More gems.
It’s endless.
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| Husband (left) and Brother-In-Law (right), circa 2010. |
Awkward Family Photos.
Yesterday I came upon this gem:
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| Christmas 2010. |
I believe it qualifies for submission to Awkward Family Photos. I never really noticed before, but there is a LOT wrong with this picture. Husband’s hand on my ass. He’s giving the photographer a little thumb’s up, like “Check me out. My hand is on my wife’s ass. Merry Christmas to me.”
My brother-in-law … looking strangely like a Samurai master or a homeless man, or possibly both … is sitting in my father-in-law’s lap. Why? There was room to sit elsewhere. That rubberband on his arm was used later, when we french-braided each other’s hair.
ONE (sitting on my mother-in-law’s lap) looks drugged, like he might be asleep … but his eyes are open … so no, he’s awake. My mother-in-law is the only one who actually looks normal.
As an added bonus, if you look closely enough, you can spot another Awkward Family Photo hanging in the top left corner. That’s Husband in the blue sweater with the white collared shirt underneath.
Man, I love the holidays.
Today Was A Nice Day.
It’s been the perfect summer day, and we’re topping it off with Kool-Aid. That sugar/dye concoction has never made its way into my kitchen until now … but I figured he’ll be 4 in a few weeks, and it’s time for him to experience that part of childhood.
Cheers!!
Preparing.
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| The letter B. |
ONE will start preschool two weeks from today. I have been looking forward to this day for months, yet now that it’s nearly here I find myself getting weepy.
I’m sure I’ll get over it.
Preschool will be every day. And when it ends, the next step will be kindergarten. And then first grade. From here on out, my oldest will be in school on school days and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
For now, I’m trying to enjoy the last few days with him before his world is irrevocably expanded. We’re finger painting. We’re baking. We’re reading all of the tags on his stuffed animals to see where they were made. We’re watching the video of his grandpa, my dad, hula hooping at a birthday party last week … over and over and over again.
We’re nothing if not well-rounded.
That Will Be $80.
Sometimes I forget why I’m doing this. The stay-at-home thing, that is. It’s easy to get sidetracked by the bills that are stacking up … you know you can pay them, it’s just that you’ll be stuck eating Great Value food for another two weeks. Life happens. Things break. Little problems seem like big problems because you don’t have the money to handle them immediately. You have to wait. You have to plan. You have to be patient. You have to set aside whatever you might want.
Sometimes I get bitter. I forget. I get tired of being patient. I get bogged down by the constant demands of my family and the housework and I forget that I consciously chose this for myself.
I choose this.
Every day. Not because someone enslaved me or circumstances forced me into it, but because I find delight in it. That’s pretty deep. Not many women can say they find DELIGHT in what they do … can they? Although I realize I don’t always sound delightful. Half of the time I’m bitching about something and the other half I’m cackling like a loon or taking pictures of my undergarments cooking me breakfast. I need to post a big sign next to my bed as a reminder, for those times when I feel like my life has become a series of non stop drudgery:
“Hello, Bitchy Face.
You CHOOSE this.
It delights you.
Now stop that whining
and go wipe some asses.”
It really does delight me. I’m not being sarcastic. Yesterday I was close to tears when my little one, TWO, suddenly grabbed my face and (I think?) tried to kiss me, and then giggled like it was the funniest. thing. ever. He is my delight. His brother is my delight. My home and my husband are my delight. I truly have nothing to complain about. But yet, I do complain … because I forget.
I totally believe this is the main reason why some stay-at-home moms become one of the following:
1. Crazy. Not the fun kind.
2. Cold to their husbands.
3. Unhappy in their work.
4. Living through their children.
To my fellow Bitchy Faces, remind yourselves of your value. You are not just a maid and a supplier of food and water. Make yourself a sign, and carry on.
And if your husband randomly decides to take you OUT, meaning, outside of your home after 7 pm, then by all means make the most of it.
DO NOT THROW ON JUST ANY OLD THING.
Bring out the goods. Remind him that you’re not just a mommy — you’re his WIFE. I’m no marriage expert, but I know this: there is power in womanhood.
So to review: make a sign, have sex, be happy, and have a life other than your children. That will be $80, please.
A Solid B.
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.
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.
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.
I Love Mail.
I have something super cool coming to me in the mail from my friend Carrie, who is an Independent Designer for a company called Origami Owl. As soon as I get it, I’ll let you know. And you’ll want to know. Because it’s going to be awesome.
Mothervention.
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.
Modern Mommy Madness 