Do you ever look around at your life and think "What the heck happened? How did I get HERE?!" Don't get me wrong, I love my kids and I love my husband, and as a general rule, I love my life, but this is so not where I thought I'd be at nearly 37 years old. This is what I have been thinking about today instead of doing laundry and between refereeing fights and taking all 4 kids to the doctor.
When I was in Elementary School, I wanted to be a writer (I also wanted to be a mechanic and a race car driver and a movie star). By the time I was a Junior in high school, I wanted to be a photographer. But after I graduated my parents squelched that idea, I decided that I wanted to be a journalist. I toyed with photojournalism. But that required art classes to teach depth and perspective. I took an art class. It did not go well. I wanted to scream at the teacher as she was pointing out to the class everything NOT to do on my sketch "Look I KNOW I cannot draw -- that is WHY I take pictures you moron!" But I ended up just quietly dropping the class, and refocused on journalism. I quickly discovered that my style was more creative than was allowed in journalism. I was told "If you can cut it and it doesn't bleed, cut it." And my thought was "Why would I want it to bleed?? Or even come close?? If I can get my point across better with 14 adjectives why would I only use 2? Quit trying to cut my freaking story!!" That's when I knew that I wasn't cut out for the "who, what, where, when, and why" of journalism, and switched to English and Marketing with a minor in Creative Writing. So, in Marketing and English, I excelled -- and in Creative Writing I fought with my primary instructor. She said that I "wrote like a Hallmark card." Yeah, Hallmark should be so lucky.
After college, I got really good at the whole Marketing thing and I got into outside sales. Then I ran into a moral dilemma -- Marketing operates on a singular principle: sell whatever you are selling to whomever has money regardless of who actually needs it. When I was making $5,800 commissions on sales to companies that didn't really "need" what I had just sold to them, I had a problem. So when I got pregnant with my first kid, I took off for maternity leave and never went back. I did get to be a sort of photographer for awhile -- I worked at The Picture People. I quit that job when they tried to make me wear a hat with a propeller on it. Yes, I am completely serious. My district manager asked me "Are you really going to quit over a hat?" To which I replied "Are you really going to fire me if I don't wear it?" Unfortunately, the answer was yes. I tried to explain that I was 32 years old and working at the mall and had a hard enough time getting the respect that I deserved without wearing a stupid hat that served absolutely no purpose except to freak out the kids and make their eyes all go up to the top of my head instead of looking at the camera. Nope, the hat stayed....I didn't.
So now here I sit amidst the chaos that is my everyday life with my laptop trying to write. Writing for you guys, but mostly for myself. A lot of you have told me how I make you all feel normal, but the truth is, its the other way around. I will recount some completely outrageous event that happened in my life and while I am typing and proofing it, I'll think to myself "Someone is going to call Child Protective Services on me for this" or "They are all going to think I'm a horrible mom" or "They are all going to think my kids are psychologically disturbed" but then the comments and emails come in. Both here and on my FB page, I am reassured that I am NOT a completely inadequate parent, my kids are not THAT abnormal, and I have yet to get so much as a phone call from CPS.
My point is, I wanted to be a photographer but instead I settled for a short-lived career in outside sales. I got to be a photographer (sort of) for a little while, and while I enjoyed (most of it) I realized that my parents were kind of right -- I enjoy photography but I don't want to do it for a living. But the ONE thing that has been a constant in my life since I was a little kid is writing. It may have been poetry, or songs, or a journal, or stories, but I was ALWAYS writing. If I had listened to my 3rd grade self who told me to be a writer after I won 2nd place in the State Poetry contest, I might have been a writer years ago. A real one. That gets paid and stuff. I'll be 37 in a couple of weeks and I have finally decided what I want to be when I grow up.
I'll be sure to let you all know if I ever grow up, since I saw on the Weather Channel today that they have a new show hosted by some guy named "Peter Lik" and I giggled for about 5 minutes which is a pretty good indication that I am not there yet.
This is me...
I'm having a mom moment....
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Shut Up, You're Not Perfect Either
Remember a few days ago or so when I said that I'd criticize those crazy stay at home moms on another day? Well, today is that day. And you can all thank Miss Polly Perfect that I met at my kids school. She has 3 children. They are all perfect little angels who make straight A's and take voice and piano lessons and they are bilingual and take dance and play soccer.... and they will all be in therapy by the time they are 13.
She and I were both sitting in the school office waiting -- me to pick up the oldest who had just redecorated the floor of his classroom with his regurgitated lunch, and her for a parent/teacher meeting. She was asking what I thought of the new PTA officers (PTA has officers?) and who I voted for (there was an election?) and what activities I'd like to see the school have to enrich the lives of our kids (to which I was tempted to reply
"None. When would they have time between soccer, dance, piano and voice, and French?"). She asked me what sorts of activities my kids did and I looked at her dead-pan and said "Domestic terrorism. They destroy my house." She did not apparently share my twisted sense of humor. That response caused her to giggle nervously and smooth her skirt. She then said (and I quote) "Well, if I didn't keep mine constantly stimulated, I am sure that I'd have that problem." Followed by a detailed account of her weekly schedule of classes, practices, and enrichments for her kids. Alright June Cleaver, hold on to your pearls because this is about to get ugly.
