If there is any proof that, despite all evidence to the contrary, I am a Southerner it is the fact that I love the song Sweet Home Alabama. Like it was on the list for the DJ at my wedding love. The only time I don't love it? When it starts playing at six am every morning.
This story all starts with the disappearance of my mobile. One afternoon it was there, the next morning it was gone. Poof! Let me tell you it's been awesome since I had the girls because my husband can no longer blame such a disappearing act on my tendency to lose things. Because obviously the girls must have spirited it away to their secret twinsie hiding spot along with the tax form for my car and the number 4 puzzle piece that vanished into thin air in the space of thirty seconds.
So after sighing heavily, my husband helped me turn the entire house upside down looking for it but it never appeared. A normal person would have trotted themselves up to the AT&T store and gotten a new phone, maybe even a fancy smart phone. But I am cheap and stubborn. So I just did without for three weeks. With no land line this was an annoyance but hey who anyone who really wants to talk to me should get themselves on Twitter and DM me, right?
Finally Calamity Jane's speech therapist got so annoyed at not being able to reach me that she brought me her teen daughter's rejected phone. Besides the fun of reading through text messages like "GURL U R SO HOTT" and discovering that there are text chain letters ("Ur tru luv will die in a car crah if U dont snd dis 2 10 ppl" scary!), I was also thrilled to find dozens and dozens of songs downloaded as ringtones.
You see I am something of an idiot when it comes to technology. So I have been stuck with the factory rings which since I am lazy remains on the default. Which means I think my phone is ringing a lot when we're on public. Evidently there are a lot of lazy people out there.
You can imagine my glee when I found all those songs. Now I get to hear Sweet Home Alabama a few times a day and have a little dance party. Fortunately I am not too popular so I haven't looked like too big of an idiot in the preschool pickup line yet.
The only problem? It's playing every morning at six am. And my husband is ready to kill me. I keep meaning to turn it off, really. It's just that at six am I am too tired to do anything except scream and hide it in the couch. Then as the day goes on I forget all about it. Until the next morning when the sweet sounds of Skynard rouse me from slumber.
So what was this post about again?
Oh yeah, tweet me to turn that thing off before my husband kills me.
And at least I am not so technologically challenged that I can't talk about random stuff on the internet.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Mommy Needs a Valium
Sometimes as I cue up my second TV show of the day while the girls nap or drink my third cup of tea of the morning while they play together quietly in their room I feel a little guilty. Golly gosh, my husband is working so hard all day and I am just eating cookies and watching the Vampire Diaries.
Then I have a after school experience like this morning where both girls are freaking out over minor but to them tragic things. I had to chose who to bring in and leave one standing in the snow because the garage door is broken. Hand washings involved forced holding over the sink and the carefully prepared for and requested sandwich was thrown to the ground in disgust. Naps didn't happen even though they were clearly needed and I had given them the exact formula of blanket, toy of the moment, and particular Sesame Street book needed for sleep.
Then I feel like a million dollars is not compensation enough for this and that I need a glass of wine at 12:30pm because my heart rate and stress levels are reaching heart attack status.
Besides a few romantic interludes (all with my husband of course ;)) the most intense moments of my life have been with my children. It was not surprising to me how much I love them, how sometimes just the sight of them can bring me to tears.
What was surprising is how intensely I can loathe them. How they can enrage me to the point of screaming. How many times I would have to walk out of the room or put them in the crib or hold them at arms' length, literally pushing them away from me.
My sister took me slightly to task for something I put on Twitter about this subject, joking that I better watch out or CPS would be calling me. And I have gotten the impression that other mothers are a little startled by my blog. It makes me wonder: is it really only me who feels this way?
As harsh as my words may read sometimes on the computer screen, I don't fear that my children will feel as if I didn't want them or love them. Because they know, I know that they know. I love on them and hug them and tell them how beautiful they are to me and how they are everything to my life. And I plan to never stop.
And sometimes I am even grateful for the rage because I know that it is the same force in me that lets me love them some openly. I wear it all on my sleeve, for better or worse. The intense emotions are what keep me going after mornings like this one, that make me want to stay home, that as cliched as it is, make it all worth it.
Then I have a after school experience like this morning where both girls are freaking out over minor but to them tragic things. I had to chose who to bring in and leave one standing in the snow because the garage door is broken. Hand washings involved forced holding over the sink and the carefully prepared for and requested sandwich was thrown to the ground in disgust. Naps didn't happen even though they were clearly needed and I had given them the exact formula of blanket, toy of the moment, and particular Sesame Street book needed for sleep.
