Do your kids participate in competitive sports? How in the world do you cope with it. Recent experience has shown me that I can. not. handle the pressure of watching my loved ones play in sporting events where there’s a chance they might lose. I’ve written about it at Parenting and I’d love for you to come and share your experience, stories or possible advice. Because I need to chill way the heck out.
Best Wine List Ever
What makes for an award-winning wine list?
Nice font choice?
Good use of white spice?
High quality paper?
I hardly think it was the art work.
I wonder what it would take for my To-Do list to become “award winning.”
Reminders
I’m very tunnel-visioned when I feel yucky like this. I feel like it will go on forever. I feel like no one has ever suffered so greatly. I feel that my feelings are self-centered and off base and yet I feel them and live in my tunnel whining just loudly enough for everyone outside the tunnel to hear me.
Luckily there are reminders in my life that tell my why I’m doing this, why I’m glad I’m doing this, why there’s nothing I’d rather do.
A few days ago, Laylee put this folded piece of paper outside my bedroom door. I saw it. I saw that it was made out of one of my stationary cards. I resisted the urge to remind her that I’ve asked her perhaps 37 times not to use my stationary cards without asking. I waited.
Yesterday afternoon she implored me, “Mom. Do not move your mail box like you did last time I left one for you. If you move it, you just won’t get any mail.”
I know you’re shocked that last time I found a crumpled-looking piece of paper on the floor outside my bedroom, I threw it out. This time she made it a little harder for me to discard by writing its name on the paper. OH! It’s a Ma-ole Box. Got it.
She told me that “some kids from school” had sent home letters for me and dad and that she’d deliver them later. She said the kids wanted to remain anonymous. I pretended I hadn’t seen her write the letters or helped her spell “Kathryn” on one of them.
Then last night, I came home from a church dinner, emptied the dinner out into the porcelain dinner receptacle and headed upstairs to change my clothes, discouraged and with a mingled sense of hunger and food-loathing.
In my ma-ole box were 4 letters. One was for Dan from a secret admirer:
Envelope:
Card:
One was for me from a similarly “secret” admirer:
Envelope:
Card:
Then there was one for Dad from Laylee.
Envelope:
Front:
Back:
And one to me From Laylee:
Envelope:
Back:
The backs of the 2 cards from Laylee are what really got my motherly feelings flowing straight through my eyeballs. I’ve felt so lame and inadequate these past few weeks but in her mind I am still the source of soaring hugs, floating hearts and love. I want to be those things and according to my daughter, I still am. This was what I needed.
Today I was a Mom — Part Two
A while ago I wrote a post called Today I Was a Mom. The title of the post was meant to imply that although I rarely get my job perfectly right, there are those precious few days when I can hold my head high and say, “Yay. I did it. Today I was a MOM!”
A lot of people enjoyed or identified with the post. Several others said it made them feel inadequate, that if that’s what it takes to be a mom everyday, then they were failures. One man repeatedly emailed me about the post, calling me smug and telling me that I lived a charmed life with no real problems and should shut my stupid mouth. It was sweet.
Today I’d like to share a different kind of mom day. Here is my report:
I woke up late and wandered downstairs to find Magoo watching cartoons.
I pulled Laylee reluctantly from bed and fed them sugar cereal and leftovers from last night’s dinner for breakfast, while I got dressed.
She asked if she could wear a dress to school and I agreed that yes she could… another day… if I ever did laundry again.
I dropped Laylee off 2 minutes late for school but was grateful that she made it in before they shut the main doors so she wouldn’t have to go to the office for a late slip.
After unloading Magoo at preschool where he cried because he didn’t want to attend without his baseball cap, which I could not find, I drove to the mall in search of new makeup.
I could write a whole post about how much Sephora intimidates me but I went inside anyway to have an expert help me pick out facial supplies to help cover or at least blur my pregnancy breakout. The woman who was helping me did a great job selling me on the Bare Minerals and applying them to my face and then added the finishing touch of orange blush over my entire face.
I bought the makeup and left the store looking like a pumpkin, sure that I could do a better job applying it than she had and picked up Magoo from his class.
We had 20 minutes until I needed to walk the 2 blocks to pick Laylee up from the bus stop so instead of going home and walking back up the street, I parked at the bus stop with the squirming Magoo and waited it out. Who needs unnecessary movement in her life or the life of her previously active 3-year-old? Not me apparently.
I purchased a smoothie at the mall but didn’t notice that when I placed it in the drink holder, I punched a tiny hole in the bottom of the cup with the straw. The contents of the cup leaked out all over the carpeting of my car which now smells like vomit but strangely not because I vomited in it this time.
I only let my kids play outside for 10 minutes this afternoon because the cold weather makes me nauseous and I didn’t want them to play unsupervised.
