Drops of Awesome

We all know it’s important to take time that’s just for us, to recharge, to remember who we are, to have a teensy break from our 24/7 work schedules.

Some ideas:
1. I go to desert and late night movies in the middle of the week with my girlfriends. We go after the kids are in bed so we can be crazy, eat fattening food, watch movies our husbands wouldn’t be caught dead seeing and relive those carefree high school days of girl bonding.

2. I take long hot baths. I fill the tub as hot as I can stand it, bring in a good book or a magazine, light some candles and soak until my husband feels the need to come in and check my pulse.

3. Early morning walks with a friend are wonderful once we’re up and out. We breathe in the fresh air, talk about the joys and frustrations of our lives, meet interesting people and start the day with a bang.

4. Teaching piano — I teach one student once a week while her sweet mother plays with my kids. (They pay me a fairly low amount, so it’s not about the money, and should probably pay me nothing considering the free babysitting I’m getting out of it.) I love to teach and I consider this “me time.”

5. Book Club – reading the book, discussing online, meeting with friends once a month. Love it, love it love it.

What activities are important to you when you have a few minutes or a few hours all to yourself?

Why do you take this time?

How do you make it work with your family’s busy schedules?

I saw this picture on a website advertising home loans recently.

1. Why didn’t anyone tell us a clandestine cameraman was taking our picture when we signed our first Mortgage?

2. Why did they change our hair colors in post-production and Photoshop all that extra arm hair on Dan? I mean, come on, he’s manly enough as it is. Let’s not get gratuitous here.

3. Why was no one there to photo document our recent refinance? I was laughing so hard at that signing that I couldn’t reach for Dan’s fur-covered arm in time. I fell flat on my face on the mahogany desk of our closing agent, smashing it into a million pieces and scattering papers everywhere, in a fit of hysterical I-can’t-believe-we’re-getting-such-a-great-deal-on-this-fabulous-mortgage-product laughter.

Now THAT would have been a great picture to show the joy of the home loan process, me lying in a pile of papers and rubble, snorting like a pig, while giddy Dan picked wood-chips out of my hair with abandon.

She emerged timidly from her room this morning, unsure of the reception she would receive. Her face just melts me.

Love, hugs and cuddling. A serious talk about what she did, why we were upset, what the consequences will be. She lays her head against my chest and I stroke her hair.

I cried for a long time last night when she was finally asleep. I wanted my mommy.

“They” say ‘you hurt the ones you love the most.’
I say ‘you are hurt the most by the ones you love.’

If I didn’t give everything, mind body and soul for these kids, it wouldn’t hurt so much when they gave me that mocking look, the look that says, “I don’t need you. I can do what I want. Shove it, mom!”

I question everything. Everything about being a mother makes me question myself, my preconceptions, my feelings, my treatment of the kids. Am I saying the right things, being too rough, too lenient? Will some flippant comment I make be the subject of therapy years from now? Or will it be something I didn’t say or do, but should have?

We’re making people here, folks. This is serious business.

The DYM ain’t laughin’ today. I’m not crying either, just thinking.

Join me fellow witchy moms and we’ll take this baby for a spin. I am so mad right now, I can hardly type this post. However, doing so will keep my sweet little this-close-to-being-sold-to-the-next-group-of-traveling-gypsies daughter from being flung from the house.

Currently I am self-medicating with Dryer’s mint chocolate chip slow-churned. Dan’s drug of choice is Tums.

I have seriously never wanted to kick someone’s trash the way I want to right now and she’s laughing at me, no remorse whatsoever.

For the past two weeks, Laylee has decided that she’s potty trained. No more duct tape at night, no more diapers. I rarely even ask her if she has to go anymore. She just does. Amazing. I told a friend on Friday that we are on the downward slope of a very bratty 3 month period. We were glad to be on the downward slope.

Tonight this all changed. She is going to be 3 years old in a couple of months. She is very mature and usually well behaved for her age. She knows what we expect. Today signs of bratishness have abounded and it has worried me greatly.

Tonight when we put her in bed, she did this AGAIN! ONLY WORSE! She ground it so deep into the carpet that in certain places, we couldn’t get it out. We’re going to need professional help (take that however you want to).

It was in her hair, under her fingernails, EV-ER-Y-WHERE! Nothing we did could stop her from smiling. I scrubbed her down mercilessly with ice-cold water. I washed her hair with it and poured it over her head (to her, the worst kind of torture).

Still the smirk remained.

We made her sit in time out while we spent ½ an hour attempting to scrub the poop from the fibers of our semi-shag carpet.

We took away Ducky.

We took away starshine (a star lamp that she loves).

We removed every toy and fun wall hanging from her room (this sounds more dramatic than it really is. The room is being painted on Monday so we had to do this anyway. Good thing too because I couldn’t get all the poop out of the texturing on her wall. I guess they will just paint over it.).

