This week I am participating in the SITS girls' Back 2 Blogging challenge. Today's prompt was to post a former blog post you wish more people had read. I've always loved this post because it captures the "I had to laugh or I will cry" attitude I try to cultivate. Forntuately life with the girls is a lot easier these days. But we will not be re-enrolling in Kindermusik anytime soon.
The Mom malaise has been plaguing me today. For those of you lucky enough not to suffer from it, the Mom malaise is an insidious disease that besets you and makes you wonder... What is the point? Why should I go on? I personally believe that Mom malaise is responsible for at least half the mindless TV watching by kids in this country and almost all the eating of bad snacks. Unfortunately the CDC is too busy with swine flu to have developed a vaccine and there is no known medicine though I often turn to the home remedy of wine.
It infected me today in Kindermusik where Calamity Jane turned into a creature from the fifth dimension. First overcome by a shyness that knew no bounds, she clung to me like a monkey and I was forced to dance around the room with her clinging to my neck while I held the hand of Desmonda Drama (who in typical dramatic fashion had one arm shadowing her eye and face). We were a clumsy six legged beast. I do not think the Kindermusik moms were impressed. Little did they know that the worst was yet to come.
About halfway through the class, Calamity Jane seemed to warm up to the idea that I was paying an outrageous sum for her to be amused. So I turned her around on my knee and we proceeded to sing, which song I can't remember. Which it was a pity because it is obviously the trigger for Jane's subconscious baby terrorist. I would really hate for her to start throwing knives, fashioned from board books of course, at me as we dutifully listen to the CD in the car.
She didn't quite throw knives this morning but she did start screaming and hitting me, then kicked her sister in the head, then leaned over and bit me on the shoulder. I promptly picked them up like barrels (Desmonda was screaming indignantly; she does not like being kicked in the head) and set them outside the classroom. As the Kindermusik moms stared at me in horror, I retrieved my shoes and slinked out the door. They all kept singing throughout of course.
Mom malaise was in overdrive. I questioned why I had signed up for the class since my children were obviously not fit for the public sphere. I despaired of their chances of ever getting invited to a birthday party by any of the Kindermusik kids, not to mention my own chance to discuss organic egg souffles (being earnestly and enthusiastically covered as I walked into class). It was obvious to me that Calamity Jane was going to grow up to be an outcast who would never be accepted into society and would, of course, blame me. As for Desmonda, she would probably never remove the hand from over her face and would remain a recluse, teased mercilessly from the moment she walked into kindergarten. Worst of all, after paying for Kindermusik I would never be able to afford their therapy.
This was all sobbed on the phone to my sister. Which I am sure she appreciated since she is pregnant; wouldn't that make you look forward to motherhood? I managed to pull myself together to meet the husband for our Wednesday lunch, where I started crying again. He stitched me back together enough for me to get home and get the terror twins to bed for the blessed nap. But the malaise loves a quiet house and I couldn't stomach any of the usual cures: glass of wine (I do try to wait until four), phone call to a friend (I like to put on a brave front), or mindless TV (why oh why did I watch Rachel Zoe yesterday?!).
So I fretted my way through the afternoon working myself into a frenzy until the girls woke up (for once I didn't mind a short nap). I half read books to them and fed them snacks and meandered around the house before coming up with the idea of heading outside. I spread a quilt out and covered it with books, including a frothy novel for me. And we sat out there for an hour reading and eating pretend food and rolling around on the ground. Mom malaise vanquished, at least for today.
Sometimes it really is the simple things.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Back2Blogging Repost: A Bad Case of the Mondays
To get myself back on the horse, I am participating in the Back2Blogging challenge from the SITS girls. This is the first post I ever made on a blog. And wow, it still holds true. Calamity Jane even woke up super early this morning. The only change is now I also look forward to Mondays because the girls are back in school!
"Looks like someone has got a bad case of the Mondays!" Oh how gag inducing is that saying? Can't you just see it on a poster with Garfield hanging in your guidance counselor's office? In spite of its cuteness, the disease seems to be sinister. Its progress is all over Facebook and Twitter. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. I used to bemoan going back to work myself (though my schedule was so weird that I could come down with a case of the Mondays any day of the week, sometimes twice a week. Lucky me.) but I am always astonished when these updates are from other SAHM's. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?
