...I said I was going to post more regularly? I may not have mentioned before that when it comes to what I think I can accomplish, I am a terminal optimist. But, here I am, so at least I haven't totally slacked off.
Tuesday night I went out to dinner. With the girls. And left both kids at home. With Dad.
This may not seem like a big thing, but it's only the second time in the 8 months since Toby was born that I have been all alone out in the world. It was really, really good to find out that underneath all these layers of "Mom", I'm still just little old me. And a glass of Pinot Noir still tastes better in a restaurant with good friends.
The time away refreshed me for the week with the boys, who I swear have made it a point to be twice as cute as usual this week. Case in point: Jack was running around the living room, burning off a little excess energy and shreaking like a monkey, when I channeled my father and told him to "cool his jets". Without missing a beat he halted his monkey-chatter long enough to chirp "What? You want a piece of me?!" as he ran right past me.
The kid better make me a fortune at stand-up comedy, that's all I can say about that.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Few and Far Between
So my friend Robin says my updates have become too few and far between. In that vein, I'll be updating more regularly. (Headline: Dozens Rejoice. Film at 11.)
It's been a crazy sort of week; life-altering in its way. I've been inactive in the LDS church for about 7 years now. This week, I finally mailed the letter that officially ended my membership. And just like that, life goes on. I'm not sure what the fallout will be, but I feel like I've finally taken a conscious step forward in my life. "No fate but what we make for ourselves" or whatever they said in that Terminator movie, right?
It's been a crazy sort of week; life-altering in its way. I've been inactive in the LDS church for about 7 years now. This week, I finally mailed the letter that officially ended my membership. And just like that, life goes on. I'm not sure what the fallout will be, but I feel like I've finally taken a conscious step forward in my life. "No fate but what we make for ourselves" or whatever they said in that Terminator movie, right?
Monday, June 19, 2006
Lockin' Up The Kitty...
Update: Found! Cassie was hiding in a previously unknown hole of sorts underneath the deck. We managed to wrangle her out this evening after dinner. After a bath and a meal, she is returning to her old self.
Apparently the girls had a falling out while they were on their little AWOL adventure. Every time they get within a few feet of each other the hissing starts, followed closely by the growling and the baring of teeth. It's like hanging with Paris and Nicole, except the cats are smarter.
SO, lights out doors locked... and the family all under one roof. All is right with the world again.
Apparently the girls had a falling out while they were on their little AWOL adventure. Every time they get within a few feet of each other the hissing starts, followed closely by the growling and the baring of teeth. It's like hanging with Paris and Nicole, except the cats are smarter.
SO, lights out doors locked... and the family all under one roof. All is right with the world again.
My Other Kids.
I may not have mentioned recently that, in addition to our two small boys, T and I have 2 girls from before we were married. That's right, I was an unwed mother. I tenderly bottle fed my twin girls, stayed up nights with them, comforted them when they were scared. For the past 5 years they have been a constant in my life: cheering me up when I was sad, massaging my back when I was pregnant and miserable, and snuggling with me in my bed when T was out of town or gone overnight.
The fact that they are black and furry doesn't change a thing.
Our girls have an ongoing flirtation with "out of doors". They like to wait until the door is cracked open, then dart out for a brief breath of fresh air. Of course, as they are totally domesticated, pampered princesses, they immediately realize "oh shit, I'm OUTSIDE!" and do a 180 back into the house. Back to where the ground is soft, there is an endless supply of salmon-flavored kibble, little crinkly toys that smell of catnip, and patches of sunshine where one can lounge in air-conditioned comfort.
Yesterday, it seems, they decided they had had enough of our rules. Or maybe they heard me talking about possibly shaving Cassie to get under the knots that have formed under her coat despite sick amounts of grooming.
Whatever the reason, they waited for an opportunity and headed off into the great big world. We didn't even realize they had gone until evening; when we put the kids to bed and they didn't come to reclaim each individual square foot of the house as their own.
