Archive for the ‘motherhood’ Tag
October 06 2010
4 o’clock in the afternoon, a good time for a snack. I look through our cabinets and refrigerator to settle on chips and salsa. I pop open the top of the jar and sigh heavenly at its chunky ingredients. When I hear Abby’s footsteps toddling in, the crinkle of the bag must have given me away. My first instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Because sharing does not always equal caring.
“Chacha chip”, she demands her request of a potato chip, while I barely have the first crumb in my mouth. Her pint-sized stature bossing from my knees.
I hand her a chip in hopes of taming the beast, but my plain offering is unsuccessful. “Dip! Dip!”, she bellows, wanting salsa.
Now, even though the salsa is mild, I know from past experience she won’t like it. I place my snack down anyway and wait for her to dip her chip herself, since heaven forbid I help. Finally acquiring sufficient substance on her chip, she takes one sloppy lick before she tries to stuff the spit-infested Tostito back in the bag.
“More chacha chip!”, she huffs.
“Can’t I get a bite here?”, I ask her rhetorically, because I already know the answer. No, the answer is no, I can’t.
I reluctantly share another chip, and attempt a return to my salsa. I again sigh, this time in exasperation, just as she barks in interruption, “More dip!”. The same dip that I know she’s not going to like. I should just give up, deeming the venture futile.
I never knew sharing could be such a hassle until I became a parent. All I wanted was a snack, is that too much to ask? Yes, the answer is yes, it is.
October 04 2010
Bedtime around here can be a fiasco. We have a routine that we (I) tend to stick with fairly rigidly or else the entire process goes haywire. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say we could be up until midnight trying to wrangle everybody without set structure. Luckily, that has yet to happen, though Jedi gives it his best shot.
Since Jedi is the oldest, he goes to bed after everyone else. Which is probably a lot later than it should be. Then he tries to stretch it out even further with every trick in the book. Just one more minute, I still have to eat my snack, oh I forgot to go to the bathroom. On and on until I’m about to fall asleep myself.
Once I finally have him settled in bed, it’s not uncommon for him to get back up, pattering down the dark of night in his pajamas to tell me a tale from his day he forgot to earlier. That suddenly dawned on him at the most opportune time. A dire piece of information that I couldn’t make it through the night without.
The other night was the same as any other. I heard him open his bedroom door, his little feet tapping against the hall floor in search of listening ears.
“Hey, Mommy”, he whispered when I was found, “the elephant’s name is Yogo.”
The elephant? What? Oh! “The elephant you were telling me about yesterday, at school?”
“Yeah, his name is Yogo. He has a name tag.”, he says like it was a pent-up secret.
I lead him back to bed, again, before I slipped under my own covers. The elephant’s name is Yogo. My night was now rendered complete.
September 27 2010
Whatever my kids were passing around the last few weeks, I caught this past weekend. I spent Saturday trying in vain to ward off a sore throat, coming down with chills by the time I ventured to bed. When Sunday rolled around, I was depleted. My throat hurt something fierce and, barely able to sleep the night previous, I was truly exhausted.
It’s very seldom I take naps during the day. Someone has to be up to watch the kids, obviously, and there’s too much to do. But on weekends, when the husband is home, I tend to pass on the opportunity because it doesn’t achieve a lot of satisfaction. Kids are screaming at me from outside the door and there’s too much noise, along with my mind running a mile a minute with a laundry list of items I still need to finish. If I do manage a couple minutes of shut-eye, I only feel worse after. It’s not worth it.
Except it was worth it yesterday, when I was just so tired I could barely stay awake at 2 in the afternoon. Making it to bedtime without a brief repose would be impossible.
Finding a quiet moment to lie down, I nestled my head against the pillow, relishing in the comfort. I was so close to sleep when I heard him run in the room.
“Mommy… Mommy!… MOMMY!”, progressively louder.
I opened my eyes to find Jedi standing at the foot of the bed. “What?”, I muttered.
“I have to go potty!”
Ah, the sweet sounds my dreams are made of.
September 13 2010
I haven’t been as focused lately. Maybe for awhile. I know it’s definitely been since Jedi’s diagnosis, though. And I hate to keep referring to that, but it seems right now that’s my main point of reference for before and afters. My point, however, is that I’m just not focused. It’s also why I almost didn’t write an entry for today. My head is just not in the right place. I don’t feel like myself. I’m everywhere, tired, scattered.
Obviously.
Which is why, when J brought in groceries this morning and I immediately began restocking our shelves, I didn’t think twice when Buzz and Abby took off with the pack of toilet paper. I’ll surrender to anything that keeps them quiet these days, not really thinking they’d actually open the package or tear it all to shreds. Apparently, being scattered makes me delusional. Before Buzz walked in carrying a string of quilted 2 ply around his head, like a bandanna. And it’s only then that I remembered.
“Oh, crap,” I muttered quietly before it dawned on me even more. “Oh, crap!”
“What?”, J called after me, completely unaware as well. When we both ran in to the room, a trail of Angel Soft leading the way.
Oh, crap.
Clearly, I need to find a way to get my head back on, because I’m pretty sure my kids are on to me. And they’re obviously not above taking advantage of the situation.
August 30 2010
Thursday of last week, I did something in the afternoon I haven’t done in a very long time. Jedi was at school, J took Buzz to his speech class. The only souls left to rule the roost were Abby and myself, and she conked out for a nap shortly after the last of the boys left.
I had 2 hours to myself. To do whatever I wanted.
I can’t even remember the last time I had 2 hours to myself. Without my ears on constant alert of destruction. Without stress of what’s going to happen next. Without demands and noise. Without trying to be in a million different places at once.
What do I do with myself for 2 hours?
A few different ideas ran through my mind; I could dust off a book and actually read a few chapters, or skim through a more suitable magazine. I could give myself a manicure. I could soak in a bath, or streak the house naked. I could join Abby in some shuteye. I could even take the initiative and clean like crazy, but there’s no fun in that.
Instead, I sat on the couch. I propped my feet up on the table, an open netbook resting in my lap. The volume on the television decreased to a faint whisper. A soda in one hand, a chocolate donut in the other. Because what says celebration more than junk food. And I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. In peace and quiet.
I haven’t been able to do that in such a long time.
I can’t wait to do it again.