Still the smirk remained.

We told her that because she was acting like a baby, she would have to wear diapers like a baby, not just today but tomorrow too, to church, with her friends, where they would all be wearing big kid panties and wouldn’t that be sad?

Still the smirk remained.

We told her maybe she wouldn’t get to go to nursery tomorrow (to her, the happiest place on earth).

Still the smirk remained.

She now lays in a deserted whoville-esque room of sadness but there is no crying, only smirking. The whole house smells like poop. I didn’t get to take a relaxing bath, work on NANOWRIMO, get through some paperwork that’s been stacking up, cuddle with my shmoop, eat bon bons or travel to Europe.

Nope. All I got to do was be a mom. Some days it’s glorious and some days it bites the big one. Tonight I got option B.

Your earrings were very eye-catching and sparkly.

I wanted to tell you this but felt intimidated by your 6’5” spike-heel-enhanced height and the two miniature body guards flanking you.

I nodded to nearly everyone I saw on the street as we headed to the theatre. To some I gave a smile. To others I said “Hello.”

To you, I made no gesture, said nothing. Isn’t it strange that you go to so much effort to attract attention to yourself, only to be studiously ignored by the majority of the people you pass on the street?

I liked the earrings, although I could not pull them off with my wardrobe. I thought you should know.

No one gave us a bedroom set and I’m okay with that. I still like all of you and I have confidence that when you are done with yours, you will pass it my way. I have confidence in sunshine. I have confidence in rain. I have confidence that some day…someone…will give us a beautiful bedroom set for free and we will sleep in luxury.

Now I want more. I wanna be where my people are. I wanna see, wanna see em drivin’, drivin’ around in a – what’s that word again? 2005-Honda-Odyessey-Mini-Van-With-Dual-Power-Sliding-Doors-Leather-Seats-Tinted-Windows-Optional-8th-Seat-and-Built-in-DVD-Player.

The catch is, I want to get it for practically no money……… because, that’s what I have at my disposal. SO, I’ve spent the morning on Craig’s List, emailing extremely low bids to people with vans of all kinds in hopes that some kind person will have pity on us and give us a great deal.

Just picture us driving thousands of miles to visit our family this Christmas, the kids in the backseat of our too small car with no chance of me going back to feed or read a story, gifts and baby gear piled up around their eyeballs (The Flying Smurf is bigger but the seatbelts don’t lock at all so we don’t feel safe putting car seats in there. It’s also less reliable.).

We’re considering renting a van for the 2 week trip which would cost $1000. So, why not spend a few thousand more and get a not-exactly-what-we-want-but-exactly-what-we-can-afford-at-the-moment substitute.

If you’ve got one and you have pity in your soul, shoot me an email.

Tonight is a date night. I have a babysitter coming at 8:00 and decided to get the kids down and asleep well before she comes. This involves keeping them up past their afternoon naps to get them to go down earlier tonight. In about 30 minutes.

So this whole afternoon our house has seen a serious case of Mad Cow Disease. Everyone has been mad and everyone has been having a cow (Yes, me too. Thanks for asking.).

Suddenly at dinner, Laylee turned sweet and hilarious and ate all the food on her plate. Magoo stopped screaming and started laughing for no reason.

Laylee says, “What do we eat for dinner?” (like she’s setting me up for a knock knock joke)
I say, “I don’t know. What?”
Laylee: FOOD! Bwa HA HA HA!
Me: That was a funny joke. You got any more?

So Laylee reaches way back to when she used to say, “Peek a Boo,” and Daddy would say, “Peek WHO’S BOO?” and she would laugh hysterically.

Me: Do you have any more jokes?
Laylee: Peek WHO’S BOO? (Hysterical laughter)
Me: Oh, that was a good one.
Laylee: Peek Magoo’s BOO? Peek Mommy’s BOO? Peek Laylee’s BOO? (Choking because she’s laughing so hard.)

It ain’t no thing. Don’t cry ner nothin’. My husband and I are just better at the microwave than you. You’re still a good person….most likely.

Lately I microwave everything for 90 seconds, regardless of what it is. I watch it while the rays burn holes through my brain and when the food is sufficiently bubbly or exploding, I take it out. I want to press clear on the key pad. I really do, but it doesn’t always happen.

“They” say you marry someone like your dad and maybe it’s true because this used to drive my dad nuts and now it drives Dan nuts as well. One afternoon he asked me with a smile, “Do you realize what time it is?”

Me: No. What time is it?
Dan: It’s “one” o’clock.
Me: No it’s not.
Dan: Yes – it is. That’s what the clock on the microwave says……”1”

“Why even bother to take the food out when there’s only 1 second left?” you might ask. I’ve thought about this and come to the conclusion that letting the microwave finish cooking the food and then beep is like giving away any role I had in the cooking process. If I take it out at 89 seconds, I have decided that 89 seconds is the perfect doneness for that food item after extensive research and brain-frying observation.