I panicked. We searched the house. I wandered outside in my slippers, calling and clicking. T swept the back yard. We took turns hiking through the scrub brush behind the houses, calling and begging... shaking the can of treats.... Nada.
Chloe, usually the most adventurous of the pair, apparently returned in the night and bedded down in the garden shed. (Kind of like the time I ran away from home. I got too scared to actually leave the yard and ended up spending the afternoon in my clubhouse. Which was totally like running away, even if my family never knew I was "gone". )
After a bath and a meal, she was much happier. I was apoplectic; overjoyed to have her back and devestated that the girls weren't together.
Somewhere Cassie, the prissy, long-haired duchess of a kitty, is alone in The Big Blue Room. There's a storm on the way, and she is all alone in the big bad world. And, bless her heart, I'm not sure she's got the brains to find her way home. She's as sweet as can be, it's just that she couldn't figure her way out of a paper bag.
Wherever you are out there, Cassie: Don't worry. Mama's Coming.
The fact that they are black and furry doesn't change a thing.
Our girls have an ongoing flirtation with "out of doors". They like to wait until the door is cracked open, then dart out for a brief breath of fresh air. Of course, as they are totally domesticated, pampered princesses, they immediately realize "oh shit, I'm OUTSIDE!" and do a 180 back into the house. Back to where the ground is soft, there is an endless supply of salmon-flavored kibble, little crinkly toys that smell of catnip, and patches of sunshine where one can lounge in air-conditioned comfort.
Yesterday, it seems, they decided they had had enough of our rules. Or maybe they heard me talking about possibly shaving Cassie to get under the knots that have formed under her coat despite sick amounts of grooming.
Whatever the reason, they waited for an opportunity and headed off into the great big world. We didn't even realize they had gone until evening; when we put the kids to bed and they didn't come to reclaim each individual square foot of the house as their own.
I panicked. We searched the house. I wandered outside in my slippers, calling and clicking. T swept the back yard. We took turns hiking through the scrub brush behind the houses, calling and begging... shaking the can of treats.... Nada.
Chloe, usually the most adventurous of the pair, apparently returned in the night and bedded down in the garden shed. (Kind of like the time I ran away from home. I got too scared to actually leave the yard and ended up spending the afternoon in my clubhouse. Which was totally like running away, even if my family never knew I was "gone". )
After a bath and a meal, she was much happier. I was apoplectic; overjoyed to have her back and devestated that the girls weren't together.
Somewhere Cassie, the prissy, long-haired duchess of a kitty, is alone in The Big Blue Room. There's a storm on the way, and she is all alone in the big bad world. And, bless her heart, I'm not sure she's got the brains to find her way home. She's as sweet as can be, it's just that she couldn't figure her way out of a paper bag.
Wherever you are out there, Cassie: Don't worry. Mama's Coming.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Independence Day
I know I'm a few weeks early for the 4th of July, but as I was vacuuming with my Dyson - the Rock Star of Vacuum Cleaners- (Mine is blue and purple with silver glitter and cleans up like dirt is food and it hasn't eaten in a fortnight) I was thinking about how this particular vacuum cleaner is marketed to exactly people like me: young, middle-class, and not so far removed from the days of smearing themselves with body glitter and staying out until sane grown-ups are getting up for their work day.
That was a very run-on sentence, but hopefully I expressed the point.
It seems like each generation pushes their right to break the mold further and further out. The previous generation burned their bras, protested war and inequality, and crafted the art of rock and roll. They asserted themselves as individuals and smashed societal expectations for conformity. Some of it was noble, some of it wasn't, but for better or for worse it made it possible for my generation to have a much wider avenue to explore through our adolescence.
As I pondered this thought, I meandered on to the idea that my generation is launching our own, if somewhat less globe-shaking, rebellion. My generation is redefining what it means to be a mother. I realize that I am a part of a rising tide of mothers who refuse to fit anyone else's model of motherhood; this "new feminism" is an assertion of our right as women to be whatever we want to be. No longer is it a choice between "barefoot and pregnant" or "career-driven". A mom can be anything or everything she wants to be, and accept the beauty of who she is.