While sitting there listening to this woman drone on and on about her kids, I noticed that she had on nice clothes, make-up, and even carried a purse. As I sat there in my T-shirt, and flip-flops with my keys in my hand and my cell phone tucked in the waistband of my yoga pants trying to remember if I washed my face this morning, I was contemplating the effort that all of this took. I picture her applying her false eyelashes while her kid practiced with flash cards on French vocabulary on her spotless bathroom floor. Another kid is probably serenading her from the living room with Mozart's Concerto #7 while kid #3 is in her immaculate kitchen preparing low-fat eggs benedict (which she learned how to prepare from her french cooking instructor, Jacques). They probably all got up together at 5 AM to do Tai-Chi together, right after mom popped a Xanex.
She probably stayed up late last night scanning all of her kids school papers and artwork into the computer so that she can add it to the digital scrapbook that she has been compiling since she found out that she was pregnant. It includes a picture of the stick she peed on to find out she was pregnant, the sonogram photos, and every freakin' piece of paper that her kids have glued glitter to or put their hand print on since birth. She recently upgraded her external hard drive to accommodate the excess file size, and pays a hefty monthly fee for a climate controlled storage facility where she stores all of the actual items. Also stored there is every scrap of clothing her children have ever worn -- complete with matching shoes and hair bows. She is saving them all for when her kids have kids of their own. Newsflash: Your kids are not going to want any of that crap and they are going to turn you into Hoarders.
Don't get me wrong, I applaud all moms who love their kids and I don't think that there is anything wrong with holding onto a few things for sentimental value, or trying to enrich their lives with an extra-curricular activity or two. But when you take it to extremes and look down your nose at us moms who wish our kids would decorate a wine glass for Mother's Day instead of bringing home yet another piece of macaroni art, or who are doing good to get our kids to school everyday without trying to get to 5 or 6 different after-school activities, then you have opened yourself up to my ridicule. This is NOT 1954 and none of us live on the set of "Father Knows Best" or "The Donna Reed Show." My life is more like "Malcolm in the Middle," and I keep meeting these people who cause my jaw to drop and make me wonder if there actually IS a camera behind that fake ficus in the corner because I refuse to believe that these nuts are this common.
According to her, she was meeting with her kid's teacher because she wasn't being challenged in class. Her kid was apparently wrongfully excluded from the gifted program and now she's bored. (Yeah, okay. You keep telling yourself that.) She told me that she was seriously considering pulling her daughter out of this school and just homeschooling her so that she could "get the attention that she needs." Your rotors are showing lady -- the LAST thing your kid needs is more attention from YOU. You are a helicopter parent. You hover. Constantly. And your kid will be the first one in her class on psychedelics so that she can escape from you. Even if it is only in her head.
Now, the school secretary knows me. She knows my kids and the fact that there are 2 more at home and that my husband works crazy off hours even on weekends and that I have, more than once, come into the office with my little ones to use the bathroom because we were in the pick-up line and they couldn't hold it. She knows that I am the farthest thing from a Helicopter Mom as one can possibly get, and as soon as this Stepford Wife left for her meeting, she looked at me and smirked in a way that said "You showed excellent restraint." I completely agree. Yay me.
She and I were both sitting in the school office waiting -- me to pick up the oldest who had just redecorated the floor of his classroom with his regurgitated lunch, and her for a parent/teacher meeting. She was asking what I thought of the new PTA officers (PTA has officers?) and who I voted for (there was an election?) and what activities I'd like to see the school have to enrich the lives of our kids (to which I was tempted to reply
"None. When would they have time between soccer, dance, piano and voice, and French?"). She asked me what sorts of activities my kids did and I looked at her dead-pan and said "Domestic terrorism. They destroy my house." She did not apparently share my twisted sense of humor. That response caused her to giggle nervously and smooth her skirt. She then said (and I quote) "Well, if I didn't keep mine constantly stimulated, I am sure that I'd have that problem." Followed by a detailed account of her weekly schedule of classes, practices, and enrichments for her kids. Alright June Cleaver, hold on to your pearls because this is about to get ugly.
While sitting there listening to this woman drone on and on about her kids, I noticed that she had on nice clothes, make-up, and even carried a purse. As I sat there in my T-shirt, and flip-flops with my keys in my hand and my cell phone tucked in the waistband of my yoga pants trying to remember if I washed my face this morning, I was contemplating the effort that all of this took. I picture her applying her false eyelashes while her kid practiced with flash cards on French vocabulary on her spotless bathroom floor. Another kid is probably serenading her from the living room with Mozart's Concerto #7 while kid #3 is in her immaculate kitchen preparing low-fat eggs benedict (which she learned how to prepare from her french cooking instructor, Jacques). They probably all got up together at 5 AM to do Tai-Chi together, right after mom popped a Xanex.