Then I feel like a million dollars is not compensation enough for this and that I need a glass of wine at 12:30pm because my heart rate and stress levels are reaching heart attack status.
Besides a few romantic interludes (all with my husband of course ;)) the most intense moments of my life have been with my children. It was not surprising to me how much I love them, how sometimes just the sight of them can bring me to tears.
What was surprising is how intensely I can loathe them. How they can enrage me to the point of screaming. How many times I would have to walk out of the room or put them in the crib or hold them at arms' length, literally pushing them away from me.
My sister took me slightly to task for something I put on Twitter about this subject, joking that I better watch out or CPS would be calling me. And I have gotten the impression that other mothers are a little startled by my blog. It makes me wonder: is it really only me who feels this way?
As harsh as my words may read sometimes on the computer screen, I don't fear that my children will feel as if I didn't want them or love them. Because they know, I know that they know. I love on them and hug them and tell them how beautiful they are to me and how they are everything to my life. And I plan to never stop.
And sometimes I am even grateful for the rage because I know that it is the same force in me that lets me love them some openly. I wear it all on my sleeve, for better or worse. The intense emotions are what keep me going after mornings like this one, that make me want to stay home, that as cliched as it is, make it all worth it.
Monday, February 22, 2010
One of Us, One of Us, One of Us
Yet another weekend has passed without me really getting much done. Not that it is a bad thing. It was rainy instead of snowy here but just as nasty so the four of us hunkered down and ate lots of good food and played and watched lots of Olympics and HGTV. But I let another weekend go by without getting the one thing done I really need done: a hair cut.
Since I stopped dying my hair wild colors and wearing glitter in it (yes, seriously) I have varied between two hairstyles: a bob, and wait for it, a bob with bangs. Boring but when you have baby fine hair that tangles at the slightest touch much like doll hair, well bobs work. Plus they are cheap to get and hard to mess up.
Perfect hairstyle right? So what's the problem?
Well I noticed a disturbing trend when I moved here: in CoMo the bob is the mom cut. And I don't want a mom cut. Yes I dress exclusively in the mom uniform of jeans and tee. Yes I drive a mom mobile. Yes, I can no longer stay up past eleven. But dammit, I want to cling to my last bit of my former cool identity.
Since giving birth to the terror twins I have had to go longer and longer between haircuts and, out of necessity, have perfected the ponytail bun hybrid that looks somewhat decent. But it has been way too long and the bun has gotten a little frightening. The tangles have started to take over and I may have to forgo the mom cut and have my head shaved. And while that would be edgy and definitely not scream mom, I have a really bumpy head and I don't think I would be able to rock a buzz cut.
So fine, this weekend I will get the bob. For real. And maybe some blue streaks just so I can cling to a shred of cool. Or glitter. Glitter would totally match my mom mobile car's paint.
Since I stopped dying my hair wild colors and wearing glitter in it (yes, seriously) I have varied between two hairstyles: a bob, and wait for it, a bob with bangs. Boring but when you have baby fine hair that tangles at the slightest touch much like doll hair, well bobs work. Plus they are cheap to get and hard to mess up.
Perfect hairstyle right? So what's the problem?
Well I noticed a disturbing trend when I moved here: in CoMo the bob is the mom cut. And I don't want a mom cut. Yes I dress exclusively in the mom uniform of jeans and tee. Yes I drive a mom mobile. Yes, I can no longer stay up past eleven. But dammit, I want to cling to my last bit of my former cool identity.
Since giving birth to the terror twins I have had to go longer and longer between haircuts and, out of necessity, have perfected the ponytail bun hybrid that looks somewhat decent. But it has been way too long and the bun has gotten a little frightening. The tangles have started to take over and I may have to forgo the mom cut and have my head shaved. And while that would be edgy and definitely not scream mom, I have a really bumpy head and I don't think I would be able to rock a buzz cut.
So fine, this weekend I will get the bob. For real. And maybe some blue streaks just so I can cling to a shred of cool. Or glitter. Glitter would totally match my mom mobile car's paint.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tomorrow
Tomorrow I will...
*wake up in time to have a shower, get dressed, and maybe even have a cup of tea before the day starts
*will actually give my husband a big kiss before he leaves the house instead of sulking about him only saying goodbye to the girls and never to me
*instead of salami and chocolate I will have granola and yogurt for breakfast
*i will go to the gym for the first time in weeks
*lunch for the girls will be something other than mac and cheese
*instead of turning on a second program I will shut the computer and play with them whether they want me to or not
*dinner will be started before five thirty
*the cleaning checklist will be worked through and checked off
Oh tomorrow, tomorrow how I love you tomorrow.