I am not afraid to admit to my depression, or to the treatment of it. I am proud to be a twenty-seven year old, stay-at-home mother of two, with a mortgage, a station wagon, and a tattoo. It's okay that my kids favorite tunes are Jimi Hendrix and Dave Matthews. There is no shame in choosing to forego my degree until later in my life; there would be no shame in choosing not to.
A few months after my first son was born, I was talking to my mother near dinner time. I mentioned that I was cooking dinner and still in my pajamas from that morning. A testament to the time she lived in, she said (with barely suppressed horror) "Oh, Honey... I don't think a husband should ever have to come home to a wife still in her pajamas."
I told her, without hesitation, "Mom, he'll just be happy they're not the same pajamas I was wearing yesterday."
To be a Mom today means that it's okay to admit that I am not perfect - as a human being or as a mother. I'm not ashamed that I have been known to slack on the laundry, that the sink is often full of dirty dishes, that I don't manage to get a shower every day. It's even all right to admit that there are days when I seriously consider placing my preschooler out on the sidewalk in front of my house with a sign around his neck that says "Free To Good Home".
I am okay with the fact that my kids' faces are sometimes dirty, that we sometimes go outside in our bare feet, and that I sometimes let my three-year-old have sips off my diet Pepsi (which I just cleaned up a puddle of after he found the half-finished one I left sitting on the coffee table.) I'm not afraid to admit that some days I cry uncontrollably out of joy or frustration - or sometimes both, simultaneously.
Every day is a struggle for a mother; we have to live minute by minute, meal to meal, chore to chore. We don't get to pee alone, to eat hot meals, to talk on the phone without a million interruptions. We have to fight to remind our children, our husbands, that our bodies are our own. We give our children everything with very little in the way of thanks - and their love and happiness is all we desire in return. We struggle to find a way to be everyone we need to be - Wife, Mother, Lover, Cook, Maid, Therapist, Nurse, Secretary. We snatch a minute or two for ourselves when we can, try to remember not to talk baby-talk in adult company, and get way too little sleep.
But to be a mother today comes with a perk my mother never had - the right to be honest about it. We can commiserate with other mothers, demand help from our spouses, and even sometimes complain. We can admit that this strange career of motherhood is not easy, that we are not Wonderwoman. We can say out loud that sometimes we wish we could run away from home, or at least occasionally get a hot cup of coffee and use the bathroom all alone. We can have a tattoo and obsess over "Grey's Anatomy" and occassionally spend way too much on shoes.
And we can hand a very hearty "Fuck You" to anyone who tries to tell us that's not okay.
Rock On, Mamas. Rock On.
That was a very run-on sentence, but hopefully I expressed the point.
It seems like each generation pushes their right to break the mold further and further out. The previous generation burned their bras, protested war and inequality, and crafted the art of rock and roll. They asserted themselves as individuals and smashed societal expectations for conformity. Some of it was noble, some of it wasn't, but for better or for worse it made it possible for my generation to have a much wider avenue to explore through our adolescence.
As I pondered this thought, I meandered on to the idea that my generation is launching our own, if somewhat less globe-shaking, rebellion. My generation is redefining what it means to be a mother. I realize that I am a part of a rising tide of mothers who refuse to fit anyone else's model of motherhood; this "new feminism" is an assertion of our right as women to be whatever we want to be. No longer is it a choice between "barefoot and pregnant" or "career-driven". A mom can be anything or everything she wants to be, and accept the beauty of who she is.
I am not afraid to admit to my depression, or to the treatment of it. I am proud to be a twenty-seven year old, stay-at-home mother of two, with a mortgage, a station wagon, and a tattoo. It's okay that my kids favorite tunes are Jimi Hendrix and Dave Matthews. There is no shame in choosing to forego my degree until later in my life; there would be no shame in choosing not to.