She probably stayed up late last night scanning all of her kids school papers and artwork into the computer so that she can add it to the digital scrapbook that she has been compiling since she found out that she was pregnant. It includes a picture of the stick she peed on to find out she was pregnant, the sonogram photos, and every freakin' piece of paper that her kids have glued glitter to or put their hand print on since birth. She recently upgraded her external hard drive to accommodate the excess file size, and pays a hefty monthly fee for a climate controlled storage facility where she stores all of the actual items. Also stored there is every scrap of clothing her children have ever worn -- complete with matching shoes and hair bows. She is saving them all for when her kids have kids of their own. Newsflash: Your kids are not going to want any of that crap and they are going to turn you into Hoarders.
Don't get me wrong, I applaud all moms who love their kids and I don't think that there is anything wrong with holding onto a few things for sentimental value, or trying to enrich their lives with an extra-curricular activity or two. But when you take it to extremes and look down your nose at us moms who wish our kids would decorate a wine glass for Mother's Day instead of bringing home yet another piece of macaroni art, or who are doing good to get our kids to school everyday without trying to get to 5 or 6 different after-school activities, then you have opened yourself up to my ridicule. This is NOT 1954 and none of us live on the set of "Father Knows Best" or "The Donna Reed Show." My life is more like "Malcolm in the Middle," and I keep meeting these people who cause my jaw to drop and make me wonder if there actually IS a camera behind that fake ficus in the corner because I refuse to believe that these nuts are this common.
According to her, she was meeting with her kid's teacher because she wasn't being challenged in class. Her kid was apparently wrongfully excluded from the gifted program and now she's bored. (Yeah, okay. You keep telling yourself that.) She told me that she was seriously considering pulling her daughter out of this school and just homeschooling her so that she could "get the attention that she needs." Your rotors are showing lady -- the LAST thing your kid needs is more attention from YOU. You are a helicopter parent. You hover. Constantly. And your kid will be the first one in her class on psychedelics so that she can escape from you. Even if it is only in her head.
Now, the school secretary knows me. She knows my kids and the fact that there are 2 more at home and that my husband works crazy off hours even on weekends and that I have, more than once, come into the office with my little ones to use the bathroom because we were in the pick-up line and they couldn't hold it. She knows that I am the farthest thing from a Helicopter Mom as one can possibly get, and as soon as this Stepford Wife left for her meeting, she looked at me and smirked in a way that said "You showed excellent restraint." I completely agree. Yay me.
I'm Going To Murder My Bathroom Scale
I don't know if you have realized this from reading my previous posts on here, but I am NOT what one might call a "Health Nut." I drink too much coffee, I don't eat enough fruits and vegetables, and I loathe exercise. I take a multi-vitamin (sometimes) and I try to drink a V-8 Fusion to cancel out my Route 44 Coke from Sonic. I had 4 kids in less than 8 years, so my body is kind of pissed at me and refuses to go back to anything even close to what it once looked like -- not that I was a super model before. Weight has been a constant struggle in my life and has only been compounded by living with 4 kids. It is hard enough to eat right, but when you are making Mac & Cheese with hot dogs or pizza for your kids, its really hard to make yourself a salad. Don't get me wrong, my kids eat vegetables when I fix them with dinner, but sometimes its easier to just throw some chips on the plate (potatoes are vegetables, right?). Sometimes the only exercise I get is when I remember to put my ankle weights on before I go to Costco. I have a gym membership, and I use it, but sometimes the only reason I go is because my membership includes 2 hours of childcare. I have often been tempted to take my kids and drop them off and then find an empty Yoga studio and take a nap. They have the comfy mats in there and everything.
But lately, I've been making more of an effort. I've been to the gym on average 4 or 5 times a week, I've been drinking more water, and I've been eating more balanced meals. Here's the thing -- my bathroom scale has yet to notice this increased effort and it is starting to piss me off. I can do almost anything if I feel like its worth it -- that's how I got through 4 pregnancies. But If I am suffering, then I REALLY need to see some results. I know there is no magic bullet, but it's been weeks and that number on the scale is mocking me. I'll lose a pound and it'll come back with 2 of it's friends, and then I'll lose 3 pounds, and then nothing, and gain 2 back and then....well, you get the idea. I can't even tell a difference in my clothes or anything. I was bemoaning all of this to my mother (who is the picture of health) and she said "Well, it's not just about losing weight and how you look, it's more about being healthy." That's a bunch of crap -- it IS all about the weight and how you look. I bet I could ask everyone at my gym why they're there and everyone of them would answer with something about losing or maintaining their weight, or looking better in their swimsuit, or something like that. There may be a couple of older people who are there because their cholesterol was high or something, but most people are there because they are concerned about how they look.
Don't get me wrong -- I am not obsessed with my body image or anything. My husband is the only person I need to impress, but I'd like to not frighten anyone by going to the pool. No one dresses the way I do if they are concerned about what people think. I once called another mom to confirm birthday party details and I said I was trying to remember exactly who she was and her response was "I think I know who you are....you're the one with the pony-tail, yoga pants, and always has her camera, right?" That's me! I have at least 6 pairs of black yoga pants (I don't do yoga) and I would wear them all the time if I could get away with it, but there are a few times when they aren't appropriate -- like date night and Sunday morning church services (although, they're probably okay for Wednesday night, right?). I like to be comfortable, and until the powers that be decide to make jeans that cover my ass, not touch my ribs, and not give me a "muffin-top" I will continue to wear yoga pants whenever its socially acceptable....and I will continually push the envelope on when that is. Part of that stems from being perpetually pregnant for nearly 8 years but mostly I'd rather be comfortable than trendy. I've never been much of a glam girl. Most days it's very little if any make-up, pony-tail, T-shirt, and Yoga pants.
