Monthly Archives: August 2012

A Solid B.

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You know what sucks when you’re sick?

Children.

I used to never get sick. Just like I used to never lose my cell phone or find random slobbery food items on my shoulder. These things seem to have come with motherhood. And while I don’t necessarily think of myself as a competitive person, I really would like to know if I’m coping well or not. 

I miss that part of working in an office — having the luxury of looking around to see how you’re doing compared to your peers. Or getting an annual review. Your boss could lay it all out for you. Here, it’s all guesswork. I don’t enjoy guesswork. I would LOVE to know — like really know — how other mothers cope in the house alone with a cold, a cranky baby who also has a cold, and an almost-four-year-old who won’t stop touching you, talking to you, and asking you to repeat what you just said because your head is clogged and you’re losing your voice and apparently he can’t understand what you’re saying.

I don’t know about my peers, but it makes me feel CRAZY. I send insane-sounding texts to the people who love me enough to overlook my insane-sounding texts. Like Husband. He comes home at night and pretends like he never read the texts that say things like “I’VE HAD IT” or, “I QUIT” or, “I am about to overmedicate myself on cold medicine and take them to the mall because I don’t know how else I am going to make it through this f*#king day.”

When he gets home, he kisses me hello and asks about my day as though he never received the multiple snippets of crazy throughout the day. 

That’s really nice of him.

Speaking of crazy … here’s what I didn’t blog about yesterday. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t use the computer. My day started with this:


Our laptop, may it rest in peace, with the striped screen of death. We can’t afford a new one … I’m currently using my sweet mother-in-law’s laptop that she’s lending to us for a few days. I was hoping to attend a baby shower in Nashville in two weeks, but it looks like we’ll be spending that money that we never really had and still don’t have, on a new computer instead. I told Husband we have to wait until after September 4 because that’s when TWO turns one and we can stop spending $40 a week on formula.

In an effort to speed up the day, I made a brownie concoction that no one ate, and I can’t blame them because it was pretty disgusting … which brings me to the next topic.


I have a stained-glass window propped up behind the stove. I’ve had it for a long time, my parents gave it to me and I really love it. I know the kitchen is a weird location, but I honestly have no idea where else to put it:


After lunch, I was bumbling around in a fog when this conversation popped up:

ONE: Mommy, is that a penis?

Me: What?

ONE: A penis.

Me: Where?

ONE: Up there. Above the oven.

Me: No! 

ONE: It sure looks like a penis.

Me: That’s a flower. Or some kind of design. NOT a penis … we wouldn’t put a picture of a private part in the kitchen, ONE. Private parts are private.

ONE: Well … it sure looks like a penis.

Later, my parents stopped by to pick up ONE for an overnight stay which was so nice. My mother left me with this:


An infrared heat lamp. It’s supposed to kill bacteria. It’s not every day you encounter one of these, and it was an oddly appropriate conclusion to my day.

Now back to my original question: how well am I coping in comparison to my peers? Our laptop is broken, I’ve just been informed that our cell phones have been cut off, the blinds fell down in TWO’s room – again – so I threw them in the trash can, and I am feeling generally miserable. But my children are clothed, their noses are wiped, I have on a supportive bra, and we have food in the house.

I give myself a solid B.


Disinfection.

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Disclaimer: I’m writing this on cold medicine, but I don’t think I have a cold. I don’t know what I have, aside from two whining children.

I’m tired of whining children.

ONE was starting to get somewhat better when TWO developed a fever. That’s around the same time I started feeling like ass. The really cruddy thing about family illness is the length of time it takes for it to make the rounds and leave the house.

This morning, I took action. I changed all of the hand towels and had just finished disinfecting the entire house with Clorox wipes when ONE wiped his nose on the couch. And then TWO sneezed in my face. 

Clearly my efforts are in vain. 

I still love my Clorox.

Limes.

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Husband just found a lime tree behind our fence. It appears to be on the property line between our house and the neighbor’s … so … I don’t feel that bad about the fact that I immediately fetched a ladder and collected these.

I plan to make myself some limeade.

 

Mothervention.

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Today I’m going to share a new word with you. I think I made it up? I Googled it with no results, so I’m going to go ahead and take credit for it. But first I’m going to tell you why. 
Last week was exhausting. 
ONE was sick and TWO continues to try to electrocute, burn, or drown himself every time I turn my head. I had a hormonally-driven meltdown two different times and they were both directed at Husband. I needed a solo trip to T.J. Maxx by myself to dig through the racks in peace — and I mean I needed it, in a BAD way — yet our current budget doesn’t allow it.
So I bought diapers. 
I made more perfectly good food that no one ate.
By the time the weekend rolled around, I had had it. I was sick of children and whining and being cooped up and not having enough time to think. What I needed most, I decided, was a mothervention.
Mothervention (muh-thur-ven-shun): noun
1. The act or fact of a mother in need of intervening assistance.
2. Involvement of one mother in the affairs of another.
3. The need for normalcy.

Basically, I needed a night out. Badly.

Thank goodness. That’s all I have to say. Thank goodness two of my friends could meet me and rectify my situation. Somehow, sharing and discussing problems makes my own issues seem manageable. Because they are. They are. They are. I’m not alone. None of us are alone. 

The three of us sat in the restaurant for nearly five hours and talked and ate and drank and relished in the fact that we didn’t have to stop what we were trying to say to tell so-and-so to sit in their seat or put the fork down or stop banging on the table. Childlessness. It can be bliss.

Five hours of mothervention later, I returned home feeling chipper and have pretty much remained so ever since. I waited too long for that night out. I always do. 

Do as I say, not as I do. Go get your mothervention. Or intervention, whichever suits you best.

Antithesis of Sexy.

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If ever you find yourself wondering, “What’s the opposite of sexy?” Or, if you are in your early twenties,“What will I look like in 10 years?” Then by golly, you’ve come to the right place.

It’s 6:52 on a Friday night and I’m wearing sheep pajamas, bitches.

Vasectomy.

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Yesterday, Husband told me he wants to have a vasectomy. He’s done having children, he said. To that I say, hmmm. That’s too bad. 

He says I’m trying to overcompensate for the fact that I am an only child by having as many children as I possibly can. When that made me laugh, he tried another tactic: telling me I’m getting old. Low blow, Husband. And quite ineffective.

So in the spirit of vasectomy avoidance, here are some pictures I found on my phone today that for one reason or another never found their way to the public. Surely he will see these and reconsider his position.

Surely.


Bad Words.

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ONE has learned the words “stupid” and “hate” and is now using them in sentences like “You’re stupid Mommy” or worse … “I hate you!” It’s horrifying and terrible and embarrassing. Mostly it’s embarrassing.

Guess who taught him those words? 

I did. 

Both of them were learned from me … because I loathe Walmart. Every time we go there I say “I hate Walmart” or “THIS IS SO STUPID!” Because I do. And everything about it is. I am totally to blame. I would love to blame Walmart. Or Husband. But unfortunately, as a parent, I should have been saying something like “I have a strong dislike for this establishment. It’s so silly.” 

So now I know how parents end up talking like idiots, using words like fiddlesticks and smartypants. Now I must undo what I have done. Before August 27, the first day of preschool. Lord help me.

Oh shishkabob.