Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
June 14 2011
There was a knock on the door.
Or there must have been, but I couldn’t hear it. Someone was crying at the top of her lungs.
About what, I don’t know. But Abby was a furious rage-filled torpedo, bounding from one room to another lost in a tantrum. I tried seeking a solution. I asked her to explain the problem, in detail and with graphs if possible. I wanted her to discuss her inner turmoil with me in a calm and reasonable tone. Of course that didn’t work. Next, I tried reassuring and consoling. I even hushed. Wine, perhaps? None of it was helping. She seemed content to see the fit through to the end. Thus I turned to the only option left; I ignored.
I once read that ignoring a tantrum is the best method. I’m unsure if this is true or not, my eardrums would lead me to believe otherwise since it makes a heck of a noise.
Settling on the screaming bloody murder method, I hid from my child in the corner of our kitchen, next to the chocolate, though her wails were still fully audible. That’s when I looked out the window, a view overlooking our front porch, and saw a nicely dressed woman dashing away in her heels. Hastily throwing her religious brochure in the handle of our door as she ran, not once looking back. And for a moment, I thought of calling out to her, “Wait, come back, I need to be saved! Save me!”. Though I don’t think that’s the salvation she had in mind.
June 09 2011
It has taken me all day to write a blog post that usually takes 10 minutes.
I’ll let you in on a behind-the-scenes secret; My posts are not carefully considered, researched vessels. They’re our stories, usually in 300 words or less, and for the most part write themselves. I edit, of course, trying to spin our mundane into a tale enjoyable to read. But at my best, I can churn a week’s worth of entries in one sitting.
Which is why it’s absurd to take 2 hours for a single poorly-worded paragraph.
I’m unsure if it’s from the time of year, all three clamoring for attention in the heat of an early summer, or if my kids have really just been especially needy this week, but I can’t sit down long enough to gather a cohesive thought. There’s a kid in my lap, or in my face, urging one of a million actions that are of utmost importance at that particular point in time. I try to argue. Can I just finish this sentence first? This one sentence that I’ve been battling out of the keys with such resistance. But in acceptance of defeat, I close my laptop and settle in for yet another telling of Curious George Flies a Kite instead. That crazy monkey.
This. Life. It is where my blog posts come from anyway. There is nothing to write about if I don’t live it. I sometimes get too caught up in documenting.
So it took all day, literally from morning til night, to complete an entry, finally saving it to drafts once the kids are in bed. It should have been a penned work of genius. Except I spent all that time just to scrap it at the last minute and write this instead.
May 25 2011
I mowed the grass.
While this may not seem like a monumental achievement to those who do it and wish they never had to do it again, I had never done it before. There’s a lot of things I’ve done recently that I had never done before. Small things, all of them, but nonetheless. I’m figuring it out. Myself.
During our years together, the yard was always J’s area. He’d spend hours in the sun maintaining the grass, coming inside only when the sweat overtook his shirt. I would try to plant a few flowers at times, but I’ve never had much of a garden thumb. Thus, most of what happened outside was left to him.
Before that, I lived with my parents, who have a sprawling stretch of land with many dips and hills and it’s generally uneven. My dad never believed I could handle the mower. Unlike my brother, who had the chore of mowing the grass handed to him many times, he thought it would “get away from me”. That bit of intimidation has stuck with me all these years.
A lot has changed, however. Most notably, J is no longer here. While he does visit, and I know he would if I asked, it’s not his responsibility. It’s mine. And lest I want weeds tall enough to swallow Jedi, I had better mow the grass.
And even though my 78 year old father stood protectively on guard the entire time, I did it. I could. And I did. Myself.
I mowed the grass.
Now, who can I pay to mow it next time?
May 24 2011
Afternoons, when Jedi first arrives home from school, it’s hectic. A chaotic frenzy of hectic. It seems like that is the moment when all 3 kids want not just one thing, but everything from me. At the same time.
I’m making sure everyone has any rocks or sticks they collected on our walk out the door, then their shoes off and put up, which I always have to tell them to do at least twice. Jedi wants apple juice first thing and Abby wants milk along with Buzz. Then, they want a snack, but different snacks. I try to look through Jedi’s backpack and daily homework folder, while Abby’s grabbing quarters off the counter and Buzz is throwing toys in the fish tank. Abby then wants help putting on a shirt and Buzz wants help taking his off and then he runs off to the bathroom, the rest of his clothes tracking a path, where I have to follow or else he’ll play in the toilet water.
I haven’t even made it to Jedi’s homework folder yet.
Everyone is yelling at me. “Mommy help!”, implores Abby. “Mommy!”, Buzz screams from the bedroom, wanting a movie. “Mooommmy, get my homework!”, Jedi demands so he can get it over with and play on the computer. When I finally get around to handing him his sheet of math homework, “Mooommmy, help me with my homework!”. Inevitably, one kid ends up waiting.
“Jedi, you’re going to have to hold on a minute. There’s only 1 of me and 3 of you and I’m doing the best I can.”, I proclaim about at the end of my rope.
When he tells me, “You know what you need to do? You need to make 3 clones of you.”
That would solve a lot of our problems.
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.