I go to the gym in my Yoga pants and T-shirt, row 2,000 meters, walk 3 miles, do a few weights, stretch and go home and take a nap during which my kids make more messes for me to clean up, which burns more calories. I don't eat their dinner, but make myself a salad or eat a Weight Watcher's frozen meal. And still the stupid scale refuses to reward me. I hate that scale.
But lately, I've been making more of an effort. I've been to the gym on average 4 or 5 times a week, I've been drinking more water, and I've been eating more balanced meals. Here's the thing -- my bathroom scale has yet to notice this increased effort and it is starting to piss me off. I can do almost anything if I feel like its worth it -- that's how I got through 4 pregnancies. But If I am suffering, then I REALLY need to see some results. I know there is no magic bullet, but it's been weeks and that number on the scale is mocking me. I'll lose a pound and it'll come back with 2 of it's friends, and then I'll lose 3 pounds, and then nothing, and gain 2 back and then....well, you get the idea. I can't even tell a difference in my clothes or anything. I was bemoaning all of this to my mother (who is the picture of health) and she said "Well, it's not just about losing weight and how you look, it's more about being healthy." That's a bunch of crap -- it IS all about the weight and how you look. I bet I could ask everyone at my gym why they're there and everyone of them would answer with something about losing or maintaining their weight, or looking better in their swimsuit, or something like that. There may be a couple of older people who are there because their cholesterol was high or something, but most people are there because they are concerned about how they look.
Don't get me wrong -- I am not obsessed with my body image or anything. My husband is the only person I need to impress, but I'd like to not frighten anyone by going to the pool. No one dresses the way I do if they are concerned about what people think. I once called another mom to confirm birthday party details and I said I was trying to remember exactly who she was and her response was "I think I know who you are....you're the one with the pony-tail, yoga pants, and always has her camera, right?" That's me! I have at least 6 pairs of black yoga pants (I don't do yoga) and I would wear them all the time if I could get away with it, but there are a few times when they aren't appropriate -- like date night and Sunday morning church services (although, they're probably okay for Wednesday night, right?). I like to be comfortable, and until the powers that be decide to make jeans that cover my ass, not touch my ribs, and not give me a "muffin-top" I will continue to wear yoga pants whenever its socially acceptable....and I will continually push the envelope on when that is. Part of that stems from being perpetually pregnant for nearly 8 years but mostly I'd rather be comfortable than trendy. I've never been much of a glam girl. Most days it's very little if any make-up, pony-tail, T-shirt, and Yoga pants.
I go to the gym in my Yoga pants and T-shirt, row 2,000 meters, walk 3 miles, do a few weights, stretch and go home and take a nap during which my kids make more messes for me to clean up, which burns more calories. I don't eat their dinner, but make myself a salad or eat a Weight Watcher's frozen meal. And still the stupid scale refuses to reward me. I hate that scale.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
This is Why I Don't Have Nice Things
Today I was going to mop the bathroom, but thanks to the 2 and 4 year old, I got to do that last night. It occurred to me that I talk a lot about the things that my kids do, but I've never provided visual aids. One of my favorite blogs is "Sh*t My Kids Ruined," and a lot of this belongs there. Soooooo, today's post will be all about the crap that my kids have done that I DO have pictures of, starting with the flooded bathroom from last night.
You can't really tell from the picture, but there is about 2 inches of water on the floor. This is what happens when you let the 2 and 4 year old get up and go to the bathroom and you don't want to get up because you're watching Biggest Loser. Who got eliminated becomes a lot less important when you realize that there are splashing sounds when there shouldn't be. Before I took the picture, I DID turn off the faucet, or there would be 3 inches of water on the floor.
These next 2 are of the carpet in the upstairs bedroom. Now, there are too many incidents to list that caused this level of destruction, but they include a spilt bottle of ink from a CSI kit, an entire make-up kit, at least 3 bottles of fingernail polish, several markers, and the list goes on. Let's just say I don't have to worry about getting that pesky deposit back on this rental house. I'm just not sure that our landlord will buy that this IS normal wear and tear for 4 kids.
And YES, that IS what their room looks like most of the time. No amount of creative parenting has made them clean it up, and no matter how many times I clean it up, it is back like this within a couple of days.
Now, I don't know what your kids do on rainy days, but mine find ways to torture me. When I was in the shower, the 2 youngest went and found their sisters art kit. They pretended it was make-up.
The marker washed off. After a couple of days. I have pictures of no fewer than 7 separate incidents like this with just these 2 kids.
There have been MANY incidences of food related messes, but this was one of my favorites. Jackson was about 18 months old in this picture. I don't remember what we had for dinner, but we had chocolate pudding for desert.
So this is what happens when you give an 18 month old pudding and walk away.