A few months after my first son was born, I was talking to my mother near dinner time. I mentioned that I was cooking dinner and still in my pajamas from that morning. A testament to the time she lived in, she said (with barely suppressed horror) "Oh, Honey... I don't think a husband should ever have to come home to a wife still in her pajamas."
I told her, without hesitation, "Mom, he'll just be happy they're not the same pajamas I was wearing yesterday."
To be a Mom today means that it's okay to admit that I am not perfect - as a human being or as a mother. I'm not ashamed that I have been known to slack on the laundry, that the sink is often full of dirty dishes, that I don't manage to get a shower every day. It's even all right to admit that there are days when I seriously consider placing my preschooler out on the sidewalk in front of my house with a sign around his neck that says "Free To Good Home".
I am okay with the fact that my kids' faces are sometimes dirty, that we sometimes go outside in our bare feet, and that I sometimes let my three-year-old have sips off my diet Pepsi (which I just cleaned up a puddle of after he found the half-finished one I left sitting on the coffee table.) I'm not afraid to admit that some days I cry uncontrollably out of joy or frustration - or sometimes both, simultaneously.
Every day is a struggle for a mother; we have to live minute by minute, meal to meal, chore to chore. We don't get to pee alone, to eat hot meals, to talk on the phone without a million interruptions. We have to fight to remind our children, our husbands, that our bodies are our own. We give our children everything with very little in the way of thanks - and their love and happiness is all we desire in return. We struggle to find a way to be everyone we need to be - Wife, Mother, Lover, Cook, Maid, Therapist, Nurse, Secretary. We snatch a minute or two for ourselves when we can, try to remember not to talk baby-talk in adult company, and get way too little sleep.
But to be a mother today comes with a perk my mother never had - the right to be honest about it. We can commiserate with other mothers, demand help from our spouses, and even sometimes complain. We can admit that this strange career of motherhood is not easy, that we are not Wonderwoman. We can say out loud that sometimes we wish we could run away from home, or at least occasionally get a hot cup of coffee and use the bathroom all alone. We can have a tattoo and obsess over "Grey's Anatomy" and occassionally spend way too much on shoes.
And we can hand a very hearty "Fuck You" to anyone who tries to tell us that's not okay.
Rock On, Mamas. Rock On.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Do Not Adjust Your Reception
So.. I lost 7 pounds.
Okay, not in a good way... more in a "so sick and full of mucus that I couldn't eat for about a week" kind of way, but screw it.. the jeans fit better either way. I'll take what I can get.
Potty training continues... we've moved from total nudity to the "underpants only" segment of our program today. Since I put him in the underpants at around noon, Jack has not had an accident. Then again, he hasn't gone to the potty yet, either. Can't declare it a win until he actually pulls the elmo-underoos down and does his business, so the wait continues. I know, I know.. you're dying of anticipation, just ITCHING to hear more about my sons excrementory exploits. But that, my friend, is because you are either (a) sick and demented or (b) a parent who has gone through this and is taking cruel pleasure in my pain. (*insert your pointing and laughing here*)
In other news, my body is finally recovering from this evil hoodoo virus that overtook it nearly a week ago and, other than coughing up things that I am sure will give me nightmares in the days to come, I am feeling almost okay this afternoon.
Toby finally pooped. Daddy got to change it. Some higher deity really MUST love me! I even managed to get a hot shower AND a shot of brandy in my herbal tea, which loosened up my chest long enough for me to fall asleep on Wednesday night. (Mom, if you are reading this, it was totally medicinal. Like NyQuil... only much more satisfying...and with a much higher likelyhood that I'll wake up with someone else's underwear and a bunch of one dollar bills...)
SO today finds us gearing up for an adventure this afternoon. First to HairCuttery to shear off Jack's unruly mop of hair that is starting to make him look undeniably feminine...Then to WalMart so he can pick out a new pack of underoos in the Licensed Character of his choice. Whatever it takes, folks. There is almost nothing I won't do to get the child to use the commode. Seriously.