This quest for microwaving perfection should not be so very foreign to the DY Dad, considering he is the poster child for microwave OCD.

Dan does not like to stir and he also likes his food to be evenly heated to the perfect temperature. He normally covers his meal with wax paper, places it on a very low power level and cooks it for anywhere from 5-200 minutes. His food comes out magically warm all over and he never needs to lift a finger to stir. He always waits for the beep.

I’m not complaining about this skill. You know how recipes say to “soften” the butter first but you never do and then you have to bake something right away and don’t have time to watch butter come to room temperature for 2 hours. Dan can accomplish this with complex microwave calculations in under 10 minutes — without melting a drop of the butter. If you’d like his formula for this, you’ll have to ask him yourself.

Now for something red. This is the soap of the godesses. If you use this soap, you become instantly irresistable. I feel unworthy to purchase this soap for myself but gave it to my monther-in-law as part of her Mother’s Day present last year. It is delicious and I wish you had a smell-o-vision computer like me so you could suck it in. Yummy!

Last night was girl’s night out and I think some of the girls were prejudiced against my baby-blue sedan and its lack of sweet hydraulics or woofer-enhanced system. This car pre-dates my entrance into college but it’s just so “roomy” and “comfortable.” Ladies night would not be complete without The Flying Smurf.

We cruised down Main Street Suburbia with the gangsta rap of our high school days playing on the stereo. The gangsta lean was out in force as well as the giggling. Oh, there was giggling. And also crying.

The first round of crying occurred shortly after we arrived at Claim Jumper for desert and Shirley Temples (thanks to Karli for inciting this beverage revolution). I got a call from DY Dad.

Dan: Are you at the movie yet?
Me: No, we’re just starting desert? (Mad giggling and way too fast talking in the background)
Dan: Something-I-couldn’t-hear…..crying.
Me: Magoo’s crying?
Dan: NO, EV-ER-Y-ONE is CRYING. Do you know where Ducky is?

This is the bed-time kiss of death. If everyone’s already crying, and there’s no Ducky, you are a goner. I gave some suggestions, offered some words of comfort but there wasn’t much I could do from there. Eventually he found ducky….wrapped in a blanket…in an upturned stepstool…..in our bedroom…..with a book on top of it. He is a hero of fatherness.

The second through 100th rounds of crying occurred throughout the movie. Ah! Pride and Prejudice condensed into 2 hours of romance and repressed passion. Is it possible? Is it even safe? We laughed, we cried, we grabbed each other’s arms and tried to hold in our screams of glee. It was AWESOME!

Proposal…..under pillars…. covered in moss…..in the RAIN……. with pride and anger that almost leads to a make-out session? This never happens in real life but I think it will now happen in my NANOWRIMO book.

We had the best seats, seats where you can put your feet up on the railing and take pictures of them with your cell phone camera.

The cinematography was great, adaptation excellent, somehow magically paced slowly enough to maintain the spirit of the book but still cram everything into 2 hours. Go see it. Go see it now. Children, schmildren!

For this outing, I carried a purse so small it couldn’t possibly contain a diaper, wipes, sippy cup, crayons, changes of clothes, snack-foods, flashlight, Leatherman, hats, sunscreen, teething rings, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches or Ziploc baggies.

It wouldn’t even fit my wallet so I had to grab a couple of cards, some cash and shove them into the Chick’s Rule wallet. Nice!

I wore hair jewelry, piggy tales and loads of faux bling. Despite the fact that I forgot my eye glitter, the teenage boy at the counter asked me if I was a student. I so wanted to say, “Yeah, I go to Suburbia High but I, like, forgot my ID. Can I, like, get a discount anyway? Juniors rule!” followed by the mad batting of glitter encrusted eyelashes. Instead, I laughed and said, “You should ask my kids,” and forked over the 9 bucks.

Karen and a few others have recently hinted at the fact that they may be too old to wear the Daring Young Mom gear. I consider anyone a Daring Young Mom until they gracefully make the transition to Daring Young Grandma. It’s all in the ‘tude ladies, all in the ‘tude.

The scene that inspired the most crying in our group involved a painfully (in a good way) long walk by Mr. Darcy through the mist to Elizabeth Bennet where they professed their love and then consummated it by tenderly touching noses as the sun rose over the English country side.

Movies like this always remind me of Dan’s and my romantical and dramatic courtship. The repressed passion, the rain, the nose touching! It made me want to go home and just really squidge him and Eskimo kiss him for hours on end.

I won’t tell you if he was awake when I got home or whether any nasal contact was made. (I will say that I live in a damp climate and had to approach the house through the mist at 12:30am).

I just really like him a lot. I’m so glad to be married to a man who Mr. Darcy makes me glad to rush home to.

(For another perspective on this evening, see Eulallia’s post.)