I would love to provide further photographic evidence of how absolutely insane my life is, and how I am certain that in addition to a college fund, I should also be saving for remodeling, and intense psychotherapy (for them and me), but if I want to share more, I have to go and look for them. And I'm lazy. So I will close with a picture that proves that my kids are NOT little demons.
Awwwwwww.....see, I DO have at least 4 beautiful things.
These next 2 are of the carpet in the upstairs bedroom. Now, there are too many incidents to list that caused this level of destruction, but they include a spilt bottle of ink from a CSI kit, an entire make-up kit, at least 3 bottles of fingernail polish, several markers, and the list goes on. Let's just say I don't have to worry about getting that pesky deposit back on this rental house. I'm just not sure that our landlord will buy that this IS normal wear and tear for 4 kids.
Now, I don't know what your kids do on rainy days, but mine find ways to torture me. When I was in the shower, the 2 youngest went and found their sisters art kit. They pretended it was make-up.
There have been MANY incidences of food related messes, but this was one of my favorites. Jackson was about 18 months old in this picture. I don't remember what we had for dinner, but we had chocolate pudding for desert.
I would love to provide further photographic evidence of how absolutely insane my life is, and how I am certain that in addition to a college fund, I should also be saving for remodeling, and intense psychotherapy (for them and me), but if I want to share more, I have to go and look for them. And I'm lazy. So I will close with a picture that proves that my kids are NOT little demons.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
My Friends Are All Perfect
Sometimes, in my weaker moments as a wife and mother, I become envious of all of my friends. I don't get jealous of everything, just the parts that are in direct conflict with whatever is falling apart in my world. They don't take apart the vacuum to try to fix it -- they just go get another one. They don't have to clean peanut butter off of their ceilings -- ever. They are coordinated to do Zumba and yoga and they go to the gym every day. They never walk into church 25 minutes late with snot on the leg of their pants and not a clue how it got there -- their kids are in cordinating outfits, well-rested, with Bibles in hand. Their houses are clean, their kids are well-behaved, and their husbands coach little league.
I have a friend who is the mother of 2 little kids and about a size 4. She's that friend whom, although I love her, she seems to have it all together and can wear a flour sack and still look adorable, which makes the green-eyed monster in me rattle his cage. She and I were discussing this fact the other day, and she said "Oh, I get so busy sometimes that its often mid-afternoon before I realize that I have forgotten to eat!" Now, her attempt in saying this to me was to illustrate that she doesn't have it all together despite how it may appear.....this is not what I got from it. There are many things that I forget to do -- I forget that there are clothes in the washing machine and they sour, I forget that my kids were supposed to take something to school, I forget that I needed to pay a bill, etc. But I NEVER forget to eat. Ever. I may forget that I already ate, and eat again, or I may forget that I was going carb-free this week and eat a sandwich, but I have never in my nearly 37 years of living forgotten to eat all together. I liken this ability to forget food to those people who say that they are "addicted to running." If I were addicted to running and could forget to eat, I would not be in a constant battle with my bathroom scale. The only way I could become addicted to running is if I were also addicted to being chased by scary clowns with bloody knives and fangs. Seriously, I'd rather get arrested than run from the cops.
I have another friend whose husband is OCD. She keeps her house spotless despite the fact that she has 2 kids and works part time. She says its because her husband insists on it, but I don't think that Gary "insisting on it" would result in anything other than me laughing at him. I have OCD. I also have 4 kids. This is how my OCD works: I set out to clean the toilet in the hall bathroom. Nothing too ambitious, gonna just accomplish this one simple thing. Then my OCD kicks in. I think "Why would you clean the toilet if you aren't going to clean the tub and the sink? And why would you clean the tub, sink, and toilet if you aren't going to clean the floor? Why would you clean the floor in the bathroom if you aren't going to clean the floors in the rest of the house? I mean, you're just going to track dirt in from every other room. But before I can clean the floors, I have to pick up all the crap that is on them and put it away. And organize it. And some of that "stuff" on the floor is laundry. And why would you clean the floors before dusting? I'll never get all of that done, I wonder what's new on Facebook...." Every once in awhile, I get focused on cleaning and actually accomplish something, but I have to put my virtual blinders on. Gary will come home and say "I thought you said you cleaned all day?" And I'll say "I DID! Did you not see how awesome the inside of the fridge looks??!" Because sometimes, I need to just channel my OCD into ONE project that will take a great deal of time and effort and that usually gets over-looked. It might be the fridge, or the desk, or ONE kid's room, or the garage, but it takes all day and that particular corner of my universe will look amazing for at least 30 minutes or so before someone realizes that "one of these things is not like the others" and messes it up. Generally I keep my house clean enough to ward off 6 legged invaders and keep everyone from getting sick. Clorox Ready Wipes and a can of Lysol are my best friends. My life IS a Swiffer Wet-Jet commercial. And I daily prove that there are things that the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser cannot erase.