I am always perfect a day away.
*wake up in time to have a shower, get dressed, and maybe even have a cup of tea before the day starts
*will actually give my husband a big kiss before he leaves the house instead of sulking about him only saying goodbye to the girls and never to me
*instead of salami and chocolate I will have granola and yogurt for breakfast
*i will go to the gym for the first time in weeks
*lunch for the girls will be something other than mac and cheese
*instead of turning on a second program I will shut the computer and play with them whether they want me to or not
*dinner will be started before five thirty
*the cleaning checklist will be worked through and checked off
Oh tomorrow, tomorrow how I love you tomorrow.
I am always perfect a day away.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Being Special
After a few weeks of cyclical sickness (two kids to pass between plus two parents mean flu and colds last forever) I am finally having a normal morning where I sit down and drink my tea while the girls watch their shows. So it is time to post.
There have been a lot of posts circulating in my head these past few weeks. A funny one about the Alpha Mom brigade, one admitting to my own Alpha Mom tendencies when it comes to birthday parties, Posts sparked by a great wine night out with a new friend where we talked about work and what we would do differently next time is there ever was a next time (we both fear having twins again).
But I haven't been able to write those because there was this post waiting. It needed to be written but I could not bring myself to sit down, write it out, and hit submit. This is a blog about the dark side of parenting but I could not get honest and write about this.
I am the mother of special needs kids.
And I hate myself for even having trouble writing those words. I have referenced it before in this blog. Friends in "real life" know the girls have delays. But there is just something about writing the words down that make it seem very real. I am ashamed of myself for having to "come out" on this issue. I have always thought of myself as the open sort who doesn't care about differences. It turns out I just care when it is my own kids.
The thing is I don't want people to think differently of or prejudge the girls. I want them to be seen the way I see them. Would I love it if they were both intelligible? Yes. Hell I would settle for one; then she could translate. But though their quirks make life harder but they also make them, them. The kids I love.
The problem is my own. I can't let go of the image of what my children would be like, what motherhood would be like. I can't seem to accept that we are on a different path than the norm, even if that path is what leads us to "normal". All the research on preschool, all the activities, all the play dates seem worthless. All the worry over social groups and exposure to the arts and other modern parenting problems only kept me from what I should have been worrying about.
Of course I blame myself. When you sit through five hours of listening to every single thing that is wrong with your children, it is hard not to feel like The Worst Mother Ever. But all I can do now is buck up and face the fact that motherhood is loving your kids; not living up to an image. Loving them is easy, letting go of the image is the hard part. Writing this is a first step.
There have been a lot of posts circulating in my head these past few weeks. A funny one about the Alpha Mom brigade, one admitting to my own Alpha Mom tendencies when it comes to birthday parties, Posts sparked by a great wine night out with a new friend where we talked about work and what we would do differently next time is there ever was a next time (we both fear having twins again).
But I haven't been able to write those because there was this post waiting. It needed to be written but I could not bring myself to sit down, write it out, and hit submit. This is a blog about the dark side of parenting but I could not get honest and write about this.
I am the mother of special needs kids.
And I hate myself for even having trouble writing those words. I have referenced it before in this blog. Friends in "real life" know the girls have delays. But there is just something about writing the words down that make it seem very real. I am ashamed of myself for having to "come out" on this issue. I have always thought of myself as the open sort who doesn't care about differences. It turns out I just care when it is my own kids.
The thing is I don't want people to think differently of or prejudge the girls. I want them to be seen the way I see them. Would I love it if they were both intelligible? Yes. Hell I would settle for one; then she could translate. But though their quirks make life harder but they also make them, them. The kids I love.
The problem is my own. I can't let go of the image of what my children would be like, what motherhood would be like. I can't seem to accept that we are on a different path than the norm, even if that path is what leads us to "normal". All the research on preschool, all the activities, all the play dates seem worthless. All the worry over social groups and exposure to the arts and other modern parenting problems only kept me from what I should have been worrying about.
Of course I blame myself. When you sit through five hours of listening to every single thing that is wrong with your children, it is hard not to feel like The Worst Mother Ever. But all I can do now is buck up and face the fact that motherhood is loving your kids; not living up to an image. Loving them is easy, letting go of the image is the hard part. Writing this is a first step.
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