Even on this Monday where i am dead tired (4:30 "I lost my pacifier" wake up followed by an especially early wakeup two hours later) I feel relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between seven thirty and five are "my time". Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing when "Last Night" by the Strokes comes on. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch a third YGG episode. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or spread the toys out everywhere and keep everyone in pajamas until four. No ones knows. At least until the girls start talking in English rather than twinspeak.
Don't get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can't be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn't affect me the way it does him. I know just from J's ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even attempt to put them near her feet. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them. I can't imagine how frustrating it is.
So I put up with the spontaneous weekend car trips that extend just a bit too far into nap time, the occasional ignoring of the poopy diapers, and the "how long until bedtime" whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home. And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.
"Looks like someone has got a bad case of the Mondays!" Oh how gag inducing is that saying? Can't you just see it on a poster with Garfield hanging in your guidance counselor's office? In spite of its cuteness, the disease seems to be sinister. Its progress is all over Facebook and Twitter. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. I used to bemoan going back to work myself (though my schedule was so weird that I could come down with a case of the Mondays any day of the week, sometimes twice a week. Lucky me.) but I am always astonished when these updates are from other SAHM's. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?
Even on this Monday where i am dead tired (4:30 "I lost my pacifier" wake up followed by an especially early wakeup two hours later) I feel relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between seven thirty and five are "my time". Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing when "Last Night" by the Strokes comes on. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch a third YGG episode. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or spread the toys out everywhere and keep everyone in pajamas until four. No ones knows. At least until the girls start talking in English rather than twinspeak.
Don't get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can't be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn't affect me the way it does him. I know just from J's ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even attempt to put them near her feet. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them. I can't imagine how frustrating it is.
So I put up with the spontaneous weekend car trips that extend just a bit too far into nap time, the occasional ignoring of the poopy diapers, and the "how long until bedtime" whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home. And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Buy It Now : Do Fun Stuff
As the parent of special needs kids, the web has been a great resource for me. We're lucky enough that the girls' problems have been minor enough that we haven't had to track down specialists or medical advice (though we have gotten some amazing diet tips thanks to the blogsphere). But what has been super important to me is finding other parents who are open about their kids' special needs. Their advice and stories have been invaluable to me in accepting my own feelings about my kids' special traits.
One of the bloggers who have helped me in this journey is Ryan Marshall. Like a lot of others I found him through links to his beautiful maternity pictures of his wife Cole. And like so many others I was caught up in his story, in their family's story. When I first read about Little Buddy's disease, my heart caught in my throat. Since then Little Buddy's parents and step parents have been a huge inspiration to me.
So I am thrilled to be part of the blog movement for Do Fun Stuff. Ryan was inspired to help raise money for Smith-Magenis research. However unlike my own inspirations that peter out, Ryan shot for the moon and put together an awesome album full of kids music by rocking bands. And 100% of the proceeds go towards research. It's win-win, you and your kids get awesome music and a worthy cause gets much needed money.
If you would like to blog about this, and why wouldn't you, you can grab the widget here.
One of the bloggers who have helped me in this journey is Ryan Marshall. Like a lot of others I found him through links to his beautiful maternity pictures of his wife Cole. And like so many others I was caught up in his story, in their family's story. When I first read about Little Buddy's disease, my heart caught in my throat. Since then Little Buddy's parents and step parents have been a huge inspiration to me.
So I am thrilled to be part of the blog movement for Do Fun Stuff. Ryan was inspired to help raise money for Smith-Magenis research. However unlike my own inspirations that peter out, Ryan shot for the moon and put together an awesome album full of kids music by rocking bands. And 100% of the proceeds go towards research. It's win-win, you and your kids get awesome music and a worthy cause gets much needed money.
If you would like to blog about this, and why wouldn't you, you can grab the widget here.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
I Don't Feel Lucky
Here is one of those posts that I cry as I write because I really do feel like the worst mother in the world. I feel like I should bookend every line with "of course I love them immensely". But this blog is not about the reassurances, it's about being honest (to a fault sometimes).