Finally, I have a friend who home schools her kids and makes or grows all of their food from scratch -- no boxed, processed, or pre-made foods. I have no idea how this amazing woman is still sane. Her kids never wore disposable diapers, never ate a Pop-Tart, and don't watch TV. They are all incredibly advanced for their age -- walked early, talked early, read early, etc. They are NOT socially awkward or introverts, but highly intelligent and play well with other kids. She never judges other moms, but she does try to keep us informed about things. Some of the stuff she has shared about certain foods or products has caused even me to forgo their convenience for something that doesn't cause cancer or brain damage. I would love to be able to criticize her, even sarcastically, but usually I am just in awe. She searches for local dairies to buy raw milk, feeds her kids well-balanced meals and snacks, and uses homeopathic remedies. Meanwhile, I'm usually trying to figure out if the ketchup and pickles on my kids' cheeseburgers constitute a vegetable serving and if their pudding for desert counts as a milk.
My friend's are awesome. They lift me up when I'm down, they tell me that my version of normal seems fine to them, and they call me a "hero" or a "super woman" when that is the last thing I feel like. They make me want to be better at everything -- better wife, better mom, better woman. They completely understand that sarcasm is the way I deal with my own inadequacies and they don't take it personally when I tease them about the things that they are better at than I am. In fact, my very best friends will listen to me recount some horror story about a mess my kids have made and then say something like "Well, just spray it with Lysol" because they know that I probably already have and that I welcome their sarcastic judgeyness from time to time -- it keeps me humble.
I have a friend who is the mother of 2 little kids and about a size 4. She's that friend whom, although I love her, she seems to have it all together and can wear a flour sack and still look adorable, which makes the green-eyed monster in me rattle his cage. She and I were discussing this fact the other day, and she said "Oh, I get so busy sometimes that its often mid-afternoon before I realize that I have forgotten to eat!" Now, her attempt in saying this to me was to illustrate that she doesn't have it all together despite how it may appear.....this is not what I got from it. There are many things that I forget to do -- I forget that there are clothes in the washing machine and they sour, I forget that my kids were supposed to take something to school, I forget that I needed to pay a bill, etc. But I NEVER forget to eat. Ever. I may forget that I already ate, and eat again, or I may forget that I was going carb-free this week and eat a sandwich, but I have never in my nearly 37 years of living forgotten to eat all together. I liken this ability to forget food to those people who say that they are "addicted to running." If I were addicted to running and could forget to eat, I would not be in a constant battle with my bathroom scale. The only way I could become addicted to running is if I were also addicted to being chased by scary clowns with bloody knives and fangs. Seriously, I'd rather get arrested than run from the cops.
I have another friend whose husband is OCD. She keeps her house spotless despite the fact that she has 2 kids and works part time. She says its because her husband insists on it, but I don't think that Gary "insisting on it" would result in anything other than me laughing at him. I have OCD. I also have 4 kids. This is how my OCD works: I set out to clean the toilet in the hall bathroom. Nothing too ambitious, gonna just accomplish this one simple thing. Then my OCD kicks in. I think "Why would you clean the toilet if you aren't going to clean the tub and the sink? And why would you clean the tub, sink, and toilet if you aren't going to clean the floor? Why would you clean the floor in the bathroom if you aren't going to clean the floors in the rest of the house? I mean, you're just going to track dirt in from every other room. But before I can clean the floors, I have to pick up all the crap that is on them and put it away. And organize it. And some of that "stuff" on the floor is laundry. And why would you clean the floors before dusting? I'll never get all of that done, I wonder what's new on Facebook...." Every once in awhile, I get focused on cleaning and actually accomplish something, but I have to put my virtual blinders on. Gary will come home and say "I thought you said you cleaned all day?" And I'll say "I DID! Did you not see how awesome the inside of the fridge looks??!" Because sometimes, I need to just channel my OCD into ONE project that will take a great deal of time and effort and that usually gets over-looked. It might be the fridge, or the desk, or ONE kid's room, or the garage, but it takes all day and that particular corner of my universe will look amazing for at least 30 minutes or so before someone realizes that "one of these things is not like the others" and messes it up. Generally I keep my house clean enough to ward off 6 legged invaders and keep everyone from getting sick. Clorox Ready Wipes and a can of Lysol are my best friends. My life IS a Swiffer Wet-Jet commercial. And I daily prove that there are things that the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser cannot erase.
Finally, I have a friend who home schools her kids and makes or grows all of their food from scratch -- no boxed, processed, or pre-made foods. I have no idea how this amazing woman is still sane. Her kids never wore disposable diapers, never ate a Pop-Tart, and don't watch TV. They are all incredibly advanced for their age -- walked early, talked early, read early, etc. They are NOT socially awkward or introverts, but highly intelligent and play well with other kids. She never judges other moms, but she does try to keep us informed about things. Some of the stuff she has shared about certain foods or products has caused even me to forgo their convenience for something that doesn't cause cancer or brain damage. I would love to be able to criticize her, even sarcastically, but usually I am just in awe. She searches for local dairies to buy raw milk, feeds her kids well-balanced meals and snacks, and uses homeopathic remedies. Meanwhile, I'm usually trying to figure out if the ketchup and pickles on my kids' cheeseburgers constitute a vegetable serving and if their pudding for desert counts as a milk.
