Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
May 16 2011
The boys had mini-blinds in their room at first. It didn’t take long before those cheap window coverings were worn ragged, however. Time spent kicking at them, tying up their toys, brutally forcing the slats apart to see outside, it all took its toll. When I couldn’t stand the sight any longer, they were replaced. Then again. A few times over. Until those cheap window coverings began to get a bit expensive.
Clearly they had to have something covering their window, but the blinds were obviously a poor choice. And so I bought a rod and blue curtains. I then settled in for the rest of our days not needing to worry about their window dressing any longer.
Until Buzz broke the rod. Pulled it down and snapped the thing in half. My determination, distraught and annoyed, was yet unwavering.
What else could I do but purchase another, only to have it be met with the same dastardly fate. I may have been determined, but Buzz seemed just as determined to undermine my attempts.
By this point, I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. It had become a ridiculous daily stress that I didn’t need. It’s just curtains. They’re not really that necessary.
Instead, I grabbed some nails and nailed those curtains in place once and for all.
Windows are a bizarre hiding spot for inspiration but I’m grabbing the metaphorical life lesson within: Determination is key. Do not throw your hands up in defeat, even if it seems like you’re running out of options. If all else fails, nail the damn thing down.
April 11 2011
I swear, at one point in time I had other topics of interest to contend. A day that didn’t consist of dirty diapers and spilled milk and tantrums over string cheese. There was a time when I engaged in meaningful discussion. Some might even call them arguments, a more kind term would be debate. My opinion countered against another’s. About the state of our world, the direction it was headed, the ridiculousness of politics. Big, smart stuff, people.
I vaguely recall a joy at simply being heard. My point of view listened to. Sometimes, even taken into consideration. If nothing else, however, I was at least acknowledged.
From what I can remember, it’s nice to be able to express your thoughts in a clear and intellectual fashion.
Now, my most heated discussions have to do with; behavior that constitutes a time-out punishment, hiding in closets: pros and cons, how one can not live on peanut butter and jelly alone (backed by scientific studies, no less), acceptable play items (ie; a dirty mop is not a toy, neither is an oven), the benefits to cleaning up after oneself, and naps: a necessity or waste of time? My position on these matters is probably not surprising.
These debates tend to not be polite, neither are they friendly nor constructive. They can quickly turn downright nasty. Kicking and screaming, a contest is likely to end in wails of discontent. Points are not given the chance to be considered, they are essentially ignored. I am selectively heard, rarely acknowledged, and completely dismissed.
With all of the education I’ve received, along with the bits of information I’ve collected since, I never would have imagined my toughest adversary would sleep in pink Minnie Mouse footie pajamas. My kids have taught me that you don’t need years of knowledge to win a debate, however. The secret is to thoroughly exhaust the opposition until they just don’t give a damn anymore.
March 21 2011
I’m just going to get this out there, with the thought that maybe if I do I’ll feel more inclined to write here. Because right now, it feels like I’m hiding something.
My husband and I are getting a divorce.
Or, we would be if we were legaly married. I’ve called him my husband because that just seemed easier and sounded more permanent than boyfriend. After 13 years and 3 kids, there was nothing about it that didn’t feel like a marriage to me, I didn’t need a piece of paper. Though if I had a do-over, I probably would. Or I just might not put myself in the situation to begin with. As it is, we broke up. Which makes it sound so very high school.
I’ve closed comments because I don’t need sympathy. I appreciate well wishes, but I’m not heartbroken. Not for myself. I’m angry, really angry. And if you get me started I’ll probaby go on a 3,000 word tirade here on the internet and I don’t think that will benefit anyone.
I am, however, heartbroken for my kids. They don’t deserve this. They also don’t deserve two parents fighting to make something work when they just aren’t happy together anymore. From what I can see, however, I’m taking it a lot harder for them than they actually are. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, kids are resilient. And amazing.
Single parenting has been hard, very much so. I’m not used to having much of a break during my days (and nights) but now there are none at all. And there are all kinds of future logistics I’ve probably yet to even consider. But right now, it’s still me and my kids. Without them, I’m sure I’d be a lot more lost than I am.
March 10 2011
I’m not much of a makeup kind of girl. I used to wear a bit when I worked outside the home, before the kids, but I was never one to get completely made up. Since then, and in the midst of our many moves over the years, I had even managed to lose the bag containing my assortment of sorely outdated glosses and shadows. I didn’t even have a bottle of nail polish to my name. Replacing it all seemed like a task too daunting, however, especially when faced with the plethora of product in that department.
The other day, though, I mustered up the gumption to change all that. I admit, I’ve been feeling a bit down, so I thought it might be a tiny foot in the positive direction. In true form, I bravely treked down the aisle and picked the most boring, neutral shades available. But it was something, at least.
When I returned home, I poured my new purchases on the bathroom counter and began to rack my brain to remember how it was all supposed to be applied. All those years of reading Seventeen had to be good for something. The entire time, Abby was at my side, watching with both confusion and awe.
I leaned close to the mirror and smeared a bit of eyeliner on my upper lid. “This isn’t so bad”, I said to no one in particular. “Why did I stop messing with this stuff again?”
That’s when I looked down to find Abby had confiscated the eyeshadow. With brush in hand, she swiped a streak of sparkling brown across her forehead, then another down her cheek. “Pretty?”, she smiled.
Ah yes, that’s why.
February 08 2011
Whatever gets us through the day. That should be my battle cry.
I am not the perfect mother. And when I judge myself against other parents, those who seem to handle chaos with more grace, I have to remember that they’re not perfect, either. We all do whatever we can to get us through the day.
My children watch an absurd amount of television. In fact, we recently hooked up cable in the boys’ bedroom. Sometimes, like in the midst of tackling laundry on Sunday, there will be 3 TV’s on each with a different show to try to keep hold of short attention spans and out from under my feet for 10 minutes. Sometimes it works, usually it doesn’t. Whatever gets us through the day.
I tune out most of their cries. I know the difference between a really hurt wail and just a he-stole-my-toy fit, and there’s too many of those and only so much of me. They don’t listen to me, anyway. So I save my breath when I can. Whatever gets us through the day.
I don’t get on the floor to play with my kids enough. I raise my voice too often. I feel like I might explode if I hear the same story one more time. I don’t stress about what kind of food goes in my kids’ mouths, as long as some does. Pop Tarts are what’s for breakfast many mornings. As well, I love my kids, but there are times when I feel stuck, trapped. And on those days, in those moments, when it takes a second more to see the beauty in front of me, I try my best to remind myself of the bigger picture, to embrace their unique features a little bit tighter. Whatever gets us through the day.