Here is the thing, when it comes to my kids having special needs: I don't feel lucky. I haven't had that great life lesson. I don't wish they were exactly the same. I accept them and love them the way they are. But oh how I wish I could take this burden from them.
And yes, I realize it could be much worse. And that they have gotten much better. Those facts though are of little comfort when they are both screaming in the car for an hour straight; when they are throwing fits in public and everyone is staring; when my daughter struggles to play with toys.
I've written before how we are just outside of normal. And I think that is what makes watching the girls grow up all the more bittersweet for me. I see how close they are to not having to struggle and see how close I am to not having had this stress of keeping all the balls in the air. Maybe it's a convenient excuse, but I can't help but wonder how different of a mom I would be if we didn't have these challenges.
Our burden, compared to so many, is small. And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of these things being gone from our lives. But still, I don't feel lucky. I don't feel lucky at all.
Here is the thing, when it comes to my kids having special needs: I don't feel lucky. I haven't had that great life lesson. I don't wish they were exactly the same. I accept them and love them the way they are. But oh how I wish I could take this burden from them.
And yes, I realize it could be much worse. And that they have gotten much better. Those facts though are of little comfort when they are both screaming in the car for an hour straight; when they are throwing fits in public and everyone is staring; when my daughter struggles to play with toys.
I've written before how we are just outside of normal. And I think that is what makes watching the girls grow up all the more bittersweet for me. I see how close they are to not having to struggle and see how close I am to not having had this stress of keeping all the balls in the air. Maybe it's a convenient excuse, but I can't help but wonder how different of a mom I would be if we didn't have these challenges.
Our burden, compared to so many, is small. And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of these things being gone from our lives. But still, I don't feel lucky. I don't feel lucky at all.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The Pitfalls of Magic Saliva
When I was pregnant I assumed that in the delivery room a sense of motherliness would come over me. That as they pulled the girls out, a cloud of knowledge would descend and all of the sudden I would be able to open jar with a single twist and know what to tell my kids when they inevitably ask me if I have ever done drugs.
Perhaps because I chickened out and had the girls via c-section (8 hours of pitocin, no dilation at 39 weeks), but that cloud never descended. But what I have found is that they do not know any better and I can make stuff up! I haven't yet used this power for evil or fun like Calvin's dad but I must admit that I pull it out to make the day run a little smoother.
Enter the magic saliva. You know how it goes, a kid falls down and runs to her mom to kiss it and make it all better. What's not to love? And how can I not abuse it slightly? After all it's easier to quickly kiss a skinned knee than to stop and find a bandage. And they take my assurances that it doesn't hurt any more like gospel.
The problem is that now they want kisses all the time: I bumped my elbow, kiss it! My head hurts, kiss it! Ow, my leg, kiss it! Like a Beatle, I fear being torn to bits by their need. And medicine, well unless it bubble gum flavored, they don't understand why they can't just have kisses.
Now I know, this power to make shit up must be used judiciously. Like telling them that soda, like beer and wine, is for mommies and daddies only.
Perhaps because I chickened out and had the girls via c-section (8 hours of pitocin, no dilation at 39 weeks), but that cloud never descended. But what I have found is that they do not know any better and I can make stuff up! I haven't yet used this power for evil or fun like Calvin's dad but I must admit that I pull it out to make the day run a little smoother.
Enter the magic saliva. You know how it goes, a kid falls down and runs to her mom to kiss it and make it all better. What's not to love? And how can I not abuse it slightly? After all it's easier to quickly kiss a skinned knee than to stop and find a bandage. And they take my assurances that it doesn't hurt any more like gospel.
The problem is that now they want kisses all the time: I bumped my elbow, kiss it! My head hurts, kiss it! Ow, my leg, kiss it! Like a Beatle, I fear being torn to bits by their need. And medicine, well unless it bubble gum flavored, they don't understand why they can't just have kisses.
Now I know, this power to make shit up must be used judiciously. Like telling them that soda, like beer and wine, is for mommies and daddies only.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Dropping Out of the Competition
Last night when I was at the World's Most Earnest Bookclub, another mom started telling me all about the different activities she does with her kids and how she is sorry to be going back to work because she loves staying home so much.
