I Sowwy (sorry).

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Last night my mother’s helper said to me, “I’m beginning to understand why you need them all to be in bed by 7:00.” Her eyes were wide with … disbelief? Horror? I’m still unsure. I think it’s probably shocking to her how much energy my kids have, and she probably wonders how I keep up with them. Well … I don’t. Which is why I needed to find some help, and that is where she comes in.

Sometimes I have bad days and I just don’t want to be bothered with them. I don’t feel like being a mom. I don’t feel like feeding anyone. I just want to be left ALONE to do what I want to do, because I am human and selfish and easily annoyed when I don’t get enough time and space to myself.

It’s so easy to fall into a mindset where you start to view your family as a burden, like your children are just another thing you have to deal with. Asher is 2.5 and going through that difficult stage where everything is a struggle. It hasn’t been that long since Maverick was that age, but I seem to have totally blocked out how terrible it was. I’ve already forgotten.

Asher and I have been struggling. Two-year-olds aren’t my favorite, honestly, and I don’t feel guilty for saying that because IT’S ASS HARD TO DEAL WITH A TODDLER. Potty training is hell, and if it were up to me he would stay in diapers for another year until he can totally dress and undress himself and understand that we don’t put a whole roll of toilet paper in the toilet. We just don’t. But he is insistent on using the potty because he sees his big brother doing it, and I feel like if I ban him from it or discourage him in some way, it will just create more problems. And so, I have surrendered.

It takes a lot of prayer and a lot of deep breaths for me to keep it together during this phase that we’re in. But we’ll make it, he and I. We’ll make it to the fall when he is three and hopefully potty trained and I can send him off to preschool with a tiny backpack.

Yesterday, I was sitting on the floor of the laundry room with him trying to take off his muddy shoes. He wouldn’t let me — he was intent on throwing Maverick’s dirty socks into the dryer with the clean laundry. He kicked and wiggled and stood up over and over until finally I popped him on the leg. As he cried, I said, “Asher, I’m sorry I had to pop you, but you have to learn to obey.” 

And then before I knew what was happening, he was wrapping his skinny arms around my neck and hugging me tight. “I sowwy too, Mommy. I sowwy too.“

There it is. The magic. That’s why I love this gig even when it sucks, and man, can it suck. I press on because I know those moments are coming … I just never know when. 

Super Tired.

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So, I’ve decided that it’s us and not them.

Meaning, the things that happen here. The ridiculous, ridiculous goings-on of the Hobbs household. It’s mine and Husband’s fault, not the kid’s. Many times we have looked at each other in amazement and said aloud, “Why do these things keep happening?!” Or, “Man … that kid … “ 

Well, the plain truth is, Robbie and Harmony Hobbs are the kind of people who do stupid, weird, and irresponsible things and then, strangely enough, stupid and weird things happen.

I came to grips with this fact through a series of events that took place within the past three days:

1. The Stroller.

You see this massive thing? I took the kids to the park on Saturday. An hour later, we left. 
The next day, I packed them all back up and went back to that very same park. I got out and opened the back of the van. It was empty. No stroller. I called Husband. He didn’t know where it was. HOW COULD A HUGE STROLLER JUST VANISH? Did someone take it?!
No.
I’d left it in the parking lot. It was still there, amazingly. Someone had pushed it up onto the sidewalk for me. I did the Walk of Shame with three kids in tow, pushing it back to the van where it belonged. How did I not run it over or at the very least, see it, when I left the park on Saturday?! Those questions remain unanswered.
Next,
2. The Zyrtec.
Exactly one day after The Stroller, we had another incident involving Children’s Zyrtec. Husband was home, and we heard Asher in the bathroom. He’s potty training right now, which is absolutely exhausting and every bit as difficult as I thought it would be when you’re dealing with a child who is still too small to take his pants off by himself or be trusted around a roll of toilet paper.
I sat in the kitchen listening for a few moments before mustering the will to go see what he was doing. It turned out that he was chugging Zyrtec. Just so you know … that stuff is slippery. It was all over the floor and I was sliding around as I struggled with him. 
He’s fine.
Later, Husband asked me “How does he keep getting into the medicine?! It has a child-proof lid on it!” And instead of admitting that I probably didn’t put the lid on all the way like I should have, I yelled something about how he has little ninja hands. But the truth is, our child isn’t a ninja. He has two parents who are seriously overwhelmed and forgetful.
Which brings me to today’s event, which was exactly one day after The Zyrtec took place.
3. The Knife.
Maverick found this in our yard today when they were outside playing. Thankfully, he brought it straight to me. But wow. A KNIFE. In our yard.

I texted Husband. Yep, it’s his. He didn’t realize it was missing. Where’s the tip of it, you ask? Oh, that got broken off when he tried to open a bottle of champagne, which is another story entirely.
I’m sure this is pretty obvious by now, but that third kid was the tipping point for us. It’s pure mayhem at this juncture, and I pretty much spend my days trying to keep up with a situation that is so. far. gone. So when I tell people that my super power is keeping us all alive … well. I need a cape. 
And it would look like this. 

