Right now I feel like the only mom in America willing to admit that the 4 snow days we have had in the past week were 4 snow days too many.
That is all I have the capacity to write right now. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine.
Monthly Archives: January 2014
Doing Something.
Sometimes I think moms get dismissed for various reasons — because they “don’t work” or they’re “just moms” or because they start to fade into the background as soon as their babies are born.
They stop wearing heels. Their shape changes. Their priorities change, they don’t want their picture taken, and sometimes, sadly, they lose themselves.
One thing that’s nice about going to an all-ladies gym is that when I go in the mornings, it’s mostly older women who are finished with child-rearing. Almost every time I go, one of them says something encouraging like “You have THREE kids?! And you’re at the gym?! Good for you, honey!” And sometimes they pat me. On certain days, it’s all I can do not to bury my face in a velour-jumpsuited shoulder and cry.
I don’t actually go to the gym because I want to work out. I go because I need a break from my children and housework. When I share this with one of the older ladies, they laugh and start telling me that they remember how hard it was but I will get through it, because she did and look! She’s still alive.
Yesterday I was chatting with the sweet lady sitting next to me in yoga class and she said, “If you can turn out kids that grow into decent adults … then you’ve really DONE something.” And I thought, YES. Yes I will have! Thank you so much, random stranger, for saying that out loud. Also, I’ve been up since 4:30 with a demanding toddler and my nerves are raw and all I want in this world is a pedicure, a mojito, and to be left alone for like 12 hours straight.
Encouraging words are like manna to exhausted young mothers. It feels like I’m running a race and I’m at the part where I think it’s never going to end and I might die, and then someone hands me a cup of water and yells something inspiring.
I keep going because that is what mamas do. We press on, tired and faded as we are, with the knowledge that we are really doing something. And that is why I get so irritated when moms are asked, “What do you DO all day?” I’ll tell you what I do.
Everything.
I Totally Do Not Have This.
The other day I took all three kids to the grocery store because I’m an idiot or because I’m brave, I don’t know which. Luckily, there was a huge shopping cart made for multiple kids sitting in the parking lot, and I parked right next to it thinking to myself that I TOTALLY HAVE THIS.
Here is the picture that I posted on social media, because I totally had this. Normally people don’t post pictures of themselves NOT HAVING IT, right?
Right.
So let me tell you what happened right before this picture was taken … and you will know the truth: I so did not have this.
I put Asher in the big yellow cart first and lodged him safely behind the van. I would have wedged the cart between the van and the car next to me, but there wasn’t room and he has been known to reach over and pull on the side view mirrors of stranger’s vehicles when my back is turned.
I walked over to the baby’s side and started unbuckling her. I chatted with Maverick and gave him a cheese stick, because I was so on top of this situation that I even remembered to bring snacks. Just as I was lifting Pepper out of her carseat, Maverick walked around the back of the van and started yelling, “Asher’s rolling away! Asher’s rolling away!”
Yep.
Just like that, my fantasy of being on top of this situation came crumbling down. There he was, about 5 or 6 parking spaces down from us, gaining speed as he rolled across the parking lot.
The next few moments are a little hazy, but I know I was running with a baby which is a terrible idea. The kind patrons of Albertson’s were throwing their cars in park and jumping out to try and stop him, and one lady finally caught him and brought him back to me and I remember her telling me “I have three kids too, but they’re all grown now … can I help you with the baby?” And she stood right there the whole time I buckled Pepper into that yellow monstrosity and I really think she wanted to escort us into the grocery store herself. I was eerily calm and she probably thought I was on something.
I kind of wish she was right.
At this point, I think I’ve used up my entire reserve of panic mode. Now when things happen, I remain freakishly calm and it understandably confuses and upsets people — like, What is wrong with this girl?! Why is she so calm?! Well, it’s because I feel like I’ve almost seen it all in a very short amount of time. It’s like I’m shell-shocked.
After I had time to process it, it kind of cracked me up that all these people out there in social media world were under the impression that I took 3 kids to the store in a big yellow cart and it was totally awesome because I am just that kind of mom.
Nope.
A Hot Mess.
I came into this world a very organized person. I don’t lose things, I don’t forget things, I never exaggerate …
Well, that’s a lie.
Anyway, I have always taken pride in my ability to whip a chaotic situation into shape. My house usually appears clean on the surface – yes, even with three kids – as long as you don’t look in the drawers, because I don’t fold anything. I just cram it in there and everyone has to dig for what they need. My need for order is a nice compliment to my husband’s ability to clutter up a room in 30 seconds flat.
Read the rest of my latest post for Baton Rouge Moms here!
Clarity.