I fixed her with my Larry David staredown and said "But do you really? I mean, honestly." And she told me that yes she did and it has been such a blessing. I must have had a skeptical look on my face because the activity ideas started coming. And I felt bad, but I had to cut her off with:
"I am sure that they are easy. Honestly, I am just not that interested."
And with that I dropped out of the best mom competition.
The thing is, I thought I would be awesome at this. I totally believed I would be the type of mom to have a crafty activity each day and have my kids help with the cooking. But I am not. And I am okay with that.
I'm happy with too much TV and random fort building and telling my kids that something fun is throwing rocks in the front yard. I am down with keeping expectations low so that cutting peanut butter toast into star shapes is met with looks of wonder akin to Christmas morning. I am a supporter of crackers for snacks and garage sale dress up clothes.
I am the mediocre.
Hear me yawn and get another cup of coffee.
I fixed her with my Larry David staredown and said "But do you really? I mean, honestly." And she told me that yes she did and it has been such a blessing. I must have had a skeptical look on my face because the activity ideas started coming. And I felt bad, but I had to cut her off with:
"I am sure that they are easy. Honestly, I am just not that interested."
And with that I dropped out of the best mom competition.
The thing is, I thought I would be awesome at this. I totally believed I would be the type of mom to have a crafty activity each day and have my kids help with the cooking. But I am not. And I am okay with that.
I'm happy with too much TV and random fort building and telling my kids that something fun is throwing rocks in the front yard. I am down with keeping expectations low so that cutting peanut butter toast into star shapes is met with looks of wonder akin to Christmas morning. I am a supporter of crackers for snacks and garage sale dress up clothes.
I am the mediocre.
Hear me yawn and get another cup of coffee.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Plans, I Have Them
Lately I have been suffering from writer's block. Perhaps it is the post BlogHer malaise I heard every one talk about. More likely it is the heat that has taken over Missouri like a fog. This is not what I was promised when I moved here last summer.
Or it could be that Twitter sucks all my witticisms and bon mots that my brain has to offer.
I have trouble making myself a priority in any meaningful way. I wish I could say this is because I am busy giving it all to my family but I don't call myself a lazy ass housewife for nothing. My house is usually in quite a state of disarray. Though it is often picked up, is rarely clean. I manage to cook three meals a day for the kiddos and my husband but that's the extent of my go getterness.
So instead of being a household engineer, I am more of a household artist in residence. I laze about starting projects but rarely finishing them, going on book binges, and watching fluffy shows during the all so important naptime. When my husband complains I whine that I am "working", building my "social media empire" (tongue firmly in cheek.)
But now I have nothing to write on the blog, except this post about writer's block.
Oh ideas I have, and plans. And resolutions to not only buckle down on the blogging and put the thoughts in my head on to paper but to be serious about my writing and career direction. And to wear sunscreen, and exercise, and keep my house cleaner. To find some kind of balance between motherhood, wifehood, and me.
For now though, I will eat cookies and salami for breakfast while the kids watch TV and the husband sleeps.
Or it could be that Twitter sucks all my witticisms and bon mots that my brain has to offer.
I have trouble making myself a priority in any meaningful way. I wish I could say this is because I am busy giving it all to my family but I don't call myself a lazy ass housewife for nothing. My house is usually in quite a state of disarray. Though it is often picked up, is rarely clean. I manage to cook three meals a day for the kiddos and my husband but that's the extent of my go getterness.
So instead of being a household engineer, I am more of a household artist in residence. I laze about starting projects but rarely finishing them, going on book binges, and watching fluffy shows during the all so important naptime. When my husband complains I whine that I am "working", building my "social media empire" (tongue firmly in cheek.)
But now I have nothing to write on the blog, except this post about writer's block.
Oh ideas I have, and plans. And resolutions to not only buckle down on the blogging and put the thoughts in my head on to paper but to be serious about my writing and career direction. And to wear sunscreen, and exercise, and keep my house cleaner. To find some kind of balance between motherhood, wifehood, and me.
For now though, I will eat cookies and salami for breakfast while the kids watch TV and the husband sleeps.
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