty cute.