Occasionally, not often enough, I snap out of The Blur and realize how incredibly blessed I am.
I really have everything I have ever wanted in life. None of it is perfect or how I imagined it would be, but it’s all there. Every single thing, in its odd imperfection. I never asked for an easy life; I wanted a happy one. And that’s what I got: an exhausting, imperfectly happy life.
I read something last night that said if we would just look at our children through a different lens — to think of them as a gift to us — our parenting experience would be totally different. And OF COURSE I believe my children are wonderful, gift-like little blessings, but it’s easy to forget that in the chaos of ear-piercing shrieks and thrown toys. You see, I am very easily blinded by messes and tantrums.
Something I have to be intentional about is waking up and being conciously grateful for my gifts. This all sounds very Pollyanna, I know. I’m sure if you stopped by my house between the hours of 4-7 p.m. I would not seem like someone who is basking in the glow of motherhood. But I openly share the weird and not-great things that happen here, so it’s only right that I share the good things with you too.
Today I have the clarity to see my life for what it is: very simple, and full of life and happiness. I don’t know what I did to deserve what I have, but maybe instead of asking for more XYZ, I need to be asking for the lucidity to appreciate what’s right in front of me.
Why I Have A Hard Heart
It has come to my attention that I have a hard heart. I knew it was probably a few sizes too small, but I was thinking that having children had maybe softened me some.
It hasn’t.
In fact, I think the act of pushing a child out of my vagina on three separate occasions has actually hardened me more, like some kind of prairie-living, butter-churning, cow hand’s wife from the 1800’s. They were tough people. Maybe that’s when I should have been born — in prairie times. Although, if that was the case, I would be the town’s token blind lady. If I don’t have my contacts in, someone literally has to take me by the hand and lead me from room to room.
I would not enjoy being the town’s token blind lady; I’m much too vain for that. I guess it’s for the best that I was born in 1979 instead of 1879, but I bet I could churn the hell out of some butter.
Anyway, because of my hard heart, when someone has a scrape or a hangover or the wrong flavor of Pop Tarts, I expect them to suck it up because, you see, I PUSHED THREE BABIES OUT OF MY VAGINA. Clearly you are not in that much pain, which means you are not near death, which means there is no need to panic.
After a few separate occurrences happened in a short span of time which brought my hard heart front and center, I started wondering what on Earth could have caused me to be so unfeeling when it comes to certain things. I have girlfriends who cry over pictures of animals. Why don’t I cry over pictures of animals?! When I see pictures of animals, I actually shudder a little.
When my husband is sick, I put him in a room by himself and shut the door. My eldest child has had regular allergy shots for months and months. I don’t understand why he still cries and throws a fit. It’s been months. You know you’re not going to die. I don’t understand. Clearly, I would make a TERRIBLE NURSE.
I started thinking about what might have hardened me at a young age, and all I could come up with was the time when I was about 4 or 5 years old and a goose started chasing me when I was outside with my dad. I don’t think he meant to, but my daddy reached out and slapped that goose dead. Kilt it dead right in front of me.
I don’t talk about my dad much on social media because my parents are very private and I think the idea of the internet freaks them out big time, but I have to say … my daddy slapping a goose dead when it was after me taught me something very important: if you hit right, you’ll only have to hit once.
So, while I don’t have to churn butter or chop the heads off chickens before sunrise, I do have to tone down my demeanor so I can at least feign concern for these softies … I GUESS.
Things That Make Me Happy.
It’s been entirely too long since I did a Things That Make Me Happy post. I think I’m slipping into an obnoxious mode where all I do is take pictures of my kids, talk about my kids, think about my kids, worry about my kids … you get the picture. Not that my kids aren’t cute and important, but EW. Let’s get over them for awhile.
I bought these plastic place mats at Target for $1.99 each yesterday. They’re fun and can be wiped clean, and that makes me very, very happy.
Extinguished.
I have a very nice landlord who, after my recent oven fire, brought over a gift. Too bad it was about four days too late.
It’s screwed to the kitchen cabinet as you can see, right in plain sight should there ever be another fire. He said, “Where can I put this so that you’ll remember to use it if there is another fire? But not somewhere where it could fall on one of the kid’s heads, because I know you all are accident-prone …”
Yes. He said that. Then he made me practice yanking it off the wall and verified I knew how to use it properly, which was a trip and left me laughing inappropriately the way I tend to do when MY SANITY IS CRACKING.
I was really hoping to get a new oven out of the deal, but it turned out that the heating element just needed to be replaced. And now that’s done, and I’m left with a mess. I really just want to shut the door and never look in there again … in fact, I might do just that. The whole oven fire ordeal really took a lot out of me, and the thought of getting down on the floor and cleaning this thing is too much for me to handle. We all have limits.