I then yelled at my kids for jumping around inside the house because it “makes the ground shake” which aggravates my nausea.
I used the word “nauseous” in it’s various forms around 300 more times.
Then I let them watch full episodes of Electric Company on PBSKIDS.org for 3 hours to keep them entertained while I laid on the couch with a pillow over my head to suppress my dehydration headache.
On the way out the door to my PTA meeting, I decided to take a quick potty break, afraid of using the teeny toilets at the elementary school. Sadly I didn’t notice the giant puddle Magoo had left for me on the toilet seat until after I sat down and dipped my shirt into it.
I madly dug through the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry on the couch where I’ve been getting all my clothes for the last week and found a shirt long enough to cover up the fact that I’m wearing my pants unzipped these days.
Although I called and begged repeatedly for the kids to get their coats and shoes on, it did not happen. Lately they have this attitude that seems to say, “What are you gonna do? Get off the couch and make me? Stop barfing and make me?” And they’re right, I’m not.
When we all got into the car, I noticed that the garage door was still open from their microscopic outdoor play time. But I couldn’t just close it. Oh no. The kids had strategically placed outdoor toys all along the line of where the door is supposed to hit when it goes down.
I cleaned up the toys with clenched teeth and growled back at the van and its passengers. Then I noticed the broken mega jumbo bottle of bubble solution spilled all over the floor of the garage.
I wasn’t nice.
When we got to the meeting, Dan was already there to pick the kids up so they didn’t get to go in and play with the babysitter. They cried. They yelled. I exited the car.
I showed no sympathy.
I got home while Dan was bathing the kids and told him I needed to go lie down, leaving him to do bedtime alone. I blew the kids kisses and headed downstairs to turn into a vegetable in front of the TV.
I felt sick. I felt guilty. I’ll do better tomorrow.
It’s In the Spin
I’d gotten up the gumption to tidy the kitchen, sweep the floors and even eat some food. These gumptionful actions sent me straight to the couch where I was contemplating a long term stay. I had both phones next to me, my laptop on top of where it’s supposed to go as per its creative name. I was wasting time on Facebook.
Laylee and Magoo walked into the room looking somber.
“Mom,” she began, “I decided it would be better to just tell you the truth.”
“Yeah,” piped in Igor, shaking his head but standing boldly at her right shoulder.
“Just tell me what happened.”
“Well, I was getting out the cheese,” she said, holding up a 2lb babyloaf of Tillamook, “And the salsa fell down.”
“Yeah,” her henchman echoed, trying to look sober but actually looking super-glad he wasn’t to blame. “And broke.” “With glass.”
I looked up at her. I’d just cleaned the kitchen floor for the first time in weeks and now I was recovering, only to be told that the little filth-mongers who are my children have just shattered a bottle of salsa on the floor.
How do you respond to someone who says, “I decided it would be better to tell you the truth”?
Do you freak out and tell them by your actions, “You probably should have lied because I am Ticked OFF!”?
No. You remain calm. You roll off the couch and you clean up the salsa and glass off the floor. You thank them for telling the truth. Maybe you passive-aggressively remind them that you just finished cleaning the floor and ask them to be more careful.
When they spin it like that, you don’t have much choice. I think they know this. It’s all part of the plan.
Laylee’s Take on Work/Family Relations
Sometimes her play mirrors reality and sometimes it more closely resembles reality as she wishes it would be. Other times I have no idea where her playtime dialogue and drama comes from, like when she plays a mom who is a raving lunatic, completely controlling of her children and yelling at them in a crazy German accent. I have never used a German accent so I see this type of play as pure imagination run amok.
[read more]
There’s Still Time for Ye Olde Holiday Fun, Me Lads and Lassies
The night before Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day Eve respectively, Laylee went on and on about how awesome the holiday was going to be and how she could not WAIT until tomorrow.
“Uuuuhhhhh….. yeah. It’s gonna be so awesome,” I replied.
My plan for the day was to say, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” and give her a big hug, then go about my business. After putting the kids to bed I got a call from my friend Nancy about something unrelated to Valentine’s Day and mentioned that I was in deep doggy droppings because I didn’t have the energy or creativity to pull off an even remotely awesome Valentine’s for the kids.
She may argue with me on how I quote her here but she said something along the lines of, “Dude! All you have to do to be the best mom ever on Valentine’s Day is make pink pancakes in the shape of hearts. Bam! Best mom ever. Oh, and St. Patrick’s Day is coming up so buy lucky charms for breakfast and dye the milk green. Bam! Best mom ever.”
I took her advice to heart and it worked. The kids thought it was the most special amazing Valentine’s Day ever. Although I must admit I one-upped the Nanster by cutting out red paper hearts, writing shmoopish messages on them and taping them to pieces of candy for the kids.