What, your beverages don’t wear capes? Freak.

Side view.

We’re Moving. Again.

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We’re moving. In three weeks.

Remember this?

I swear … it feels like we just did this.

We had made the decision to stay where we are for another year, wait and see what our finances looked like before transplanting our family of 5 to another location, yada yada yada. I admit that I was kind of dreading another summer in our current rental, mostly because the windows and doors aren’t sealed well and living here is a lot like camping. But this house has been just what we needed; the perfect segway house to get us from Birmingham to where we will be soon.

So where will we be? In a larger place, where we will have room to breathe. The neighborhood is only a few minutes from where we are now, and it offers a “Blue Ribbon” elementary school, an amazing preschool, a park, and a tennis club. 

All of this has happened so fast and was so unexpected that we are still kind of in shock. I have no idea when I will start packing. I just want to hide in the very tiny closet that I share with my husband and wait for everything to pack itself. But knowing that soon I’ll have my OWN closet gives me the strength to rally.

So … how bad is it, really, to move to another house on very short notice, with three children, one of whom is potty training, and another one of whom is creeping around the house eating wads of belly button lint?   

Don’t tell me. This is one of the rare situations where I’d just rather not know what I’m getting myself into.

On the plus side, I found all those dirty shoes that disappeared yesterday while Husband was home with the boys.

Thanks, Asher!


Til Death Do Us Part.

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My friend Kate sent me this oldie but goodie from New Year’s Eve, circa 2002-going-into-2003. 

Holy eyeliner.

First of all, Lila (on the left) is going to kill me.

Second of all and possibly more importantly, I realized three days after I received the picture that I am still wearing this blue jean jacket, which I bought it at Gap for $69 in 2002. Here it is, in fact.

That’s 12 solid years of wear … is it time to give it up? As I take note of the ginormous hole in the shoulder I am nodding a silent, sad yes. I have a backup nicer one that doesn’t have holes in it — but am I in a rut?! I have always prided myself on not falling into fashion ruts but CLEARLY I AM IN ONE because I’ve been wearing the same jacket for 12 years. 

In fact, this has opened my eyes to the fact that I need an entire wardrobe overhaul. I’m still clinging to my 20’s. Time seems to have stopped when I started having kids at 28. Let’s be honest. Real talk here. These boobs will never fit into some of that stuff again. I need to let it go, but I can’t let this jacket go. It’s too soft. 

I’ll just put it with the other things I can’t part with, like my hooker heels. You never know.

Mardi Gras: Parenthood Version

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Even though we’ve been back “home” in Baton Rouge for two years, we still haven’t completely adjusted back to the Louisiana way of life that we missed so much. Mardi Gras snuck up on me again this year, and I am still not used to how big of a deal it is. Schools and business literally shut down so that people can galavant. It’s pretty awesome.

We didn’t make it to any parades and likely won’t for several more years, but we did get invited to a Mardi Gras party. It was spectacular for several reasons:

1. The kids ran free while I spaced out

2. There was wine

3. It wore Asher out such that he went to bed at 6 p.m. last night and slept until …. wait for it … 7:00 THIS MORNING.

It has literally been months since that has happened. If I could bring that kid to a Mardi Gras party every single afternoon from 12-3 I totally would, if it meant I would get eight hours of sleep that night.

I could leave you with this, but then it would just be another mommy-type post with cute kids and an everything is awesome! vibe. But that’s not real. Here’s what’s real: last night after the kids were in bed, Husband and I sat exhausted on the couch and stared into space. It was 8:30 p.m. and the idea of washing my face seemed an insurmountable task.

I admitted out loud that I really miss the days when we could socialize together at parties as a team. We’re great in social settings. Well, we used to be, anyway. These days, we spend our time split up watching the kids when we go places as a family, and we’re boring because we’re too tired to think of witty things to say. THE HOBBS ARE NOW A TOTAL SNOOZE FEST. 

It’s hard, the adjustment. Even this far into parenthood, I still miss things about our old life. I know that it will eventually be that way again. Maybe. We just have to get to the other side, and make the most of where we are right now, otherwise known as Boringville. But like my OB used to say … boring is good — at least as far as reproductive systems go.

 

March 1, 2014.

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Having three kids is absolutely way out of control, more than I have any business handling, and YES, Husband and I are in way deep over our heads.

Way deep.

But do we think we shouldn’t have done it? Jumped into parenthood with both feet, hoping we wouldn’t turn it to shambles?

Hell no.

We are the two most blessed and most exhausted people I know. I still love him even though hardships have rained down on us like crazy and his snoring has gotten worse and there is never, ever enough time for anything. We have so little, we have so much, and we are so, so tired.

All it takes is this to remind us why we don’t mind any of the hard stuff.

 

 

Mother’s Helper.

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Type A people are cursed. We always see everything that is still waiting to be done, and it’s exhausting. I’m not a perfectionist. I’m a workhorse. I come from a long line of industrious workhorses. Nothing makes me happier than to do something. But it’s quite tiring, really, and that is why I am sitting in front of the computer right now writing this blog — to avoid the work. 