Yeah, no.
But … next time … I’ll be ready. Here’s a selfie of me with my new bestie.
Big Brothers.
It’s been 7 months today since the baby of the family was born and I closed my uterus for good.
She sure does have some interesting big brothers.
The Time My Oven Caught Fire.
Friday, my oven caught fire when I was at home alone with all three children. The house is fine and we are fine. I’m telling you this up front, so you have the option to just say, “Wow,” and move on with your day, or stick with me and hear the whole story.
It seems I am cursed with some kind of voodoo. Someone who hates me went to a voodoo-caster and said, “CURSE THIS BITCH. MAKE SURE THAT ANY TIME SHE HAS COMPANY COMING OVER, SHIT HAPPENS. NOT REAL BAD SHIT, LIKE I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO DIE. BUT MAKE SURE WHATEVER HAPPENS, IT’S SCARY AND EMOTIONALLY SCARRING FOR HER.”
I had some people coming over, so I went full speed from the time I got up, trying to kind of clean the house amid the chaos which we all know is a pointless endeavor. I also had to shower, make myself presentable, get the kids to take their naps and feed them, make them presentable, all while texting because that is how I roll.
I wanted to make chocolate chip cookies because that’s my signature baked item. They are easy and delightful because they are comprised mostly of Butter-Flavored Crisco. So I had Asher napping and Maverick watching TV and was simultaneously feeding Pepper in her high chair and baking the cookies. I put the first pan of them in and they came out fine. I put the second pan in and a few minutes afterward realized that I smelled something weird. So I looked at the oven from where I was sitting and saw an orange glow. I got up to investigate and the whole damn thing was ABLAZE.
I absolutely freaked out. I have no idea what I did or said. Pepper sat there staring at me with her big owl eyes like this …
… while I opened the stove and removed the pan and threw a box of baking soda on the flames which did NOTHING. Meanwhile, Maverick came running into the kitchen asking what was going on. I started to panic and dumped a whole bag of flour on the flames and all that did was create a lot of black smoke.
I did what made sense: I called Husband screaming about how I was about to call 911 because the oven was on fire. I then hung up on him and dialed 911 as I frantically threw water on top of the now-bigger fire … which also did nothing … then proceeded to rush the kids to the van and start the process of buckling them in, putting jackets and shoes on them because it was like 45 degrees outside.
I have to give him credit, Maverick was a very big help to me during this particular emergency. He was calm and helped with the little kids, who were understandably confused. Poor Asher got ripped from his room by his panicked mother who was still in pajamas. After they were safely in the van I started the out-of-body experience of trying to think of what I would need should the house go up in flames. I rushed to the back and threw on clothes, put on shoes, grabbed my backpack with diapers, etc. and got Pepper’s half-empty bottle, all the while thinking, OMG, the house is going to explode while I am back here putting workout clothes on because I am too embarrassed to be seen in my ratty pajamas.
Yes, I realize it was dumb to take the time to change clothes. But I’ll tell you what, I looked pretty cute when the firemen showed up.
Husband got here right before the fire department and he ran in to see the fire which was starting to die out and then four firemen showed up and the fire was completely out by then. I apologized and they very nicely said “Don’t apologize!” but I felt like an idiot. The heating element itself is what was burning and it had cracked in two. I stood there in my not-embarrassing outfit and thanked myself for making sure I didn’t look like hell since I had pretty much lost my dignity with the use of my oven.
After they left, I got the kids out of the van and returned to the kitchen to see Husband standing there next to the pile of water and flour, which had turned into a gelatinous goo, eating cookies off the one good pan I’d made. It was at this point that I think it dawned on him that this was going to be It. This was going to be The Thing That Sent Harmony Over The Edge.
I came unglued and I faintly recall yelling, and then … I just checked out of the entire situation. I turned around and returned to feeding Pepper the rest of her lunch. The boys stared quietly from the living room. Husband quietly went to our room and stripped down, came into the kitchen, and cleaned everything up, all of it. I had to do nothing. It was such a huge, disgusting mess, but he took care of the entire situation and then wordlessly got dressed into his work clothes again when he was done.
Clearly this was to atone for his sin of eating off the one good pan of cookies.
Other than the house having an odd smell, there was really no sign that anything had happened by the time my guests arrived. My oven needs replacing, and since we rent, we will have to wait until the landlord gets around to it.
If you never understood why I joke so much about it being a miracle that we all make it through the day, THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT. It’s also why I’m not bothering to make New Year’s resolutions this year, because I’m too busy doing other things like keeping us all alive.
Modern Mommy Madness 