Merry Christmas! I’m invisible! At least … I think I am? Because, camo.
You know what? IT’S BEEN A DAMN GOOD YEAR.
It’s also been incredibly difficult in a lot of different ways that needn’t be rehashed, and I’m not sorry to see it draw to a close. But I feel really optimistic about 2015 …
Because when you’re wearing an adult-sized onesie with antlers and holding a bottle of egg nog, that’s what happens. Optimism.
You make me happy too, Maverick. And mad. And frustrated. And slightly crazy. But the feeling that always overshadows the rest is the constant, unstoppable, NO MATTER WHAT love that I have for you. People tell me that you’re going to … Continue reading
It is now December 22 and I have not purchased one Christmassy item. Robbie did order one thing off Amazon … but that’s it. Nothing else has been done.
Pulling off this year’s holiday will be my greatest mom feat to date. And you know, pretending it’s not happening — kind of like how I’m pretending Pepper isn’t screaming from her bed instead of napping right now — kind of makes it all go away.
Denial is fun!
This must be one of those life experiences that we will one day look back on and laugh about, but right now, it sucks.
I’m now well enough to be completely and utterly mad at everyone. I’m mad that I’m sick. I’m mad at my husband for not feeding our children in a scheduled manner. I’m mad at my children for being obnoxious. I’m mad at the mess and the calendar that tells me that Christmas is 5 days away.
I’m irritated that no one else seems to be able to keep Pepper’s hair out of her eyes. I’m annoyed that no one else can tell whose underwear is whose. Is it really that hard? Maybe it is, and all this time I have been undervaluing myself as a stay-at-home mom. Maybe I AM using my degree. Maybe it IS extremely difficult to run a household and manage to keep hair ties in a toddler’s hair.
I should give myself more credit.
I’m premenstrual and coughy and so, so miserable. I’m tired of being alone in my room, but whenever I leave, I immediately get mad over something I see or hear. No one wants to be around me. I don’t want to be around me. Nothing brings out my extreme control freak tendencies like being sick right before Christmas, when I should be doing a million other things.
My husband is very tall and likes to stash random items in out-of-reach locations, where you can see them and think to yourself, “What the hell IS that?” I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a glow-in-the-dark bracelet or a plastic slinky or a $75 piece of silver. And it’s too high for you to get it down. Just acknowledge that it’s out of place and carry on.
My house is weird.
All I want for Christmas is to somehow find a way to get all the things done that need to get done, without hurting my husband, and for everyone in my house to be well. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!
Don’t answer that.
I don’t consider myself to be a Disney person AT ALL, except for this one time, when I ask you …
I’m sick. Like, super sick. Robbie took me to the doctor yesterday, and as I laid on the exam table waiting for the results of my flu test, I mustered the strength to say “Wouldn’t it be about right if she came back and said it’s an untreatable virus?”
And that is exactly what happened.
I have something called “parainfluenza,” which is just as awful-feeling as the flu but it’s untreatable and lasts for half the amount of time. That’s a whole lot of good and bad rolled into one. I’ve been quarantined to my bedroom, and Robbie checks on me (with his shirt pulled over his face) and brings me food occasionally (spraying Lysol all the way down the hall).
Yesterday I was too sick to care about anything, but today I feel better enough to be royally PISSED OFF that I’m sick in the bed when there is so much to do. I realized I missed #TBT this week (read: “Throwback Thursday,” my favorite social media day of the week), in addition to Maverick’s class party which I was supposed to help with since I am co-room mom.
Let it be known that I am the worst co-room mom there ever was. If not for the real room mom, who is amazing, the kids would be royally screwed out of a party or they would all be carrying the paraflu virus right now … and in the mind of a first-grader, I’m not sure which is worse.
I also realized that today is the last day of school until after Christmas and I did not send gifts for the teachers. I have done nothing. I went on vacation, came home, and immediately went into quarantine. My house is a wreck, I’m supposed to be hosting Christmas dinner IN 6 DAYS, and no gifts have been purchased for anyone. Nary a stocking stuffer or white elephant gift.
Nothing.
It’s ironic that I’ve spent this holiday season on a virtual soapbox, telling every mom I come in contact with to just “focus on what matters” and “let the bull shit go,” and here I am 6 days from Christmas about to implode because I put everything off until the last minute and now that last minute is here and I’m stuck in the freaking bed.
First grade art by Maverick.
Well-played, universe.
At least my Christmas tree, which took an inordinate amount of time to put up despite it’s homely appearance, hasn’t fallen over yet. Apparently this is a pretty common occurrence — has it happened to any of you? My friend Mary Lee fought the good fight with hers the other week and won, because that’s what moms do, they win Christmas. These pictures she took cheered me up.
The fallen tree.
At least her nails look nice.
Until I get better and can win Christmas at the very last minute, I will rest knowing that our entire family is pitching in to help. I have to admit, it’s pretty validating to see just how many people it takes to keep up with a house and three small children when the mom is incapacitated.