My friend's are awesome. They lift me up when I'm down, they tell me that my version of normal seems fine to them, and they call me a "hero" or a "super woman" when that is the last thing I feel like. They make me want to be better at everything -- better wife, better mom, better woman. They completely understand that sarcasm is the way I deal with my own inadequacies and they don't take it personally when I tease them about the things that they are better at than I am. In fact, my very best friends will listen to me recount some horror story about a mess my kids have made and then say something like "Well, just spray it with Lysol" because they know that I probably already have and that I welcome their sarcastic judgeyness from time to time -- it keeps me humble.
Monday, April 4, 2011
There Is No Normal and There Is No Fair
What is normal? I have been pondering this question as I sit amid the chaos of my house, drinking my third cup of coffee, with 2 of my 4 kids running around with no pants on eating Pop Tarts and having animal rescue missions with their stuffed animals with names like "Puppy-Dog-Treat" and "Turd The Turtle." Jackson is growling like a lion, -- or a dinosaur, or a jaguar -- with a yellow shoe-string that he calls his sea crate hanging out of the back of his Pull-Up and Lorelei is wearing her kitty-cat hat and changing her name to "Yellow" for the day. They have built an obstacle course on the stairs using almost all of the plastic kid dishes, they are making a pirate ship out of the plastic slide upstairs, and the dog is hiding from them in my room. Although the plan was to get everyone dressed and go to the gym before going to the school to retrieve the 2 older minions, Jackson has used his left shoe as a watering can to water the flowers he made out of Legos. Since these are the only shoes that fit his fat little feet, I will have to burn calories at home today. After I take the barefoot (and probably still pant-less) kids to pick-up at the school, we'll all come home where there will be arguments about who gets to watch what on which TV and why we can't have marshmallows for dinner. There will be something spilled on the carpet (this past weekend it was an entire bottle of liquid hand soap), there will be some sort of potty incident, I will hear "That's not fair!" somewhere between 2 and 20 times, and I will most likely lose my temper at least twice. So, is this normal?
Here's what I've decided -- there is no normal. There is no normal and there is no fair. Is it fair that the 2 and 4 year old make messes that I make the 7 and 9 year old clean up? Is it fair that the 9 year old gets invited to go to his friend's house, but the 7 year old's best friend is sick? Is it fair that the 2 little ones get to/have to go to the gym with me every day while the older 2 are at school? Nope, none of it is fair, but guess what? THAT'S LIFE. Is it normal to fixate on certain colors, or stuffed animals, or phrases or songs for a day, a week, a month? It is perfectly normal for Lorelei to do those things. Is it normal to get up in the middle of the night and remove your clothing and go back to sleep in the den floor with your naked little butt sticking up in the air while you stare at the blue screen of the television? It is for Jackson. Is it normal to know ABSOLUTELY everything about the Star Wars universe, but not be able to learn your multiplication tables? If you are William it is. Is it normal to be 7 years old and make "crafts" out of paper, plastic clothes hangers and Bendaroos, that look like a big ole mess of jumbled up crap but get overly upset about it when your mother thinks that it IS a big mess of jumbled up crap and cleans it up? For Bella it is. Is it normal or fair that I had 4 kids on 4 different kinds of birth control in less than 8 years? Nope. Its wonderful.
Here's what I've decided -- there is no normal. There is no normal and there is no fair. Is it fair that the 2 and 4 year old make messes that I make the 7 and 9 year old clean up? Is it fair that the 9 year old gets invited to go to his friend's house, but the 7 year old's best friend is sick? Is it fair that the 2 little ones get to/have to go to the gym with me every day while the older 2 are at school? Nope, none of it is fair, but guess what? THAT'S LIFE. Is it normal to fixate on certain colors, or stuffed animals, or phrases or songs for a day, a week, a month? It is perfectly normal for Lorelei to do those things. Is it normal to get up in the middle of the night and remove your clothing and go back to sleep in the den floor with your naked little butt sticking up in the air while you stare at the blue screen of the television? It is for Jackson. Is it normal to know ABSOLUTELY everything about the Star Wars universe, but not be able to learn your multiplication tables? If you are William it is. Is it normal to be 7 years old and make "crafts" out of paper, plastic clothes hangers and Bendaroos, that look like a big ole mess of jumbled up crap but get overly upset about it when your mother thinks that it IS a big mess of jumbled up crap and cleans it up? For Bella it is. Is it normal or fair that I had 4 kids on 4 different kinds of birth control in less than 8 years? Nope. Its wonderful.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Role Playing Toys
I've never tried to include a video on my blog before, so I hope you can see it, but if not, go here:
http://thebreastmilkbaby.com/229/the-breast-milk-baby-demonstration-video/
And then come back and read this.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am all about some breast feeding -- I did it for a combined total of more than 4 years with my 4 kids. But seriously???? This doll disturbs me on many levels, but then I started thinking...... let's have some fun with this. Let's sell this doll as a part of a "Holly Homemaker Play Set." Everything your little girl needs to play house! Here are the enclosed play directions:
Step 1: Put the "Breast Feeding Doll" down for a nap in her "Corolle Mon Premier Nursery Doll Bed"
Step 2: Feed your "Baby Alive Doll" in her "Melissa and Doug Premium Wooden Highchair", and then set her down to play
Step 3: Get your "My Cleaning Trolley" and start to clean your playhouse until "Baby Alive" walks over and clogs the "Real Working Hand Vac" with her disposable diaper
Step 4: Stop cleaning long enough to put new diaper on "Baby Alive"
Step 5: Take Vacuum apart in attempt to unclog
Step 6: As soon as Vac is in 146 pieces, realize that you haven't started dinner
Step 7: Go to your "Step 2 Kitchen" and realize you haven't been to the "Little Tykes Neighborhood Market" and will have to figure out how to make a meal out of 3 oatmeal cookie packets, a plastic hamburger patty, and some plastic fruit.
