Archive for the ‘life’ Tag
March 08 2011
Did you know that? Because they do. They break stuff. And then they keep breaking the same stuff over and over again when you try to get it fixed. Which is why everything in my house is crap held together by duct tape and superglue. There are times, however, when even that doesn’t work.
We have one light in our living room. Or had. It’s a floor lamp, because I know better than to attempt a table lamp. For the same reason we have no decorative accessories adorning where reachable, those things would go flying through the air before the first day is done.
We had a floor lamp, which we managed to keep functioning for over a year with nary a touch by the kids. Then we switched the furniture around. And moved that floor lamp to a different location. All of a sudden, it was the funnest thing in the world to knock over. Soon, that lamp ceased to function, but it led a good, long life so aside from sitting in the dark for a few nights until a new source of illumination was purchased, I wasn’t terribly inconvenienced.
Then, I bought a brand new lamp. And I enjoyed it’s light for not even a week before the kids began their attack. Soon, that lamp was a broken, lopsided mess, too, but I refused to give up on it. I duct taped, I super glued, I even did my best MacGuyver and tried to adhere it together with string and a plastic cup. Don’t ask. Needless to say, my efforts were futile. My not even a month old lamp refuses to work and I am stuck once again sitting in the dark.
Because kids, they break stuff.
So if you were to ever come over to my house, pay no attention to the floppy broken lamp. I refuse to buy a new one until my children move out. Though it might be too dark in here to notice anyway.
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.
February 03 2011
This goes on the list of things I’ve been terrified of happening that actually happened but by the grace of God could have been worse, though we could have avoided any injury at all if my kids would just listen to me.
Yeah, that list.
The list that before this included:
1. Jedi choking on a chicken nugget when he was 2 (little bites!)
2. Jedi falling 6 feet on to a metal platform, headfirst (watch where you’re going!)
3. A big screen TV falling on a barely 1 year old Abby (what can you say to that, really)
(For some strange reason, none of these include my local hell-on-wheels, Buzz. Maybe that’s because every day with him seems like a near-death experience.)
I can now add one more:
4. Abby falling off the couch hitting the side of her head on the sharp edge of a table (be careful!)
I was never a dangerous child growing up. Sure, I’d climb trees, and I had a run-in with the pavement after falling off my bike a couple of times, but I never broke a bone or needed stitches. I knew Abby’s wound wasn’t deep, but the placement, above her temple on her hairline, and width made me unsure if it made a trip to the ER necessary. Luckily, my parents were already on their way over. My mother helped me clean the gash and apply a cold compress to combat swelling along with a bandage. I watched my daughter like a hawk for the rest of the day, but soon enough she was back to her old tricks, like it never happened. Kids, they’re a resilient, crazy sort.
She also still doesn’t listen to me. I wish they’d realize that I don’t say “be careful” for nothing, you know.
January 05 2011
When it was just the 2 of us, before the noise of children, there were many times I felt stagnant. I’d come home from the bustle of work to a quiet house, a quiet night, interrupted only by the amount of conversation we allowed. It was easy to get swallowed up, like a tunnel getting trapped in.
Then along came my oldest son, and with him came the cries. As all babies do, he slept most of his first few months. But when he was awake, he was present, filling the house in a way it hadn’t been before. As he got older, his voice grew as well. The same for his siblings, one by one. In their own unique tone and energy, swelling in magnitude with each passing day. That once quiet house soon became a very loud home.
These days there are children running between legs and screeching through halls. They scream at one another at the top of their lungs. Toys crash into a stranded pile. Beeps and boops and sirens and repeated songs until batteries wear out. Constant talk and questions and requests. Hearty laughter that can quickly turn to cries. Steady motion. Even when the walls fall still, I’m waiting for chaos to begin again. It’s behind every corner.
“Shhhh…”
It seems I spend my days trying to revert back to that semblence of tranquility from a time before, when it threatened to swallow me whole. I hush and I seperate and I tune out. The main task of my job is about keeping peace, but there is only so little of me and so much of them.
“You need to whisper.”
On those exceptionally rare occasions when I do find a reticent moment, the goal I’ve sought after, I’m lost within myself again. That tunnel is long and steep, silence overwhelming, even moreso now that I’ve been on the other side. Until a voice helps me find my way out. That voice is usually followed by a scream and a demand and then some cries. And I’m back to shhhing, hushing in vain, searching again for that ubiquitous quiet to get trapped in.
December 17 2010
Dinnertime with young children is about like repeatedly stubbing your toe against a wall, it’s painful and, try as you might, you just don’t get anywhere. We were attempting to eat a nice family meal, but like usual, Buzz was uncooperative. He’s up and everywhere, a rare treat when he actually sits in his chair for more than 2 seconds. I briefly ponder a belt of duct tape. Instead, he jumps behind us, on us, grabs toys, and rolls around on the floor or runs to another room. If it didn’t look so awkward for his age, I’d probably still keep him in a high chair.
Our entree this night was stuffed baked chicken and it was, admittedly, a little (a lot) dry. I was able to get Buzz to poke at his plate a few times, but he mostly stuck to his side of mashed potatoes. I kept asking, though, pleading if you will. Maybe a bit of whining.
That’s when he grabbed the nearest pink babydoll.
Since we are without a dog to eat our unwanted meals, he had to gather the closest substitute. Except an inanimate baby doll won’t actually scarf down the dry meal that you’re trying to hide. On the contrary, it leaves evidence all over its frozen plastic face. Which didn’t stop him from continuing to jam pieces of dehydrated chicken and stuffing into its slightly open orifice.
“Mmmm… yummy!”, he tried his best at ventriloquism.
At least someone likes my cooking, anyway.