In fact, when we told him he could basically pick any reward he wants for getting TOTALLY potty trained.. and he picked... a puppy... I even managed to control the tide of overwhelming panic. Only my twitchy eye gave me away. But what can ya do???
Okay, not in a good way... more in a "so sick and full of mucus that I couldn't eat for about a week" kind of way, but screw it.. the jeans fit better either way. I'll take what I can get.
Potty training continues... we've moved from total nudity to the "underpants only" segment of our program today. Since I put him in the underpants at around noon, Jack has not had an accident. Then again, he hasn't gone to the potty yet, either. Can't declare it a win until he actually pulls the elmo-underoos down and does his business, so the wait continues. I know, I know.. you're dying of anticipation, just ITCHING to hear more about my sons excrementory exploits. But that, my friend, is because you are either (a) sick and demented or (b) a parent who has gone through this and is taking cruel pleasure in my pain. (*insert your pointing and laughing here*)
In other news, my body is finally recovering from this evil hoodoo virus that overtook it nearly a week ago and, other than coughing up things that I am sure will give me nightmares in the days to come, I am feeling almost okay this afternoon.
Toby finally pooped. Daddy got to change it. Some higher deity really MUST love me! I even managed to get a hot shower AND a shot of brandy in my herbal tea, which loosened up my chest long enough for me to fall asleep on Wednesday night. (Mom, if you are reading this, it was totally medicinal. Like NyQuil... only much more satisfying...and with a much higher likelyhood that I'll wake up with someone else's underwear and a bunch of one dollar bills...)
SO today finds us gearing up for an adventure this afternoon. First to HairCuttery to shear off Jack's unruly mop of hair that is starting to make him look undeniably feminine...Then to WalMart so he can pick out a new pack of underoos in the Licensed Character of his choice. Whatever it takes, folks. There is almost nothing I won't do to get the child to use the commode. Seriously.
In fact, when we told him he could basically pick any reward he wants for getting TOTALLY potty trained.. and he picked... a puppy... I even managed to control the tide of overwhelming panic. Only my twitchy eye gave me away. But what can ya do???
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
The Functions of the Bodily
Some Updates on things not appropriate for casual conversation:
- Potty Training has officially begun in earnest. Jack has been running around sans coulottes for 2 days now, and so far has used the potty a grand total of 6 times. Hooray!
- I woke up Sunday morning with a sore throat, which has progressed into a raging head cold that is slowly consuming my entire body. The mucus. My God The Mucus.
- Toby has not pooped for 2 days now. When this situation resolves itself it will be, you can be sure, an event of volcanic proportions.
- It has officially been 3 days since I had a shower. I thought I was getting the chills, but it turns out my body is just violently rejecting the filmy coating. My one and only goal for the afternoon is to get both boys down for a nap by 2pm so I can stand under a scalding shower until I pass out.
- I need a very strong hot toddy. And a very long nap. And I'm just praying T will get out of the office early so I can get these things before the cold takes over entirely and forms a symbiotic phlegm life form in my chest cavity. It could totally happen.
- Potty Training has officially begun in earnest. Jack has been running around sans coulottes for 2 days now, and so far has used the potty a grand total of 6 times. Hooray!
- I woke up Sunday morning with a sore throat, which has progressed into a raging head cold that is slowly consuming my entire body. The mucus. My God The Mucus.
- Toby has not pooped for 2 days now. When this situation resolves itself it will be, you can be sure, an event of volcanic proportions.
- It has officially been 3 days since I had a shower. I thought I was getting the chills, but it turns out my body is just violently rejecting the filmy coating. My one and only goal for the afternoon is to get both boys down for a nap by 2pm so I can stand under a scalding shower until I pass out.
- I need a very strong hot toddy. And a very long nap. And I'm just praying T will get out of the office early so I can get these things before the cold takes over entirely and forms a symbiotic phlegm life form in my chest cavity. It could totally happen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)