One day, if things go as planned, I will avoid the work to such a degree that I’ll produce a book. It’s a win-win because I’m not being lazy at all. I’m doing something here … it just happens not to be laundry or dishes.

Without making it sound like I’m crazy or depressed, because I’m neither of those, I need to express that I’ve been deeply struggling over here. Like, from now on when I hear someone say they are “drowning,” I will totally get it. Drowning is the perfect word to describe the constant feeling that serious chaos or danger is RIGHT THERE ABOUT TO HAPPEN, everyone including you is hungry, and you have to pee but you’re scared to leave the room so you just bring them all with you.

I am supposed to be in charge of our family finances. I can’t even tell you what an absurd situation that is. Things (bills? important paperwork?) are piling up and I just arrange them in neat piles so the house looks orderly, because I have to have order, and then I carry on.

THAT is why I got myself a “mother’s helper,” and now I feel hopeful that I’ll at least be able to tread water again instead of drowning. My enthusiasm perhaps rattled her a bit. I wanted to jump up and run around my kitchen yelling “HOT DAMN, I’VE GOT HELP!” but instead I sat in one place in a controlled manner and motor mouthed about how excited I am.

Apparently there is a whole world that is just now opening up to me involving nannies and baby sitters and mother’s helpers. Each title carries a different amount of responsibility and pay grade. I had to do actual research to figure out what was what because I am clueless, and I still am clueless, but I’ll tell you what … I’m clueless with an extra set of hands and right now that is ALL I CARE ABOUT.

I’m not going to drown.

This makes me so happy. 

Just Step Over Me.

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Ever since the time changed in October, Asher has been waking up at ungodly hours. He has always been sort of difficult with his sleep, just for the record. And he’s still little, just 2 1/2. I have to repeat this aloud several times a day so I don’t completely lose it.

Anyway, I have a whole series of early-morning photos like these on my phone. Every single one of these were taken before 5:30 a.m. I don’t know how else to cope with what is happening other than to just laugh at it. Okay, sometimes I cry too.


I know it’s a phase. I know there might not be a solution. And yet … I keep trying to fix it, because I simply cannot accept that nothing can be done. My day began at 3:30 this morning, and after a few failed attempts to lull him back to sleep, I said “Asher, you don’t know what you’ve done. You’ve gone too far now. Mommy has been pushed too far.” And he just smiled and said “Far?”

YES. FAR. TOO. FAR.

The mushy part of me thinks that this is a blessing, this is my time to cuddle with our middle child. He is probably still adjusting to having a little sister and maybe he needs that extra reassurance. I’ll probably look back on this fondly one day, when I have forgotten what it is actually like to survive on 5 hours of sleep for months on end. 

That’s around the time I’ll also know what day/date/year it is, I’ll finally feel rested and alert, and I’ll begin chirping at young mothers to “Enjoy it!!! It goes so fast!!!” With a lot of exclamation points because I’m so chipper.

Indeed, it does. It does go so fast, especially when your days are like 19 hours long and they all run together into a nonsensical blur. That’s when you know it’s going fast — when it’s blurry. It’s blurry because we are on a wild, out-of-control ride, we can’t sleep, and we are disoriented. 

When I finally get off, I’ll just crawl to the platform and lie there for a long time while everyone else steps over me.

Weigh In.

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I’m finally down to my pre-Pepper weight, which is still a surprisingly high number that I will not disclose to ANYONE. There is this mom at the gym who I was chatting with the other week and we were discussing our struggle with weight loss after child(ren) and she said, “Yeah, after working out for 9 months I finally got back down to 116 …”  

That’s when I started laughing. Um, I have never in my life weighed 116 pounds. I have absolutely no recollection of ever getting on the scale and seeing 116 flash up. I am fairly certain I was born at 120 and it just went up from there. 

However, I really am proud of the fact that I have managed to shed the 50+ pounds I gained with Pepper. I’m older now, and that does make a difference … although it’s not like I had a lightning-fast metabolism before. This is an accomplishment. 

Apparently I come from hardy stock; the ancestors on my dad’s side were Vikings. That’s probably why I weigh a lot. Vikings stepped on people’s necks and broke them. They had heavy feet. When I type that out, it doesn’t make sense, but I’m TELLING YOU, it’s my ancestry. It’s not the cookies.

This is how I lift weights.

My old jeans still don’t fit, but I plan to start going to yoga a few times a week which I swear helps everything move back into place. I really don’t know why I don’t go to the gym every single day, because the days that I do go are much less stressful than when I skip. Sometimes I check the kids into the nursery, sit somewhere, and stare into space. Sometimes I read a magazine. Sometimes I think about lifting weights, and then I go right back to reading my magazine.

Just because I have kids doesn’t mean I have to give up. At this point in my life, it’s not so much about anything other than how I feel about myself. Attitude is everything, you know. I have to have a big one to balance out my ass.