Today when the green milk emerged from the fridge and SUGAR CEREAL was pulled from the cupboard, my kids’ heads mildly exploded. Laylee was 100% sure that Leprechauns were to blame for the violated milk, which Laylee and Magoo then slurped with a fervor, that can only be induced by alleged magic.
You know, you still have time to follow Nancy’s advice and be the best mom ever today. No one ever said that sugar cereal and milk that looks like it came from a diseased cow don’t make a perfectly acceptable dinner.
I, Captain Barbossa
The other day I was sitting at dinner watching Dan drink water. He just drank it, gulped it down, an entire glass like it was nothing. I licked my parched lips, felt the soreness in my dehydrated kidneys and the ache in my shriveled stomach.
“That’s amazing,” I said.
It was beautiful to watch. I imagined it was me drinking, swallowing a whole 12 ounces of water with no fear of yorching it up moments later and I was transfixed.
I find myself staring at my kids while they eat, enjoying each bite in a voyeuristic sort of way, asking them to take just one more. I prepare food that I normally love but cannot stomach right now and when I do risk a bite, it inevitably comes back up.
I turned to Dan at dinner.
“I feel like Captain Barbossa!
I’m unable to eat but twistedly delight in watching other people enjoy the pleasure. Please eat a bite of the apple while I watch the slobber drip down your chin.”
Mwahaha!
Pathetic.
Bedtime
We have a big fat hairy bedtime routine at our house. First we send the kids up to prepare for inspection. They’re supposed to brush their teeth, go potty, flush the toilet, wash their hands, make sure the bathroom’s tidy, turn off the lights, get in their pajamas and pick a story.
Dan comes up and does a military-style inspection. You may ask, “How does Dan know how to do a military-style inspection?” and I would answer, “From TV. Duh!” To perform a military inspection, don’t you basically just bark out orders, while going down a checklist of to-do items and remaining extremely serious while the inspected parties giggle and yell back either “CHECK!” or more sheepishly, “UN-check!”? When they yell “UN-check!” usually in regards to flushing or washing hands, they scamper off to complete the task so they can then yell “CHECK!”
The only time Dan breaks his harsh military demeanor while performing the inspection is at the end when he gives high fives and tells them what a great job they did. I’m pretty sure that behavior is not regulation. It’s also probably not regulation to perform the inspection while a pathetic parched-lipped woman lays on the floor in the corner of the room, attempting to hold in her vomit. But such is life in our household these days.
I will report that I did not vomit yesterday, much to the chagrin of my stomach, who fought hard to liberate its contents. This triumph brought me to the gym today, followed by a chiropractor appointment, wherein the substitute chiropractor looked into my eyes and told me he could tell 100% just by looking at my irises that I’m going to have a boy. I’ve been sort of feeling a boy vibe for a couple of years now so I choose to believe him.
So on to bedtime. We then read the kid’s stories and have scripture time. After reading all the way through the Book of Mormon a couple of pages at a time with very little comprehension on the part of the kids, we’ve moved on to illustrated stories from the New Testament. These are definitely a much bigger hit as they have pictures, fewer Thou-type words, and most of the time when the kids guess that the guy with the beard is Jesus, it actually is.
Then we do prayers, the lights go out and we let the kids each pick a song for us to sing to them.
Lately Magoo has become obsessed with a song he learned at church, “We are a Happy Family”. He loves it. When we ask him which song he wants, he proceeds to sing, “She loves me. She loves me. We are a happy family.” I love that in his mind, the whole song boils down to “Mom loves me. Mom loves me. This equals happiness for all people.”
We’ve been meaning to record his song request for a while but when we finally got around to it, he’d changed his lyrics a bit. It’s still cute as a button though. Please overlook the fact that his pajamas are an advertisement for the Wii. For some odd reason, these were not hot sellers and so there were millions of pairs of them on rock bottom clearance. I figured they would be no worse at covering his nakedness than say, Diet Coke pajamas or Geico pajamas. I feel almost no weirdness, wrapping my son in a giant advertisement to sleep each night.
The actual lyrics to the song are:
I love Mommy. She loves me.
We love Daddy. Yessiree.
He loves us and so you see.
We are a happy family.
I love Laylee. She loves me.
We love Magoo. Yessiree.
He loves us and so you see.
We are a happy family.
TMI
If you’d like way too much information about exactly how blick I’m feeling right now, you can read about it at Parenting.
In happier news, I had another solid Ultrasound today in an office with little glowing star lights on the ceiling and jazz music playing in the background, a real sheet to cover me instead of a paper gown, a large white leather recliner that lounged back into the exam table and the nicest doctor ever who took time to learn our names and our birth history so he could talk to us like people without glancing at our forms while we were talking.
Things are good, really good and it makes the sickness seem more worthwhile.