That’s a gift that you can’t put a price tag on.
Something about eating a cookie that looks like a book feels wrong.
But not so wrong that I couldn’t go through with it.
I’m happy to report that I haven’t dropped off the face of the Earth. Hooray! Right?
RIGHT?!?!?!
I’m currently having a very restful (code for “kid-free”) vacation with Robbie. This time of year is so insane, it’s kind of ironic (code for “stupid”) that we decided to take some time away NOW, but fairly often we do things that don’t make sense. Like go to a 3-hour-long timeshare presentation in exchange for $75 in Bass Pro Shop gift cards. Or stay at an inn that Marie Laveau used to reside in.
New Orleans is normally not my favorite place to visit because it typically smells gross and is hot as hell, but New Orleans in December is magical. I’m not just saying that because we are kid-free … although now that I think about it, perhaps that has skewed my world view a bit.
There are Santas and violinists on every corner, with the same festive air that is normally found here, just more so. Everyone is merry. It’s nice.
On an unrelated note, I have eye crinkles. I worked very hard to get them, so I’m working very hard to not freak out. This has brought on a lot of deep breath-taking and repeating of phrases like “This is normal, I AM NORMAL,” and “35 is not THAT old.”
Hold me. I’m terrified.
Today I am over on Toni Hammer’s site Is It Bedtime Yet? talking about the time I got stuck in a sports bra. Don’t you want to read it? OF COURSE YOU DO! This one has nothing to do with sex and there is no bad language, so have at it. (You can read it by clicking here!)
I met Toni because she is one of the talented authors in Scary Mommy’s Guide to Surviving The Holidays, and her straightforward humor made me like her right away. Her blog is awesome and honest — go check it out, and tell her I sent you!
Covered up with little people.
I had big plans to get stuff accomplished today, none of it got done, it is now 10:30 p.m. and I feel exactly how Asher looks in this picture.
He gets it from me.
“You know that weird line around your face where your makeup ends and your skin begins? I can see it. Yup, clear as day. And it’s ugly.”
Yesterday, a terrible thing happened.
Let me preface this by saying that I am struggling to adjust to summer break. Struggling. Like … it’s good? But also horrible? Can something be good and horrible all at once? Because I’m pretty sure that is exactly what parenthood is.
Making the transition from having all three kids in school for 6+ hours per day (and working during those hours), to having them home all the time and trying to get my work done in addition to mothering in a loving fashion, is not going great. As I have already established in multiple blog posts from previous years, summer is effing relentless.
Pepper is obsessed with two things: outlets and babies. Here she is showing her baby doll the outlet in her bedroom. #multitasking
Thankfully, this year is somewhat easier than previous years simply because my children are getting older and more independent. Pepper will be 3 next week, so I think we’re finally on the upswing after a very dark time in the Valley of Motherhood.
Yesterday afternoon, we got home from playing at the park. The boys jumped out of the van, heard some kids next door playing, and asked if they could go over to play. I granted them permission and took Pepper inside. Her clothes were filthy — covered in layers of peanut butter and dirt — so I stripped her down to a diaper.
I ran to the bathroom with her trailing behind me, always my little shadow. And then, my mom called. She’s not feeling well and I can barely hear her on the phone. I was straining to understand what she was saying — did she just say she needed to go to the hospital?! — and naturally, my toddler got really loud at exactly that moment. As her shouting drowned out my mother, my stress level started to rise.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My daughter cried from the hall, and when she stopped, I was thankful. When I emerged only a few minutes later, the house was quiet. A panicky feeling started to rise in my chest, and then it felt like my heart stopped.
Just.
Stopped.
Beating.
Our back door was standing wide open.
Screaming her name, I ran outside. She was gone. Or hiding. Or missing.
I heard a woman’s voice — our across the street neighbor — yelling at me that she just saw a little girl cut through the fences in the backyard.
“She went that way, sweetheart! I was standing here watching her!”
I was barefoot and it did not matter. I ran. I ran until I found her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could hear was my own voice screaming her name, and my heartbeat deafening my ears. That is what blind panic feels like.
My 2-year-old was wandering one street over from ours, wearing nothing but her diaper. She was holding a toy pet carrier with a little stuffed dog inside. I will never forget the way her face looked when she saw the horror on mine.
“NEVER AGAIN,” I said to her.
“Not with my dog?” she said.
“NEVER, EVER. Do not ever leave this house without a grown up,” I said, as I wiped away my tears.
I’m sharing this story to demonstrate how quickly children can disappear. How many times have I heard stories of toddlers wandering the streets and thought to myself, WHERE WAS THE MOTHER?
That mother is me. I was right there. It happened anyway.
I’m a damn good mom. I am capable. I am aware. I am not negligent. But children are fast. And sometimes quiet. And things happen. So today I’m hugging my babies tight, grateful for their safety, knowing that sometimes other mamas aren’t so lucky.
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Modern Mommy Madness 