Archive for the ‘Daily’ Category
September 02 2011
The morning sprung up on me with a bang and a migraine as I lumbered out of bed a half an hour before the alarm was to ring. I always hate when that happens. As I stumbled groggily and with a pounding head into the bathroom to grab some medicine, I could hear Jedi shuffle his feet against the blankets of his bed.
He was awake, as well.
I knew he wouldn’t rise early intentionally, though. It was a school day, and as great as he does when there, his preference to stay home is no secret. He pleads and fakes sick, making his plight as pitiful as possible. The tricks are all familiar, however, as I perfected them myself during my own school years.
Well, most of them.
A bout of ventriloquism was a first.
I tiptoed about, head still pounding, until the clock struck quarter after seven, when it was time to take upon the task of dragging unwilling weight out of their more enticing comfort. Leaving Jedi for last, as he’s always the worst, I walked in to find that he had slid down to the foot bed, submerged as a ball of limbs under the covers.
“Come on, Jedi! I know you’re awake, I’ve heard you moving around in here”, I informed him. Except I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Whoever this Jedi is you speak of, he’s not here”, the lump muttered in a muffle from under the covers. “This is the bed talking.”
Nice try. Very creative. But you still have to do better than that.
August 30 2011
My daughter is 3 going on 15.
Nothing new here, I know. It’s that age. Still, it amazes me how downright strong-willed and opinionated and unwilling to budge an inch she is. What makes it worse is that we argue. Full-fledged arguments, where I tell her no and she insists yes and by the end one of us is crying and running off to slam doors and the other wishes that kind of behavior was acceptable on her end. A good door slamming might alleviate a lot of stress.
This doesn’t just happen once every now and then. It’s all day, every day thing.
So while I would love to say my days have been quieter while the boys have been at school and I’ve been to able to accomplish a list worth of to-do’s, I’m more often than not attempting to breathe. Recooperating for the next round. Because how dare I try to put her feet in clean socks when these dirty ones here are better, or she’s on her 76th YouTube video of laughing babies and I just can’t take anymore so here, let’s just turn it off for now, OK?
No, it’s not OK. And oh, all hell breaks loose.
But then she climbs up in my lap and wraps her arms around my neck, making sure both of mine are wrapped around her. The embrace is tight. For a moment, then, we slow down and she’s simply my 3 year old beautiful little girl.
Until the next round.
August 23 2011
I am currently on day 2 of having 2 kids in school. Both days, my freshly-minted kindergartner screamed bloody murder for me as I walked away. Assurances were made that he quickly calmed, however, and all was well. Because I’m sure a child can only cry for so long before they pass out from exhaustion.
Though I tried not to dwell on that. Instead, I paced.
With both my boys at school for the day, I thought for sure I’d enjoy my quiet time. One kid is easy in comparison. Or, easier anyway. Whether one kid or many, raising a little person is hard. But I thought I’d relish in the free extra minutes I would find to myself.
It turned out to be the longest day of my life.
6:45a.m. – Get out of bed because I couldn’t sleep anyway.
6:55 – Abby wakes up to join me, of course.
7:15 – 8:15 – Wake up/eat breakfast/get ready
8:30 – Drive to school
8:45 – 9:30 – Try to calm Buzz to no avail. Walk away with the boy in tears.
9:45 – 10:30 – Worry about Buzz
10:30 – Call to check on Buzz. Was assured all was calm.
10:31 – 11:30 – Watch the clock tick the seconds slowly by. At the end of the hour profess, “Oh my god, it’s only been an hour?”.
Repeat that above hour until it was time to pick them up at 2:30. Obviously, I miss the boys a lot more than I assumed I would. Today has been better though. I’ve actually been able to pay attention to other things without glancing up at the clock every few seconds. Progress!
August 12 2011
We have had Grey Kitty as a member of our family for going on 14 years. He’s a senior citizen as far as felines are concerned and is more than willing to take advantage of his elder stature by sleeping his days away. Rarely does the cat move unless there’s food to consume or a break for his litter box or a kid has found his hiding spot. He’s a lazy lump of fur, is what I’m saying.
For the past few weeks, however, he had been slurping up water like his tongue was on fire. And his litter box would need changed a lot more than usual with it. At first, I just chalked it up to being extra thirsty.
Soon, the vomiting began. Horrendous and vile and continuous every time he dared to stand. Grey Kitty turned wobbly and weak and was withering into a skeleton. Finally, I realized my almost 14 year old poor excuse for a mouser was just getting worse without help. As it turns out, not only did my cat have a tumor that needed removed, but he has diabetes.
My cat. Has diabetes.
Did you know cats can get diabetes? I didn’t. I continue to be bewildered by the disease.
Jedi appeared consoled at the news, a way for him to feel like he’s not in this alone. Because no child at his age truly wants to be different. If he has to get poked and injected with insulin, I’m sure it helps to know others who are going through the same. Even those who are unexpected, like his cat. I can’t help but wonder, however, is there something in the water around here?
August 03 2011
Some mornings, they call for something just a little wacky. Out of the ordinary, but not too far. Because I can only take so much, really. But a stretch in the orange light.
Some mornings call for stripping out of your pajamas on the open front stoop of your house.
And then dressing yourself there, as well.
It’s not as if I had a choice, entirely. She pulled her flowery pajama shirt over her head faster than I could say stop. Her belly button bared. My free spirit. Before I knew it, she was down to her diaper, flaunting it for all the neighbors at a time too early to shake anyone else. Unless they had kids who were doing the same, too.
Abby then vanished back inside for a moment, after demanding me to stay. “Don’t move,” she instructed, “I’ll be right back”. I did as told as she gathered a pile of mismatched clothes and spread each article in a clump on the small step right beyond our front door. From there, we pulled on two pairs of socks for each foot and the out of season outfit she chose herself. Because it isn’t like her to correlate her fashion sense with the heat warning we would experience later into the afternoon.
But then, in that moment, it was a wake up. A spirited touch, brighter even than the orange, warm light.
Some mornings, they simply call for a new approach.