Step 8: Go start making dinner with your "Easy Bake Oven"
Step 9: Turn around and realize that "Baby Alive" has a screw from the vacuum and is about to insert it into an electric socket
Step 10: Try to go to the bathroom, but "Baby Alive" follows you and unrolls an entire roll of toilet paper in front of you as you sit helpless on the toilet
Step 11: Clean up toilet paper and return to find 146 pieces of the vacuum are now jumbled up in "Baby Alive's" toy purse
Step 12: "Chatty Cathy Doll" gets home from school and wakes "Breast Feeding Doll"
Step 13: Sit down to "nurse" while "Chatty Cathy" drones on and on and on in your left ear and "Baby Alive" toddles around with schmutz on her face and a poopy diaper while your "Disney Princess" phone rings off the hook and your "Easy Bake Oven" timer goes off and smoke begins to pour out the front and the doorbell on your playhouse rings and its your neighbor "Barbie" who is dressed to the nines with a fancy up-do looking down her perky little nose at your "breast feeding bikini-top" and "Fisher Price Baker's Apron" and she wants to know if you can pick the toys up out of your "yard" because she can't get her Corvette out of her driveway to go meet Ken at the beach house.
Step 14: And just when you think it couldn't get any more real, your mother walks in and freaks out at the mess and starts to lecture you about how she cannot believe you are "living" like this.
Welcome to motherhood.
**Every toy mentioned here ACTUALLY exists, and sold all together would cost more than $3,000. Wow. And IF you bought them, your kid would most likely play with the box.
http://thebreastmilkbaby.com/229/the-breast-milk-baby-demonstration-video/
And then come back and read this.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am all about some breast feeding -- I did it for a combined total of more than 4 years with my 4 kids. But seriously???? This doll disturbs me on many levels, but then I started thinking...... let's have some fun with this. Let's sell this doll as a part of a "Holly Homemaker Play Set." Everything your little girl needs to play house! Here are the enclosed play directions:
Step 1: Put the "Breast Feeding Doll" down for a nap in her "Corolle Mon Premier Nursery Doll Bed"
Step 2: Feed your "Baby Alive Doll" in her "Melissa and Doug Premium Wooden Highchair", and then set her down to play
Step 3: Get your "My Cleaning Trolley" and start to clean your playhouse until "Baby Alive" walks over and clogs the "Real Working Hand Vac" with her disposable diaper
Step 4: Stop cleaning long enough to put new diaper on "Baby Alive"
Step 5: Take Vacuum apart in attempt to unclog
Step 6: As soon as Vac is in 146 pieces, realize that you haven't started dinner
Step 7: Go to your "Step 2 Kitchen" and realize you haven't been to the "Little Tykes Neighborhood Market" and will have to figure out how to make a meal out of 3 oatmeal cookie packets, a plastic hamburger patty, and some plastic fruit.
Step 8: Go start making dinner with your "Easy Bake Oven"
Step 9: Turn around and realize that "Baby Alive" has a screw from the vacuum and is about to insert it into an electric socket
Step 10: Try to go to the bathroom, but "Baby Alive" follows you and unrolls an entire roll of toilet paper in front of you as you sit helpless on the toilet
Step 11: Clean up toilet paper and return to find 146 pieces of the vacuum are now jumbled up in "Baby Alive's" toy purse
Step 12: "Chatty Cathy Doll" gets home from school and wakes "Breast Feeding Doll"
Step 13: Sit down to "nurse" while "Chatty Cathy" drones on and on and on in your left ear and "Baby Alive" toddles around with schmutz on her face and a poopy diaper while your "Disney Princess" phone rings off the hook and your "Easy Bake Oven" timer goes off and smoke begins to pour out the front and the doorbell on your playhouse rings and its your neighbor "Barbie" who is dressed to the nines with a fancy up-do looking down her perky little nose at your "breast feeding bikini-top" and "Fisher Price Baker's Apron" and she wants to know if you can pick the toys up out of your "yard" because she can't get her Corvette out of her driveway to go meet Ken at the beach house.
Step 14: And just when you think it couldn't get any more real, your mother walks in and freaks out at the mess and starts to lecture you about how she cannot believe you are "living" like this.
Welcome to motherhood.
**Every toy mentioned here ACTUALLY exists, and sold all together would cost more than $3,000. Wow. And IF you bought them, your kid would most likely play with the box.
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